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paced the room, and glanced at the square down below, where long tables had been set with jugs of wine and plates ready for the feast. There were several people down there already, chattering and laughing.
She was standing in the youngest Seer’s bedroom; a hammock hung in the far corner above a brightly-coloured rug, and in the middle wall was a fireplace. In the humid summer, the grate had been cold for many nights now. The stone floor was pleasantly cool and the white-framed mirror was nearly as big as the entire wall. Aya and five other Elves worked as servants for the youngest Seer, Llyliana, who had already gone down to the feast with four of her servants.
“Aya,” said a small Elf girl at the door, dressed in identical robes to Aya, but of bright orange. “It’s time to go.”
They left the bed chamber and ventured down the spiral staircase. Aya felt more and more uneasy with each step she took. She had practised the dance routine over and over again for weeks, but it all seemed to be fading fast from her mind.
“Aya?” said the Elf, who was dainty and pretty, her pale blonde hair tied in plaits that curled behind her ears. She gently touched Aya’s arm, smiling encouragingly. “Don’t be nervous. This is a great honour.”
Aya smiled back. “Indeed it is.”
The village was barely recognisable. A large round platform had been built in the middle of the square, lit by hundreds of lanterns of different colours, a small orchestra sitting in front of it, ready to play. They held horns and violins, small drums and pan flutes, held by a mixture of old and young Elves that looked just as nervous as Aya felt.
Several long wooden tables stood side by side along the street, decorated with hundreds of strips of ribbon and lanterns, matching those that had been hung on the surrounding houses and the platform. Elves of all ages had gathered round the tables, sipping wine and laughing loudly. At the top table sat the three Seers; the youngest, a pretty woman named Llyliana with chestnut hair and wearing white, flowing robes, and two older women, smiling at the joyful Elves around them. It warmed Aya’s heart to see such happiness in the village, and for a moment, her nerves were forgotten.
“Every Elf in the city must be here!” said the small Elf beside Aya, clapping her hands in excitement as they walked between the tables, nodding at Elves they knew, and smiling gracefully as older women commented on how lovely they looked.
“My child,” said Dorran as they reached him, stretching his arms wide and gesturing to an empty space next to him. “You look beautiful! Come, sit with me.”
Aya joined her father. “Alviér, father,” she said, sitting down and taking a glass of pink berry wine.
“You will be the highlight of the evening! If only your mother were here to see you,” Dorran smiled sadly. “Did you know that she danced in the midnight dance too?”
“Is that so?” Aya said anxiously. She always felt uncomfortable when her father spoke of her mother. Aya hadn’t seen her mother since she was a small child – she hadn’t died, she had just disappeared. It wasn’t often Dorran spoke about her. Aya glanced at her father’s goblet. It was nearly empty, and he was already shouting for a refill.
In the next few moments the food was served, greeted by hungry cheers. As the E lves ate, jugglers and dancers performed around the tables, music playing merrily in the background. It was a lovely place to be that night, and Aya soon relaxed and laughed along with her fellow Elves. The food was delicious, everyone talked and laughed merrily, clashing goblets together in a toast and singing old village songs.
“Aya!” called a voice to her right. It was Neecrid, who was sitting with her own family, and dressed in dancers’ robes of bright blue. She smiled mischievously, pointed at her plate, and mouthed the word “berries”. Aya snorted loudly, and quickly disguised it as a loud sneeze.
Flint, Aya’s older