* * *

Sowe clenched Lia’s arm, walking so close their feet almost tangled. Her voice was soft and frantic, her breath fragrant from the mint leaves Pasqua had given them. She had also tried to tame Lia’s curly hair, but that was always its own challenge. “Tomorrow? You are leaving tomorrow? That is not fair, Lia. You are my sister, not just my friend. How can he separate sisters?”

Lia kept her voice low since there were so many others crowding through the gate, trying to leave the grounds for the village beyond.

“The Aldermaston said he would tell Pasqua tonight. But what can she do, Sowe? He is committed to doing this. When has she ever been able to change his mind? Look, do you see Reome over there? Look how she has braided her hair. She is too beautiful. It makes me ill.”

Sowe squeezed her arm even tighter when the maypole came into view, illuminated by torches and rushlights. “I have never been so nervous. We should have practiced more. What if I stumble?”

“You will not stumble, Sowe.”

“What if I do?”

“If you keep thinking about that, it is bound to happen! Just breathe deeply. This is our first year – no one is expecting us to dance all that well.”

“Who is that young man who just asked Reome?” Sowe whispered. “His arms are enormous!”

“The local blacksmith, I think,” muttered Lia jealously. He was a head taller than the other boys. “Ugh, there is Getman. Pray he does not see us.”

“He is coming our way, Lia!”

In an awful moment, she realized Sowe was right. They had just exited the gates with the flow of the crowd and Getman appeared from their left and cut a course directly barring their way to the maypole. Lia’s stomach shriveled and she searched the crowd for a sign of Colvin. Where was he?

“Will you dance with me?”

Lia looked at him scornfully, hating even the thought of touching his sooty hand. But she realized with some surprise that he was not even looking at her, but at Sowe, who squeezed her arm so tightly it hurt.

Sowe mumbled an answer, but the crowd was so boisterous that Lia knew he had not heard her.

“Will you?” he repeated, his eyes blazing, daring her to humiliate him with a rejection.

Sowe released Lia’s arm and extended her hand. A look of victory filled Getman’s eyes and he snatched her hand and tugged her after him, for the first circle was forming around the maypole already. Looking back, Sowe met Lia’s gaze, pleading with her for rescue, but there was nothing Lia could do but watch them. Watch them twirl and dance. Watch the torchlight glisten on Sowe’s dark hair as they circled around the pole, back again, swirling, dancing.

Everything seemed to slow like thick honey. It was as if Lia saw her friend for the first time – even though she knew Sowe’s face better than anyone’s. But it was the unforgiving look in Reome’s eyes that spoke the truth. Reome also watched Sowe as she danced – and it was the look of utter jealousy. The look that sprouts from a proud woman’s heart when it realizes someone else is more beautiful. Sowe was completely ignorant of the scathing stare. She was shy with Getman, but that only added to her appealing qualities. They twirled and they danced the other direction. Around the pole and back, weaving the ribbons until the entire maypole was sheathed in silk. Lia stood aloof, with some other girls who did not have partners.

When the song was finished, the dancers were given a reprieve while the coiled ribbons were untangled. Sowe left Getman graciously and started away when another young man, the Tanner boy, appeared breathlessly at her side and asked for the next dance. He claimed her hand and tugged her back towards the newly gathering circle. Sowe looked over her shoulder, searching, but their eyes did not meet.

Lia stood there, her stomach twisting into knots. There were learners dancing with learners, their fine cut gowns and gold-threaded tunics dazzling with jewelry, their skin spicy with the scent of costly perfumes. But on Whitsunday, even the wretcheds were their equals. No one was forbidden to dance around the maypole.

A band of knights emerged from around the almonry and Lia’s heart nearly burst with relief. They were dressed in the same uniform, each wearing a gleaming collar and chain, the same she had seen around Colvin’s neck. She bit her lip, searching their faces. They were young, all of them, and quite sure of themselves. But none of them were familiar to her. They approached a gaggle of beautiful learners who Lia had known and served dinner to and then escorted them to the circle. Lia watched them dance, again on the sidelines. As soon as the round was finished, Sowe was beset again by another youth – this time, a learner in fine clothes who had been watching her. An ugly feeling began to bloom in Lia’s stomach. She crushed it down, unwilling to let the feeling coalesce into an envious thought. It was her third dance already.