The Deadly Trials

27 | Something Fluttered

// something fluttered // 

 With the pointe shoes secured on my feet, I stretched. I cycled through the positions: one, two, four, five, side. Then I added to the sets: first position to a plié, second position to relevé, fifth position to sauté. Then pirouttes and passés. My limbs stretched and contracted, pushed and pulled, reached and curled.

It was liberating, to feel my joints extend and pop, my feet and fingers point, my back bend — I melted into the comforts of arabesques and cabrioles. My anxieties faded with every jeté and cambré.

When I stopped, my breath came heavy, and sweat gathered at my hairline. But my lips pulled into a broad smile and I was lightheaded with elation.

I washed the sweat off my face. A knock sounded at my door. Brows furrowed, I headed to the door with the towel resting about my neck.

Before me stood someone I did not recognize. She couldn't have been more than five-feet-tall. She was made of angles: sharp cheekbones, high brow bones, pointed nose, protruding chin, and square jaw. Long sleek black hair fell in a braid to her thin waist, and her hickory eyes drilled into mine with a look of condescension and curiosity. She wore a baggy turtleneck and leggings that showed off her small ankles and wrists. And her fingers almost looked like they were just bone, no skin.

I took a step back. "Um, can I help you?"

She shoved her way into my room, slamming me against the door. I glared after her and sucked in a breath to tell her off, but she said, "I am Selra. It iz my job to ensure no mistakes before za royal family." She turned to face me. "Kupton?"

I blinked. "I — what?"

"Come," she commanded. But she joined me and grabbed my arms, raising them. She flipped my hands over in hers, tracing the lines of my palms. Then she pulled a string from thin air, measured my legs and waist, and flung it over her shoulder — the string vanished just as it had appeared.

When she forced me to spin around, I demanded, "Okay, Selra, what are you doing?"

Her hands froze at my waist. She removed them as she said, "I ensure no mistakes, Zonje. I am told you dance, and zo I make certain you do."

I rounded on her, arms crossed. "Well, I do dance. But you don't have to — to measure me to figure that out." I gestured to the outfits by the dresser.

Her eyes landed on my dresses. She puckered like she had tasted something sour. She clicked her tongue. "Jo, jo, we do better. Blue iz too subtle. Though good for your eyes—" her skeletal finger pointed at my face — "not strong enough. We want bam, yeah?"

"I — hey, hey, can we slow down for just one minute?" I huffed. "I don't understand what's going on."

She released a slow breath and glanced up at the ceiling. "Aye. From Earth, yes." Selra looked to me. "Zonje, His Highness say you dance. I make sure you dance. It iz true. His Highness say you dance for him. I make sure you look perfect enough to dance for him. Kupton?"

For a moment, we just stared stubbornly at each other. But I sighed in resignation and waved my hand.

Selra moved in front of my outfits. "Deze good, but we want better. We go to my quarters to get you a proper one."

Without looking back, she left and I had to scurry after her.

We didn't speak as we hurried through the castle corridors — Selra was fast for such a little thing. I had to jog to keep up.