Tamza was thrown in with the other useful Vaasarians in a makeshift prison at the palace. One of the larger rooms in a smaller outbuilding had been turned into their cell. There was barely enough room for each person to sit.

She wrapped her headscarf tighter. It was growing dark and the high, open windows shed no light. A cool breeze blew in and she shivered. Her fellow Vaasarians, about one hundred of them, fell into distinct groups. Those who sat alone, silent, shocked, rocking or staring intensely at nothing. Those who gathered near others and mumbled, angrily, and those who wept, arms around each other, distraught.

“Tamza,” a female voice said from deeper inside the room.

Tamza squinted in the half-light and saw the healer Maryam, sat with a group of women who cried or wailed. Maryam was soothing them with quiet words.

“Tamza,” Maryam said again, “here.”

Tamza edged over to the woman who had healed her face all those seasons ago when she was nine. A woman of similar age to her mother, and at the time of the accident, a new healer with little experience. Her mother had trusted Maryam, and they had become firm friends. Maryam was a short, comely woman, with a cloud of greying curls that framed her face. She had kind eyes, a warm, welcoming presence and a soft voice that naturally drew people to her. Tamza sunk to the floor and into the healer’s embrace.

“Dabecki killed Sumear,” Tamza sobbed.

“Dabecki killed many people today,” Maryam replied.

“He stabbed him, in front of the bears.”

“My husband had an arrow in his head.” Maryam’s steady voice wavered with emotion.

“I’m so sorry. So much death.”

“And we have survived. We should be grateful to be here and not taken by the wild, dark skinned warriors.”

Tamza shook to the core. Yaseena. “Could we save them somehow? Is there nothing we can do?” Tamza’s voice rose to a high pitch and drew glances in her direction. She started to wail loudly, overcome with despair, for once not caring what attention she drew.

Maryam shushed her and stroked her hair. “We’ve had the same conversation, over and over already. It is hopeless. We are here now, and we must accept it. Let us think of something else… why don’t you tell me how your mother and father met, how they fell in love? It is one of my favourite stories, one your mother recounted to me many times.”

Tamza sobbed harder, tried to speak but couldn’t shape the words on her tongue.

“Shall I tell it?” Maryam asked, and Tamza nodded into her chest. “Ladies,” Maryam said to the other women gathered around her, “I am going to tell a story. A story about love. If you wish to hear it, move closer.”

Some women frowned or stood and walked away. But a number shuffled nearer. Tamza understood what her mother’s friend was doing. Maryam healed physical and mental anguish, and was attempting to distract them fleetingly from the horrors of the day, to heal their pain by reminding them of the good in the world. Tamza’s mother was proud of this story, would recount it with elation to whoever listened. Hayat had been so in love with Sumear, from the moment she met him until her last breath and Tamza believed it would please her to know her story was being shared once again.

When the women were settled, Maryam began.

“Hayat was born at the palace into luxury, largesse and power. Her mother, Tamza’s grandmother, was an exotic dancer called Sallah, famed as the most beautiful woman in all Vaasar. From the blessed day that Hayat took her first steps, Sallah taught her daughter how to dance. As she blossomed into a young woman, Hayat became the most accomplished dancer history had ever known. But not just any dancer, for Sallah, and now her daughter Hayat, were blessed with the ability to perform the exquisite Enchanted Dance which mesmerised all who viewed it – and if the dancer so desired – she could enchant one in particular by bestowing upon that individual her undivided, intense attention. Sallah had chosen one of the most powerful men in Vaasar, the Keeper-Of-Things-That-Come-Up, who had succumbed instantly and passionately to Sallah’s magic, and sired Hayat.

“The young Hayat was more ambitious than her mother, and when the time came, her beauty blooming into something so breathtaking that men would fall at her feet, Hayat selected the son of Vizier Mafak, who was similar in age to her. Hayat, ever the dreamer, believed she would be happy with the handsome Khalled, who would grow to be the next Vizier of Vaasar. She performed her first dance with her mother to an audience that included her father, Vizier Mafak, his son Khalled and the Vizier’s executives. Khalled fell under Hayat’s spell in a heartbeat and claimed her immediately, declaring his unwavering love for the dancer.

