Rehearsal

Roland was assigned two dance instructors, a guard and his wife, who met him in his tent, where prying eyes would not see how little their returned princeling knew about his heritage. The guard was to teach him the dances that the men did as a group, and his wife was there to aid with instruction in the mixed-gendered dances.

There were various dances, as Titania had alluded to, but many seemed relatively intuitive. Most were symbolic of some part of Rhone's history. There was a partnered dance where each couple engaged in moves to recreate the love story of a great past king and queen of Rhone. A lively, almost frantic dance of leaping and running represented the Rhone being driven out of their homeland and into the wilderness. Moves of whirling and twisting represented sand devils and storms they'd been through in their wanderings.

There was a dance that started individually with slow, crouched movements in silence that slowly built in speed and volume of the song as more of the dancers joined hands until everyone in the group was connected, traditionally around a bonfire. It represented the Rhone's first days in the Darkness, in silence and isolation until they slowly found each other and banded together for survival.

This was the dance that spoke to Roland most deeply, as he had woken in the Darkness alone and disoriented until Gabe found him. He hadn't even been there long enough to discover the oppressive silence, but he shuddered to imagine being trapped in there alone, wandering, groping about in the dark until finding a hand, like a lifeline.

He recalled what Titania had said about leadership, and it being based on fear. The loneliness and isolation of the Darkness would indeed inspire many to trust and follow whoever took their hand. The thought of Titania made him miss his next step. His strong suspicion that she intended to martyr him to rally her people together was not easily dismissed.

Maybe she'd merely awoken a deeply cynical part of him that he had tried to leave behind on the streets, but it would explain why she treated him the way she did, and let none of his actions be viewed as anything but virtuous and loyal. Virtuous martyrs were the best kind.

Thinking of the method was what bothered him. It would need to be fairly public to have the greatest impact. Maybe at the feast? If he were poisoned and killed at a feast in his honor, the outrage would be great, but not easily blamed on Klain. She could plant a scapegoat 'spy', but that might raise many questions about the loyalty of her own soldiers.

She could put him on the front lines of battle, but she had no guarantee that he would follow through on fighting for her willingly. It would be a risky strategy, and difficult to make sure he died in a visible, heroic way.

He would be on guard against her, and look for signs the trap around him was closing. In the mean time, he would continue playing the role she assigned him. Trying to thwart her before knowing the plan would prove impossible, and she was obviously clever and cutthroat enough to pivot if he made her.

Turning his attention back to his teachers, the next dance was not one of history, but of training. The movements mimicked those of a sparring match with spears, and the dancers each held a long wooden stick. It was fascinating given the very brief lesson he'd had with the weapons. Well, not so much a lesson as a beating.

He paid special attention to the graceful movements, gaining insight into the intricacies of fighting with such a weapon. Though the dance was not combat, and the thrusts and blocks were choreographed carefully, Roland memorized them not for the sake of the music, but to become a better fighter.

He pretended to himself that the reasons for wanting this were obvious: war was coming, and he needed to be as good a warrior as he could be, whatever weapon he held. However, a small part of him wondered if Prince Duncan would be impressed or proud if his prowess with the spear improved greatly.

He always had Dr. Sherman's approval, so his biological father's shouldn't matter to him. The man was the son of a murderous sorceress, why should his opinion hold any weight at all with Roland?

The answer bothered him. He wanted to be loved, approved of. Being an orphan on the streets took that feeling away from him for two very formative years, and he'd spent every moment since then struggling to fill that need.

Being a doctor's apprentice had provided him with ample opportunity for people to be thankful, proud of him, telling him what a good boy he was, and how helpful. He cringed. Though he knew Titania's approval was a manipulative veneer, it still was easier to bear than Duncan's continual rejection.

He sighed and continued learning the dance until the sweat poured from his face. It was grueling exercise. Not quite so bad as sparring, but with no breaks between matches. Eventually, his instructors called his skills 'adequate' and bowed to retire from their duty.

As they left, he collapsed against a cushion and drank heavily from a water skin he retrieved from a hook. Judging from the sun's position, he only had a few hours before the feast was to begin. After catching his breath and resting, he began cleaning himself for the coming festivities.

He'd learned during one of Titania's little history tidbits that the sandy-colored uniforms the Rhone wore were relics from their days wandering in the desert. The formal garb, such as would be worn at the feast tonight, was black as night. It was a nod to the strength that comes from surviving the Darkness.

How interesting, Roland thought, to make the thing they are trying so hard to escape from a central theme of their celebratory attire. It seemed ironic to him, but apparently that did not occur to anyone else.

Titania had provided such a uniform for him, and it was laid out across the table now. Although Klain had a clearly designated hierarchy of military rank on their uniforms, he could see none readily apparent on the garb before him. It looked to be a well made but simple uniform of a long black coat with shiny ebony buttons, a lighter weight black shirt, and matching breeches.

He tried on the uniform and wondered again if every one was identical. How did one differentiate ranks without insignia of some kind? Was Rhone so small that everyone knew each other and there was no need for demarcation?

Or perhaps the other uniforms were different. He had no rank, after all, so his uniform might be plain as that of the lowest recruit. Though Titania had made his birthright clear, he had earned nothing. Maybe this was to give him an appearance of humility even in the midst of a feast where he was the guest of honor.

He was sure Titania knew what she was doing. He only wished he knew as well.

As if she could hear his thoughts (was that within her capabilities?), the woman appeared at the entrance of his tent.

"Derek! How marvelous you look! Oh, it suits you so well I could cry." She pressed a hand to her mouth as if to prevent a sob from escaping. He adjusted his jacket and stood up straight to await any further assessment.

She scurried over to turn the collar of his coat up, so that instead of the lapels lying flat, they reached up around his ears. It gave the coat a much more intimidating look, and Roland touched the lapels quizzically.

"They go up around your ears as a symbol of the silence in the Darkness. Without the light, we are deaf to each other and to the needs of the people." Titania explained. "When the bonfire is lit, the lapels will be turned down, and the feast will begin."

So much symbolism to remember! Roland was desperately storing information away for when it might be needed. He nodded at the queen, confirming that he understood.

"Are there any other instructions or formalities I need to know?" He asked.

"Such a conscientious grandson," She smiled, taking his arm. "As the guest of honor, you will escort me to my seat. Your father will give a short welcome speech before lighting the fire. Once the feast begins, the visitors will take turns coming to greet you. I will introduce each one, and you must repeat and remember their names. After the feast, the dances will begin. You must participate in the first and last dances, and any others you are inclined to.

"Please do your best, Derek, but you may always ask me for direction if you do not know." Titania patted his arm softly. "Now, I must go and dress myself, I just wanted to check on you before I did so. I also brought you a little book of history of the Rhone. It is precious; as a nomadic people we carry very little in the way of books. Please keep it safe and treat it gently."

"Thank you, your Majesty. I will see you later." Roland bowed, and Titania smiled at him and left, leaving behind the little book on the table.