Finvarra's Circus

19- Not About Them

The bell outside tolled. Leanna released her hands that she gathered at her lap and rose. She glanced at the mirror and swallowed deeply. The dress she wore was breathtaking, as were the others that now hung in her wardrobe—gifts from Minerva.

In returning to her tent after rehearsals, Leanna found Yelena hanging up the trunkful of dresses in her room. Minerva had made them before going to sleep. Never in her life had she seen so many gowns! There were gold and silver muslins, some embroidered with threads made to sparkle under the moonlight. There were gorgeous walking gowns—even her morning dresses were made of fine material. There were wide scoop necklines, low squared ones, modest and some that made Leanna blush. She'd never worn dresses so... revealing. Just the thought of Finvarra seeing her in one of them made her a little dizzy. All in all, it was a wardrobe fit for a Queen...

But it was the black gown and glittering veil Leanna now wore that had been set out on her bed, waiting for her—to bring her back to the devastating reality that the bonfire that night was also a funeral.

Leanna exhaled. The last time she'd worn mourning attire had been after her mother's death. Clad in black, all the time since that horrible day evaporated, leaving a very present pain.

Swallowing the ache, she lowered the sheer veil, walked to the curtains and parted them.

"As beautiful as I imagined." Minerva's lips curled to a half smile, her red lipstick replaced by a coal tint. She too abandoned color and wore black, as did all those who walked past behind her, heading toward the open field. With the light of the pixies gone, it seemed all color and life vanished from the circus. The air smelled of nothing, scents of brine and woods fading to the numbing void of death.

Though gladdened to see Minerva, a hollow ache invaded Leanna's heart. She lowered her eyes and cursed the childish hope that led her to believe it would be Finvarra escorting her that night. Surely he wouldn't want to be near her after the previous night and afternoon. How could she expect it when she'd nearly taken his heart—twice?

Leanna frowned. Silently ashamed of her confession of love and its consequence, she slid her fingers into Minerva's waiting hand. It had been a foolish thing to say—perhaps too much, too soon. But in looking to the melancholy hanging thick in the air, Leanna's frown deepened. The previous night's declaration didn't matter. Her and Finvarra's problems and confusion would be waiting come morning light. That night was not about them.

"Finvarra asked if I would see you to the ceremony," Minerva spoke through Leanna's glum thoughts. She adjusted her lace scarf over her silvery hair. "Luna is taking it particularly hard, and he wished to escort her."

Leanna deflated. "Of course, of course—yes. As he should." There was disappointment in her voice. She didn't mean for it, but—Leanna sighed—her heartfelt what it felt. How did one behave after a kiss, after all? This was all so new and foreign. The thought of him—of his lips, of his hands made her blood whips of fire, castigating her from within. It was so much easier missing a figment of her dreams. But Finvarra had proven himself to be very real...