“Hayat was ecstatic, her years of practice had borne fruit and she had the man of her dreams. But, alas, far from falling in love with Khalled, Hayat was miserable. He treated her courteously, and kindly, but he could not see her, not truly, for he was blinded by her exterior beauty. He saw only her voluptuous figure, smooth skin, dainty hands and feet. He saw only her fine features, full lips and striking eyes. He did not listen to what she had to say, or encourage her in her interests – namely horse-riding – and he had no conversation. Hayat grew bored and restless in his company, and resigned herself to believing that this was love.

“Hayat did not bear any children to Khalled, which surprised her, but also confirmed her unhappiness. She believed her womb was miserable too and rejected his seed. Seasons passed, Khalled became the Vizier and every night Hayat danced for him, weaving her enchantment deeper. He was utterly besotted with her.

“On a day no different to any other, Hayat trotted her horse around the palace gardens and out on the Great Fields for a canter. But the Gods had other plans for her on that day, and as she came close to the bear enclosure, she saw two men training their huge beasts. Suddenly a bear’s roar split the sky and her horse reared, viciously throwing her from its back. She lay crumpled on the grass, stunned, and all went dark.

“The younger of the two men dashed to her rescue, effortlessly scaling the enclosure’s fence and kneeling at her side, checking gently to see if she was hurt.

“Slowly Hayat came to her senses and opened her eyes to be overwhelmed with the purest, most joyous light. It came from her rescuer’s eyes, a dazzling blue, like the sun shimmering over the ocean. In that moment, with every shred of her being, she fell in love.

“This man, Sumear, was the son of the bear tamer Lacki, who had first captured and brought the bears back to Vaasar. Sumear delicately helped Hayat to her feet and escorted her carefully back to the palace. He formally said his goodbyes and wished her well.

“The next day, she heard that the bear tamer’s son had caught her errant horse and brought it back to the palace stables with a message asking after Hayat’s wellbeing.

“On the third day, Hayat went to the bear enclosure and waited patiently for Sumear to appear, elegantly sitting on a tree stump nearby. Hours later, Sumear strolled up from town, carrying his vegetables and whistling. He saw Hayat by the gate, stopped in his tracks as if confronted by a great wall, and promptly dropped everything, his turnips and onions rolling down the hill back towards the marketplace. She rushed to help him retrieve his produce, but he just laughed and told her he’d rather spend his time with her than looking for his vegetables and he left them exactly where they were. They walked, they talked, they laughed, as if they were two halves blissfully slotting together as a whole. Sumear introduced Hayat to his half-wild bears who nuzzled her and – much to the bear tamer’s surprise – permitted her to fuss over them like docile pets.

“On the fourth day, Hayat knew she had to unravel herself from the Vizier. She had never performed the dance in reverse, and no exotic dancer had ever attempted such a feat. Her mother Sallah did not think it possible and begged her daughter not to do it. But Hayat was determined. Night after night Hayat danced for Khalled, and he became more and more disgusted with her until he banished her from his sight. He believed he’d simply fallen out of love with the woman.

“To hide her beauty from other men, Hayat took to wearing a black cloak and headscarf, made from the wool of a rare flock of black sheep. Slowly she melted away from palace life and the court’s awareness. On the sad day that Sallah died, all links to the palace were cut, and Hayat snuck away to marry Sumear and live forever with the man she adored.

“Within a season, they had their first child, Araf. Hayat finally knew love. But more importantly, she learnt something that her mother hadn’t learnt, nor her grandmother or great grandmother.

“Hayat learnt that a man could love her without her having to enchant him. And she was set free.”

Tamza’s eyes stung from weeping, and she glanced up at Maryam. The healer was smiling kindly, silent tears streaming down her plump cheeks.

Tamza took a long breath, and with effort, said, “I do believe that where my father fell today, is the place where he first met my mother, when he helped her up from her fall.”

The noise of the door opening startled Tamza and her little group from its reverie. A Fert soldier walked into the room, a candle in one hand and his sword in the other. A second soldier waited outside. The first soldier indicated Tamza, and beckoned her to come with him. Her heart fluttered as she slowly stood, praying to the Bear-God that she would be delivered back to Maryam soon.

She followed the soldier, all eyes in the room on her. She didn’t squirm, as she would have previously. I have more to fear now than my fellow Vaasarians looking at me.

