“I’m sorry that the lead was a bust.” Sorrel perched on the balcony railing, enjoying the cool night air. “I don’t understand how she can just walk away like that.”

Coppelius shifted, turning away so she could not catch a clear view of his face, except for the scar like a spider’s web around his eye. “I don’t blame her. I can’t blame anyone, for not wanting to get involved in all of this.”

He fiddled with the slender silver chain around his neck. “I’m not sure I would’ve gotten involved, if she hadn’t. . . “

He suddenly turned to her, something earnest and pleading in those indigo eyes. “It’s the same for you, isn’t it?”

Was it?

“I’m not so sure.” She looked out to the water. The moon of Lemuria was much bigger and closer than the ones hanging over Perrault. “I never knew you were out there. And I never had the opportunity to even leave home, to be a part of this story. I guess I’d like to think that even if the Annwynese Empire never came to Perrault that I would have still helped you, one way or another.”

When she looked back to Coppelius, he was smiling with a wistfulness she couldn’t entirely understand.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

She tilted her head. “It’s never nothing, not with a look like that.”

He laughed, before his expression grew solemn and contemplative. “I guess. . . I just wish I had your courage. And that there were more people like you.”

“Oh.” Sorrel wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that. She reached out to touch his hand.

He did not shy away from the action, and so they sat there for a moment in the quiet.

That part wasn’t so different from home, Sorrel decided. There was never silence on Perrault either, not even on the nights of the heaviest snowfall. There was always the hum of electricity, the sounds of the city coming from somewhere. With Lemuria, it was the tides and the distant sounds of fireworks and cheers of party-goers.

“So, what’s next?” Sorrel finally asked, ready to breach the silence. “Since the lead didn’t work out, I guess that leaves us to find a ship, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” Coppelius looked to her with a twinkle in his eye, with a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But, I also know that tomorrow is the start of the Seaborn Festival, one of the biggest holidays on Lemuria. And given how Lemurian parties are legendary. . .”

“Wait, really?” Sorrel shook her head. “But don’t we have more important things to do?”

Coppelius shrugged. “We do. But also, I’ve never been to Lemuria in all my travels before. Who knows when I’ll get to see it again?”

He looked down to the water. “Don’t get me wrong—I want to find my father and bring in the Spider-Queen’s defeat. And that’s what I’ll do. But I don’t think she has the right to stop me from living either.”

Sorrel considered that. “I guess not.”

Besides, now that he’d mentioned it—the idea of experiencing some big party on a tropical world like this was tempting. An adventure in its own right.

“Deal, then.”

He smiled. “Oh, I think you’ll love it—if you like the fireworks tonight, they are nothing compared to what’s happening tomorrow night.”

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He wasn’t wrong, Sorrel couldn’t help but think as they approached the Governor’s mansion.

People were pouring in and out, as Governor Albion had opened her home to the festivities of the opening night of the Seaborn Festivals. Everyone was dressed in finery of the Lemurian styles, in bright colors with embroidery that glowed in the dark and flowing silhouettes. All wore masks covering the top half of their face. Some had more elaborate masks with glowing paint, while others settled for simple shiny domino-masks with no details. Many carried either drinks or little sparkler-fireworks, oblivious to the elaborate ones soaring overhead.

“How do they do that?” Sorrel murmured, watching a multi-colored dragon made of fireworks soar and move around before disappearing.

Coppelius chuckled. “Lemurian fireworks are famous for being so intricate. I’ve heard that it takes twenty years to apprentice yourself to an expert pyrotechnic here before they start teaching you the secret stuff.”

“Whoa.” Sorrel stopped in the middle of the street, just to watch as this time fish appeared, swirled in a circle together, and then merged into one before disappearing entirely.

“You’re also going to love the food and the dancing inside,” Coppelius declared as he linked his arm into Sorrel’s.

“I can’t wait.” Sorrel couldn’t help but put a little bounce in her step.

Tonight she could forget the mission, the destruction of Perrault, the Spider-Queen and the task in front of her. Tonight, she was a girl in love at the greatest party in the entire system.

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Gwynn could never have imagined such splendor before in her life. Everywhere she turned in the Governor’s ballroom, there was gold. Gold on the necks, ears, and wrists of every woman and many of the men in the ballroom, gold in the wiring of the glass cage that formed the dome of the ceiling, gold of the pinpricks of stars making their light shine through the fireworks and the lights of the people below.

