Rain spilled from the darkening sky. It traced lazy lace patterns down the glass doors to the balcony and tapped out a rhythmic pattern on the roof. Jerumal tried not to let his fingers find counterpoints in the rhythm, and wrapped them more firmly around his mug of wine.

"Don't you people dance?" Birka had once asked Jerumal.

"Of course we do," Jerumal had replied. He had arranged a demonstration, and could not help watching Birka's face for awe or admiration. He was sorely disappointed by her lack of appreciation.

"Hmm," she said, when the dancers were finished, and taking graceful bows. She smiled diplomatically at Jerumal, aware of his scrutiny. "That was interesting."

"Interesting?" Jerumal did his best not to feel offended. "Those dancers are some of the best on the continent." They should be, he paid handsomely to have their services on hand.

Birka gave him a long, thoughtful look before she replied, "Dancing isn't something that you sit and watch other people do." Her tone was, as customary, carefully neutral.

Since then, with the descent of the Snow-Unicorn riders into Jerumal's knollege, the head of the Merchant's Guild understood what dancing was to her people, and why she had failed to dredge up any awe for his peoples' stilted, formal efforts.

She was probably dancing now, out on the roof of the stables with her people, singing praises to the sky in the rain or some nonsense like that.

Jerumal resisted the impulse to throw his glass into the fireplace. Damn her, anyway. Damn her for being different and interesting and beautiful. Damn her for loving him. And damn him, too, for being too honorable to let himself love her back.

# # #

“I don’t know if I shall ever get used to the concept of being so warm in such darkness,” Kativa said cheerfully, coming to a panting halt at Birka’s feet. “Even the rain is delicious. Isn’t this marvelous?” She turned, and waved at Kether, who was sprawled in the grass across the dancing field, holding a mug of something he was trying to keep rain out of.

“You will get used to it,” Birka said mildly. “It is the same every night.”

Kativa sank to a seat beside her agemate in the grass. “You would take the fun out of anything, Birka. If a bird of fire went streaking across the sky right now, you would shrug and say that it was commonplace.”

Birka quirked a smile at the shorter woman. “A bird of fire? I think that would be out of the ordinary.”

Kativa rolled her eyes. “Then you would go all responsible and uptight and start going on about it setting fire to the trees and never stop once to marvel at its beauty. I know you a little!”

Birka had no defense for Kativa’s accusation, and she only offered her the mug she had been drinking out of. “Wine? It will cause the same effects as Mirda’s potato brew if you drink enough, but tastes quite fine.”

Accepting the cup, Kativa lolled back against the low retaining wall that Birka had found to sit against. “I can’t believe those ninnies,” she said scornfully, gesturing towards the Guild House. “A beautiful night like this, and they huddle all frightened and shaking in their tall houses.”

“Be nice,” Birka admonished, looking across the rain-soaked, stepped lawns to the lit windows of the House. “They Others must have been a terrible shock to them. It is no wonder they were afraid.”

Kativa sniffed. “But we are here, now,” she said arrogantly. “And the Others are easy for us to Heal. There is no reason that they should not be out here dancing.” She took a sip of the wine and smacked her lips in delight. “This isn’t nearly as terrible as the brews Mirda made.”

“I do not think that they like music,” Birka told her agemate thoughtfully. “They only play it on very formal occasions, and the few people I have caught singing or whistling as they work look very embarrassed when I try to join them.” She grimaced. “You do not want to see the footwork that they call dancing.”

“I do not want to see anyone dancing at all,” Kativa laughed merrily. “I want to be dancing, but I have a terrible stitch, and if I try to go back out now, I shall embarrass myself by falling over, groaning and moaning.” She demonstrated, holding her side and wailing until Birka shoved her in the shoulder, laughing.

When she sat upright again, Kativa was more serious. “Why isn’t your man Jerumal here? Haven’t you tried to teach him how to dance?”

Birka frowned, and took her mug back from Kativa. “I haven’t tried to teach him anything,” she said sharply. “And he isn’t my man.”

“Pfff…” Kativa put her lips together and blew at Birka. “He is in love with you! He looks at you like you hung the moon and cut the holes for the stars, and is so terribly careful with his hands around you.”

“What do you know about love?” Birka asked acidly. “It was Tolnam, Tolnam, Tolnam for years and years and years until suddenly it wasn’t.”

Kativa had the grace to look abashed. “Just because I was an idiot about myself doesn’t mean I’m completely blind and stupid about everyone else around me,” she grumbled. “I just… well, I was very sure that I knew what love was and I didn’t. Can’t a girl learn?”

“You’re in love with Kether?” Birka was relieved to have the topic off of herself.

Kativa looked thoughtfully across the lawn. Kether was holding little Ramia while Kadra danced, laughing with Akem and Polen as the toddler tried to play with the puddles. Out of habit, the Northerners were strung across the lawn, making clusters of no more than four or five except in the dancing space, where they were in pairs or threes. There was no light over the square, but the Northerners had never needed light to dance by.

“I haven’t learned that much, yet,” Kativa admitted. “I think perhaps I may be, but I don’t want to foul something good up by handfasting myself or anything.”

Birka grimaced. “Smart woman,” she said with more bitterness than she intended.

“Jerumal’s handfasted, isn’t he?” Kativa pounced.

Birka nodded, drank more of the wine she was still holding. Irya walked by then with a pitcher, and Birka held up her mug for a refill.

When Irya had passed by and was out of earshot again, Birka confessed further, “He does not like her, though.”

“Do you?” Kativa asked unexpectedly, and Birka had to think about her answer.

“I do.” Birka let Kativa take the mug from her and added, “She is a sweet woman, if not terribly bright. I think that she loves him.”

“Why did he handfast her, if he does not like her?”

“You are going to make yourself sick if you drink that too quickly,” Birka warned. “It may taste better, but it will still do the same as Mirda’s brews.”

Kativa snorted. “You are only trying to change the subject,” she scoffed, but she handed the wine back to Birka. “And if he doesn’t like his handfasting, why doesn’t he have it dissolved?”

“They handfast for children here,” Birka said, and she could not quite keep the puzzlement from her voice. “They claim that every child needs a mother and father, and that they must be handfasted.”

Kativa was quiet a moment. “What if one of them dies?” she asked curiously.

“They find another to replace them.”

Kativa puzzled over this a long moment. “I do not understand,” she confessed. “They don’t even spend that much time with their children.”

Birka shook her head and shrugged. “I don’t understand it, either. But Jerumal thinks it important enough to hold me at armslength, and what can I do about that?”

“He is very handsome,” Kativa sighed wistfully. “That gorgeous blonde hair.”

“Aren’t you fickle,” Birka teased, straight-faced.

“Pfff…” Kativa blew at Birka. “I can look. I’ll be looking until they close my dead eyes.” She threw her head back and laughed then. “I’ll be dancing, too. Come, Birka, feel the rain! Come dance in it with me!” She bounced to her feet and leaned down for Birka’s hands.

Birka let herself be led out onto the soft lawns to dance in the drifting rain.