Outside hunched the traitor, Dabecki. He thrust a pile of clothes into Tamza’s hands and a bucket of water, in it a round sponge made of the plant root they used to wash themselves. “Found these in the concubine quarter, wear something suitable for your performance later, and don’t forget to scrub up. I’ll be back for you in an hour.”

The door slammed in her face and she staggered back to Maryam, carrying the clothes and bucket. Mercifully, the prisoners had all been provided with food and water, so no one lunged for the bucket, but everyone watched with curiosity as Tamza placed it down and slumped next to Maryam once again.

“What is he talking about? What are those?” Maryam asked, eyes wide with alarm.

“I must dance for that monster King in an hour.”

“Dance? Do you know how?”

Tamza sighed. “Yes, I know. Papa taught me how to tame bears along with my brothers, before they left to go to sea, and Mama taught me the dances. I’ve never performed a dance in public, I chose bear taming.”

Maryam’s eyebrows shot up. “You had better get ready then.” The healer stood and ushered up the surrounding women, “And we had better help her.”

They commandeered a corner, the women surrounding Tamza as she undressed. The Vaasarians were used to public bathing, there were bathhouses that used water from the river, near to where it flowed into the sea in the small harbour. Personal hygiene was important to Vaasarians, who washed every day. One side of the river was for the women, the other for the men. The water warmed by those with the ability to heat it. Not one of those talented Vaasarians remained.

Tamza scrubbed herself with the cool water, vigorously, as if attempting to scour the day’s atrocities from her memory. Blood, so much blood. The heap of dead Vaasarian men and women being picked at by scavengers. Yaseena given to those wild warriors, her children murdered in front of her... A shooting pain split Tamza’s head, and she placed a hand on the wall to steady her. My father dead. And now I must dance for his murderer.

Tamza’s teeth clenched as she ran the sponge in long strokes down her legs. Use my dance, enchant Dabecki, find a way to murder him, as he murdered Sumear. Thoughts of sticking one of those swords through Dabecki’s gut entered her mind. She pictured the disgraceful man wailing for his life pitifully as she pushed it in deeper, deeper.

She shook her body like a dog when it leaves the river, droplets splattering on the ground. She stood for a few moments, air drying, gooseflesh all over her skin. She fought the shivers. I must be brave if I’m to take another’s life.

She pulled on the dancer’s clothes. A bright pink cropped tube with straps that fell seductively down her upper arms and was split at the back to show off her small hump. It was cut low and squashed her breasts together. She pulled on the matching flowing trousers, that hung from her hips and dipped at the front under her belly button. The trousers were cuffed at the ankles, but had slits from waistband to ankle on the outside of each leg. Her midriff was exposed, and she felt naked. She’d never worn such little clothing.

Her body was lean and muscular from caring for the bears, but still showed glimpses of her mother’s sensual, curvaceous figure. A small waist, ample bosom and hips. A round bottom. The thought of all those men ogling her made her scowl.

But I’ll get revenge.

She combed her fingers through her thick brown hair that fell to her shoulders and put on the trinkets. A rope with dangling shells went around her waist, small ties with shells around each ankle and each wrist, the final around her head, a glistening tiny shell sat perfectly between her arched eyebrows, to draw attention to the eyes of the dancer. My father’s blue eyes.

“Maryam,” Tamza said tentatively.

The healer turned. “You look exquisite.”

Tamza pulled her cloak and headscarf on over the top of the costume. She looked desperately up at Maryam. “I don’t think I can remember what to do.”

“Take some time for yourself, go through the dances in your mind. You’ll soon remember.” Maryam moved the women away to give Tamza some space.

Tamza turned to face the corner and closed her eyes. She had last danced with her mother shortly before her death, in a bid to raise her spirits. That was nine seasons earlier, but they had stopped practicing when Tamza was thirteen. Tamza picked a dance and started to hum it, running through the movements in her mind. Her body swayed as the choreography came back to her. She pictured eight more dances in this way.

She was surprised that she could remember them all. But will my body remember? Can it still bend and flex as the movements require? Am I strong enough to hold my balance in some of the trickier postures? Tamza started to limber up, stretching muscles and fluidly contorting into positions, precisely how her mother had taught her.

A bark from the soldier at the door. Tamza hugged Maryam and walked through the room, her shells jingling. The prisoners murmuring well wishes and good lucks to her. She dipped her head to acknowledge them, thankful for the encouragement.