I looked at the gauzy red fabric in his hands. I hated wearing those outfits back at the palace, but that’s because they were meant to please my father.

I stroked the silk pants.

My mother had worn something similar when she caught my father’s eye during one of her performances. She’d taught me the steps when I was little, but the lessons had died with her. Though I could still remember one lesson with my mother. She’d taken my hands and guided me through my steps, shown me when to point a toe and when to dig my heel into the floor.

“You’ll be a master yet,” she had said, adjusting the position of my arm. “You’ll be better than me.”

At the time, all I’d wanted was to be her. I wanted to shimmer like she did when she danced. I wanted to twirl like she could because that’s when she was happiest, when she locked herself away with me and spent hours dancing. It was the only time I saw her smile and heard her laugh.

At the end of each lesson, we’d clasp hands and spin around until we ended up in a heap on the ground, laughing. But after this lesson, we’d sat in front of her wardrobe, and she’d pulled out her only remaining sand dancer dress.

The shimmering green fabric had been so vibrant. So alive.

“One day, you’ll wear this,” she’d said. “Maybe you’ll catch a man’s eye.” There was sadness in her voice. “I pray you’ll find a kind man. A generous man.”

She’d kissed me on my forehead and returned the dress to the back of the wardrobe. She thought I didn’t see when she wiped away several tears.

My mother had died a little more than a year later.

“I’d like to wear the costume,” I said to Cion, pulling the top from his fingers.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. Not only did I really want to get out of my gladiator gear, it was time I reclaimed more of my mother. More of myself.

CHAPTER

21

It took me nearly a full hour to get dressed. Mostly because the costume was way more complicated to put on then I’d first suspected. It had multiple pieces that were supposed to loop and connect, and none of them seemed to match up the way I thought they should.

I bet if Latia were here, I’d have been ready in five minutes.

One veil-like piece was sewn into the shoulder seams. It draped down my front, ending in a triangular point below my exposed belly button where it met my pants. Two other pieces hung down my back to my ankles. Some dancers crisscrossed them over their stomachs, but it hadn’t looked right when I’d tried it. So I let them hang loose.

I’d spent the rest of the time running my fingers through my hair. I’m not sure it looked presentable by the end, but it at least looked better than it had since the shifting hills had gotten ahold of it.