Movement II: Scherzo

    Haleth crawled out of her bed with a loud groan, and Malron stirred from the other side of the room. Blue-gray eyes looked at her sleepily as she limped outside, mindful of her aching head, and then she promptly threw up—right onto Arion’s feet, who had been passing by.
    Last night had been nothing more than a pleasant haze. She still didn’t remember what had happened after Malron had urged her to drink more wine than her father would have ever let her touch, even watered, and if Haldar ever found out what had happened, he would have scolded both Haleth and Malron.
    Arion jumped back with a startled oath, then grinned at her. “Had a bit too much wine, it seems,” he said. “I should have guessed, after you started dancing.”
    She blinked in confusion, and then stared at him in growing horror as the full weight of his words crashed upon her muddled head. “Did you just say that I danced?” she shrieked—or tried to. Her parched throat would not let her do anything besides whisper, but she managed to convey her horror.
    His grin grew wider. “Why yes, I believe I did. I had the honor of claiming you for a waltz. You danced very well.”
    “You mean I was drunk enough to be pliant. But there must have been a dozen witnesses to that I actually danced for the first time in my life. My reputation is ruined,” she moaned. “I am going to kill Malron.”
    “He danced with you too,” he assured her with a suspicious sparkle of mirth in his brown eyes. “Five times. I think Gelvar and several other friends of Malron did, as did Haldar’s friends, but no one danced with you more than twice.”
    “Killing him is too merciful.”
    Malron strolled outside as if he hadn’t drunk twice the amount of wine she had last night. “Is there a bit of trouble, sister-dear?” he asked with false solicitousness. “Methinks I heard you threatening to kill me.”
    She said viciously, “May the Valar take my pain and give it to you sevenfold.”
    “Why, sister-dear, I don’t know what I did to deserve that—” He continued over her snort and said, “I was going to bring you a tea to relieve your headache, but if you are planning to be so ungrateful…”
    “My lord,” she croaked in a fine parody of Kellan, “Mercy.”
The mirthful laughter that answered her words cleared away much of her headache.

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