Fanfic: Carnevale

[scarylady]

I come bearing a little ficlet.  This was actually written as a (Not-so) Secret Swooper for someone on SiB, but I figured you guys might enjoy it, too.

Title: Carnevale
Rating: G
Word count: 812
Characters:  Zevran + a young lady
Summary: What could be better than to spend Carnevale dancing with your beautiful lover?

 

 

Carnevale.  

The wild, masked festival, unique to Antiva City, was a time of celebration, but also a time of intrigue. Even the lowliest would wear a volto - a plain mask - for Carnevale, while the nobili and the rich commercianti vied with each other through the beauty and complexity of their bauta. Those who plied their trade in shadows picked and chose their marks as it suited them, weaving effortlessly into the crowds, making the most of this opportunity to undertake their work in more public places.

Those who were not working took advantage of the many pleasures on offer.

She watched him move through the crowds on the Piazza; her golden lover, gorgeous in cream and gold finery to match his mask. His bright hair and leonine eyes drew attention even in this crush and her lips curved, inordinately pleased that it was she who he came to meet.   This did not prevent her from playing with him a little; slipping through the crowds, using their shifting movement to her advantage, so that only occasionally did he catch a glimpse of the vivid deep red of her festival gown.

She too, attracted attention; a petite, dark-haired elf, sleek and graceful. Even here in Antiva - where the Corvi and the banks held all the power, while the nobili played at politics - even here, a finely dressed elf raised eyebrows, but not during Carnevale. The masks and costumes of the festival broke down all class barriers, and even a pair of pointed ears was ignored.

She made her way, with twists and turns that would have lost any normal man, to the open square where there was music and dancing, the festive air enhanced by coloured lanterns strung above them. Once there, she melted back, using the fortuitous combination of red and orange lanterns and a group of jugglers to hide the distinctive flame of her dress.

His cream and gold was easy to track as he prowled around the square seeking her, but between one group and another, a knot of tipsy dancers and a vendor of sticky sweetmeats, he vanished.  She bit her lip, her eyes flickering around the square, looking for a flash of cream doublet or golden hair. After a moment she deliberately relaxed, allowed her eyes to unfocus as she’d been taught, absorbing patterns of movement, seeking what was out of place.

“Behind you, piccolina mia.”

His honeyed voice was right by her ear; her Zevran, the only man who could approach her so unaware.   One arm slid around her waist while the other proffered a cup of wine. She spun in his arms to face him, a laughing sprite in red velvet and satin, her eyes sparkling behind her mask, and his wide, mobile mouth curved in response. With her hands over his she sipped from the goblet he held, and then deliberately turned it so that his lips would touch the same spot.

He drank with his molten eyes fixed upon her before setting the cup aside. “You wish to dance, dolcezza?” 

She did, indeed; why else would she have drawn him here, where the music played and feet tapped and spun on the flagstones? She wished to curtsey like a lady, with her hand grasped in his slim, strong fingers. She wished to see him bow, making a leg as the nobili did, and what fine shapely legs he had to display. She wished to be whirled in the dance until all she could see was his face; until the hard chiselled lines, the sinuous curl of his tattoo, were the only sharp, clear, real things in a blurring world.

Her killer; her beautiful killer.

When the dancing was done, when she collapsed against him, dizzy and elated, drunk on life and love, she whispered in his ear, her lips barely touching against the soft skin of the lobe.

“Ti amo,” she said. “Ti amo.” The words nearly swamped her; she had never believed that she would speak them.

He kissed her then, right there in the open square of the campi, investing his kiss with so much emotion she knew he returned her feelings. They clung together for a precious moment, anonymous behind their masks, able to pretend for just one evening that they were normal people, ordinary folk who could declare love and have it returned.

It was she who reluctantly pulled away. “We must go, amore mio, for in a few hours, we have a job to do, yes?” He nodded, and tucked her arm through his. It pleased her that tonight they would be together. Taliesin had chosen both of them, out of all in their cell, to accompany him on an important mission. Rinna’s heart soared that she would be working so closely with her love, with her Zevran.

And tomorrow, they could dance again at Carnevale.