A full symphony was at work, all for the benefit of the dancers on the center of the floor. They whirled together like gears in a clock, moving together perfectly. Others around them busied themselves with talk over finger-foods consisting of fish, rice, and pineapples or glasses of champagne.

Gwynn stood paralyzed in the corner, clutching fistfuls of her red satin gown. She hadn’t expected it to be quite so busy or so crowded. Even the center of town on Bonfire Night wasn’t like this.

She wasn’t even sure why she’d come. Maybe it was to try and spark an adventure of her own, given that any chances of being anything more than the shy homebody had been shot down by her older sister. There was still a bitter pang there, when she thought of Sorrel. It had barely been two days since she’d turned around and walked away.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

She missed her. She was sure that if Sorrel were here with her, she’d be pulling her onto the dance floor in spite of all her reservations. She’d find some way to make her laugh, to make her enjoy the night, to dance.

For all she knew, her sister could be here, although it would be impossible to tell with all of the people. But functionally, Gwynn was still all alone here, unable to step out from one of the ballroom columns and the shadow behind it into the light.

There was one person she recognized, however. In the center of the dance floor, all night was none other than Kiana Albion, the young governor of Lemuria.

Her flowing sleeveless dress with organza layers and a sweetheart neckline was the same turquoise blue as her hair, with shimmering magenta embroidery in the shape of lotus-like flowers. Her skirt layers and hair flared out as she twirled and twirled, gliding through the air as if through water. She had not once strayed from the dance floor the entire night. With endless energy, she was there for every dance, for every waltz and every fast-paced skipping song.

Over the last two days, Gwynn might have only seen glimpses of the Governor of Lemuria once or twice. But what she saw of her character, from her handling of the Perraultian refugee crisis to the Seaborn Festival had her intrigued.

Observing her like this, Gwynn realized that Kiana Albion wasn’t much older than she was. How did she bear it, all that responsibility at so young?

Maybe that was why she danced like that, Gwynn thought. That was the only way you could bear responsibility like that. Maybe that was why she couldn’t bear hers—because she could never bring herself to dance.

She was drawn out of her thoughts by what felt like a little pin-prick, a little nudge from some deeper part of her mind, a tingle down her spine. She turned to see a figure approaching, a man only barely taller than her, dressed entirely in black with a golden mask that resembled a wolf somewhat.

“Hello there.” She tilted her head as he slowed his approach. Something about him felt hauntingly familiar—but she could not place why. “You must be here for the party too.”

“I am.” The wolf’s voice was slow, stilting—as if he were struggling for words. “I couldn’t help but come over to you.”

Gwynn raised her eyebrows. “And why is that?”

The wolf smiled—but it was a kind smile, Gwynn decided. “I saw you standing by yourself and thought a pretty girl like yourself couldn’t be left alone like that.”

He then offered her a gloved hand. “May I?”

Gwynn could feel the heat radiating from her cheeks as she smiled all the same. “You may.”

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Outside of the glass-covered ballroom was a patio of sorts, lined with a marble railing and several giant pots of flower-hedges unique to the Avalon Archipelago of Lemuria, those magenta flowers that were embroidered over Kiana’s dress. The tides were filled with little blue stars that were not reflections of the ones above—no, it was a unique phenomenon found in the waters of Lemuria.

Sorrel stumbled out onto this patio, holding onto Coppelius’s arm for dear life.

“Are you alright?” He helped her sit down on the railing.

“Yeah, I just have to get these shoes off.” Sorrel swung her legs up onto the railing and pushed aside the white petal-like top layers of her skirt and the black organza under-layers to get at the straps of the black dancing shoes.

“I’m sorry, they must not have fit right.” Coppelius removed his mask. “Do you need help?”

“No, no, I’ve got it.” At that, Sorrel had finally undone the lace on the left foot. Relief bloomed down her ankle and where the edges of the shoe had pushed into her skin, leaving angry red marks behind. She made work of the right shoe far more quickly, now that she’d figured out the trick. While she was in the business of removing uncomfortable items, she decided to match Coppelius and ditch her mask as well.

The sea breeze blew a little more fiercely on this side of the Governor’s mansion, enough to cover most sounds coming from inside. The wind was also somewhat of a relief after the suffocating heat of the ballroom. And there was something to be said about a better view of the fireworks from out here.

She glanced out at the sea a moment as Coppelius leaned over the side.

“It’s a lovely night.”

“It certainly is.” He wasn’t looking at the view, but rather directly at her.

