Page 161 of Anathema

“May I ask what you’re struggling with?”

“This damned cork! Remember I said I wanted a drink? What I meant to say is we need a drink. Because two is better than one.” She put the cork between her teeth, and I winced, watching her tug at it. “Who in the gods … I’ll bet it was Zevander. He enchanted the damned thing so I wouldn’t open it. You know what, though? I’ve learned to corrupt his silly spells.” She lifted her hand with the bottle outstretched, her eyes focused on the cork. “What binding on this cork was placed, shall be removed and now erased.” A squealing sound followed, and in the next second, the cork popped off the bottle, plinking against the ceiling. “Haha! Success!”

“So, you have spells, too?”

“Yes. It’s considered archaic magic. Powerless. The Nilivir, or those not born with blood magic, tend to use it most. They have rituals with candles and herbs. It’s very involved.”

“Where I come from, that’s called witchcraft.” I stared off, thinking how strange that it’d become such a normal part of my life since crossing. How ignorant Governor Grimsby had been for trying to banish witchcraft when it’d proven to be useful in Aethyria. “Women and men were burned and banished to The Eating Woods for casting spells.”

As she filled the goblets with the crystal blue liquid from the bottle, Rykaia shot me a frown over her shoulder. “Banished? What in the gods is The Eating Woods?”

“A place where sinners die. Those who cast spells—heretics. They’re sent to the woods, and the creature that lives there eats them.”

“Gods, Maeve. Your world sounds positively awful.” After a quick swirl, she crossed the room, carrying one goblet while sipping the other. “Mmmmm. So good.”

“What is it?” I asked, as she handed one of the goblets to me.

“You are going to love this.”

With a small bit of hesitation, I accepted the proffered drink, giving it a quick sniff. A spicy fruity scent, like blueberries and cinnamon with a hint of nutmeg, hit the back of my throat and watered my tongue. A glimpse of Rykaia showed her polishing off her glass and pouring another.

I sipped my own, just a small taste, and the tart flavor hit my tastebuds with a slight fizz that tickled my tongue and warmed my throat. I’d tried Grandfather’s morumberry wine a number of times, the bitter bite and alcohol always limiting how much I could tolerate. This was so crisp and piquant, I wanted to gulp it down.

As I reached the bottom of my goblet, Rykaia filled it and while I was inclined to stop her, I couldn’t. I wanted more.

She topped off her goblet, and as she crossed the room, she moved with grace and poise, dancing her way to the dresser. “Do you know how to dance, Maevyth?”

“Not particularly well.”

With the goblet in one hand, she reached for me with the other. “Come. Let me show you.”

“I … try not to dance in front of anyone.”

“Oh, but you will! At The Becoming Ceremony.”

“There’s dancing? You never said–”

“What did you think we bought ball gowns for?” She chuckled, pulling me by my arm. “Come.”

Reluctantly, I stood, and the moment I did, a dizziness swept over me. Not in a nauseating sense. On the contrary, I felt warm and carefree.

She swallowed another gulp of her drink and placed both goblets down on the trunk at the foot of the bed. “Have you ever danced with a man before?”

“No.” Blush crept over my face with the admission, but it was true.

“He, whomever the lucky gentleman might be, will hold you here.” She rested one palm against my hip. “And he’ll take your hand, like this,” she said, lifting our clasped hands to the side. “Now, this is just a simple waltz. They may get fancy at the ceremony and perform The Virgin Hunt, but we’ll start with this.”

“The Virgin Hunt?” I grimaced at the implication in the words. “That’s a horrible name for a dance.”

“Agreed, though the dance itself is quite seductive. But that’s a whole other lesson for another time. The waltz … you’ll take three steps, and curtsy on four. Understand?” At my nod, she stepped into motion. “So, one, two, three, four.”

I curtsied late and awkwardly scrambled to catch up, smiling at my mistake. “One, two, three, four.”

That time, I did it right.

“Good. One, two, three, four.” That time, she bowed, instead of curtsying. “This is what the man will do, unless you choose a woman. Then she will curtsy.”

“There is no punishment for choosing women here?”