“Dance with me,” she says, bending over the back of Armin’s chair. Her lips graze his ear.
“I don’t, uh, dance,” he replies, looking particularly uneasy.
She glances at Agis, who shakes his head and focuses on his mug.
Her eyes shift to me and my skin prickles from the attention. “Come on, Princeling, don’t tell me you can’t dance.”
“I can dance,” I admit, “but it’s the formal kind, stuffy, and not like what you’re doing.”
“How so?”
“Well, lessons were required,” I explain, “of all royals, because of state dinners and such. We were often paired with cousins or people my father wanted to impress. But there was little to no touching, and often we were in a group.”
“Show us,” she declares, eyes wicked with drink. Her hand clasps with mine, yanking me from my seat, and she goes back for the others. A moment later, the five of us are in a cleared spot on the floor and she’s watching me intently. The others shoot daggers in my direction. Where the hell is Marshal when I need him?
“Do we have to?” Agis asks.
“Yes,” Hildi declares. “Stop being a grump.”
Miya barks a laugh, and Agis glares. Hildi is as likely to push them into a fight as she is to get them to dance. I can tell it means a lot to her, so I take a deep breath and lift my hand.
“Basically, you dip like this,” I say, showing them the steps, “and then move in a circle.”
I nudge Armin to get him going in the right direction. Agis reluctantly falls in stride, his moves more graceful then he’d ever admit. He’s an elite warrior, timing is everything.
“This is epic,” Hildi laughs, delighted by the whole thing. That sound, plus her smile, is enough to lighten the mood. “I wish I could record this and show Morgan.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Miya says. His robe drags on the floor. His movements are precise, but again, not a surprise. Sword-work is a dance of its own. The men fall into the movements easily. It’s not a leap that they already know what to do. They’re not barbarians, even though they may act like it sometimes.
“I’m impressed,” she says, twirling in between us. Her hands linger longer than necessary, her body hovering too close. The music grows louder. Rhythmic and intoxicating. I tug at my collar feeling warm, and Agis and Miya head to the bar and order more drinks, before heading back to the soft couches surrounding the fire.
We leave the dance floor and settle around the fire. Hildi sits on the edge of the pit, the flames casting a glow around her making her look ethereal.
“This place reminds me of home,” she says suddenly. “After a battle and the slain are chosen and carried to Valhalla, Odin would give us a moment of reprieve. We’d drink, dance, and forget the horrors of the battlefield.”
She looks down in her cup wistfully, I can’t help but look at her bandage wrapped fingers.
“Odin would be amused to know what happened to me today. That I fell on my knees for a brat. A vampire.” She shakes her head. “Do you even know why I’m here? Why I’m not with the Valkyrie?”
The four of us glance at one another. No. No one knows. I don’t think anyone has asked.
“It’s stupid, really. Antiquated and archaic rules. Odin, like all gods, wants to be surrounded by loyal servants. The Valkyrie are there to do his bidding.”
“You didn’t fulfill your obligation?” Armin asks.
“I did. For a long, long time.” She laughs darkly. “He sent me to the Upperword as a spy, to collect information about his enemies living there. I’d never been to the Upperworld or to a city like New York. I immediately fell in love with the sights and smells and sounds. Something about the place brought me to life. I never wanted to leave and when it was time for me to report back, I didn’t. Having my own mind, that was my first sin—the first betrayal.”
“What was your second sin?” Miya asks.
“Losing my virginity. In Odin’s eyes, that was not mine to give. It took away my uniqueness.” She wipes her eyes. “But the worst thing of all was falling in love, and not with the city. But with a woman. That was the biggest betrayal, and he cast me out.”
She tips back her drink, swallowing it at once.
Armin reaches out and takes her hand. “The gods don’t want to think of us as individuals. It’s how they maintain their control.”
“Victorine proved that today,” she mutters.
“You’re stronger than her,” Agis says. “Stronger than all of us.”