When she met his gaze, however, he quickly looked away. He fiddled with the signet ring.

“Tell me, how have you been enjoying the party?”

“I love it, the food is so good, and the dancing was just like on Bonfire Night, but there were so many more people and—“ Sorrel cut herself off with a smile. “It was just a wonderful night, thank you.”

She reached for his hand. It was almost worrying, how comfortably and casually she was slipping her hand into his like this. “Do you do things like this often?”

“Nothing like the Seaborn Festival, of course.” He grinned and gently squeezed her hand. “But doing things like this—an immortal life isn’t one worth living, without nights like this.”

He peered out at the water again. He could change so quickly, Sorrel noticed, between mischief and solemnity.

“It’s nights like these that we’ll feel human.”

He then straightened. “Do you want to go back and have another dance?”

Sorrel shook her head. “I’d like to stay out here, if you don’t mind. But you can go back in if you want to.”

He instead hopped up on the railing beside her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

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The wolf led Gwynn onto the dance floor with all of the grace of a nobleman, or someone upper-class, anyway. Someone who would know all of the fancy dances that the people dancing with the Governor and her cohort would, at least. She’d simply have to follow his lead. After all, what would an innkeeper’s daughter from the Border Worlds know of such things?

Still, she had to admit that she was thrilled that such a thing was happening to her of all people!

The musicians paused for a little longer, as the dancers shuffled into the crowd and vice-versa. Even Kiana Albion had finally vanished into the crowd. Far fewer dancers now stood in the center of the ballroom, leaving Gwynn feeling exposed.

“Don’t be nervous,” the wolf murmured. “I’ll guide you.”

Gwynn nodded and bit her lip, not trusting herself to speak.

Then the orchestra began again. This song was slower, with more tension in the strings. A waltz, perhaps, but one with an edge that left goosebumps on Gwynn’s pale skin. Beautiful, of course, but a far cry from the previous fast-paced joyous melodies that had filled the ballroom just before.

The wolf stayed true to his word. With a gentle yet firm grip on her hand and her waist, he guided her across the ballroom in the spins and footwork of a more elaborate dance, one that Gwynn wasn’t entirely sure she knew the name of.

“Have you danced before?” The wolf asked as he guided her into a spin under his arm.

“Only when I was little,” Gwynn answered. “My sister and I took lessons at a ballet troupe’s studio not far from home.”

Madame Ciaravola, she remembered the name was. She’d been a student at the Aggripina Ballet School, one of the best in the system. With striking red hair, a more coppery color than the darker auburn-adjacent of Sorrel’s, she commanded attention on the stage. She’d originally come from Perrault, and had formed her troupe in attempt to bring more attention to the stories and culture of their tiny Border World by bringing their stories to life.

“We didn’t last long in those, though,” Gwynn assured the wolf as they came back together. “My sister, she was too impatient, she could never keep still or listen for very long.”

“And what about you?”

“Oh, well, I didn’t want to do it without my sister.” Gwynn could feel her cheeks heating up again. “We were inseparable then. I wouldn’t have thought of it.”

The wolf said nothing, merely nodding to indicate that he was listening.

“Besides, it wouldn’t have lasted long anyway,” she added. “I doubt we really had enough money to keep doing it forever.”

“I see.” The wolf had her on the back-foot, stepping back in time to the music before another spin, the two of them interlocked. “Where is your sister, then?”

“Oh, we’re not really together anymore.” Gwynn’s throat went dry. “She. . . she had her own journey to go on. One I couldn’t really follow.”

He then pulled back, and it was him moving back to the music.

“Have we met before, sir?” Gwynn could no longer push back the nagging doubts in her mind. She had thought it to be nervousness or anxiety about being in the center of the ballroom like this. But there was something else to it, too. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“I’m no sir,” he laughed. “I’d rather you never called me that again.”

“Right.” Gwynn bit her lip again.

“You shouldn’t do that,” the wolf chided. “I’d hate for a pretty girl such as yourself to get hurt.”

“You haven’t answered my question.” Her voice dropped, cold as the snows she had left behind.

“I haven’t,” he agreed, and he lifted his arm again for her to spin under. “But I had hoped to avoid the unpleasantness for at least another song.”

“The unpleasantness?” Gwynn’s mind was whirring as she faced him again, her hand in his, the other on her waist. A chill went down her spine. “Versailles!”

He pulled her into a dip, and his grin seemed all the more wolfish as he looked down at her. “I’ve been looking for you, Gwyneira.”