The castle grounds were quiet. No screaming cicadas. Not even the trimmed trees dared to blow in the wind. The only sound came from the eternal rushing of Heaven’s Fall.

That changed as she entered Muse House. Like it was a great stone nightbeast, Muse House woke with the dark. Tonight wasn’t an especially raucous night—a few nobles and guards sat around the main room, and their Entertainment moved among the couches or draped over their laps, laughing and drinking and teasing, or else leading them to one of the bedrooms for some privacy.

Belle was able to slip through them, invisible. Not even Jac noticed her, but then again she was distracted by Lady Ishe in her dress armor. Belle made her way to the room that, while technically hers, she spent few nights in. The walls of Muse House were enchanted to seal sound within them, but the instant Belle cracked the door open, she heard:

Riiiiiiiiiiip

Belle’s room was in shambles.

Feathers coated the floor and most of the furniture. Everything that a small monster could knock over was knocked over, everything four little clawed paws could climb was covered in scratches, and everything a too-big mouth full of teeth could sink into had been shredded, sawed in half, or eaten and then promptly puked back up.

When Belle had stopped by Muse House earlier to renew the sleeping spell on her little beast, she’d had the foresight to move her clothing and valuables to Jac’s room, so at least they were safe.

In the middle of the room with half a silk sheet in his mouth stood Kitten. As soon as his bright, yellow-green eyes fell on Belle, he launched himself at her.

No, she said in Xo, and he skidded into her shins, feathers flying up from his feet. In Xo, a word was never just a word—he knew she was serious. Disappointed.

The little beast blinked up at her, confused.

Manners, she reminded him sharply. They’d talked about this on the way back to Broken Earth, that manners were important, especially for a little monster that had to live around humans. This, she gestured to the mess he’d made, is rude. You hurt my things.

Bored with this, Kitten shot off to race around the room, kicking up feathers in his wake. He had obviously been practicing his route because he knew exactly when to jump and where to land.

“Kitten!”

He hugged the corner of her wooden wardrobe and climbed it with remarkable speed.

“Kitten!” she put heat in her tone.

Glittering eyes peered down at her from the top of the marred wardrobe. He growled, Play.

She’d known this was what she would be walking into, and she couldn’t be mad. He was a baby, a wild monster, and she hated that she’d had to shut him in here, even just for a few hours. She hated that yet again she’d had to put him into that enchanted sleep, and when he woke up, she wasn’t there.

Play later, she said, and had to take a break to cough—her throat was still raw from this morning. We’re going outside, to where Julius and some other friends live. But first, you have to show good manners.

At “Julius,” his head perked up. His face split, quite literally, in a many-fanged smile. A few feathers were stuck between his teeth.

Do you have good mann—?

Before she could finish the question, he’d launched himself from the wardrobe and tackled her, front legs wrapping around her neck in an aggressive hug, and knocking her into the door. Belle couldn’t help but grin, even as her heart twinged with worry. Her beliefs told her to let the beast be a beast, but within the walls, that was a death sentence. She would just have to do her best to explain, and hope that was enough to convince him.

Belle pulled on a cloak big enough to hide a little monster under, ignoring the fact that the hem was in ribbons, and slipped out the back of Muse House. Back on the quiet grounds, Belle let Kitten poke his head up into her oversized hood and did her best to explain, again, that here in the city, manners were extra important. That tearing up her room could have gotten her in trouble, and that if he didn’t stay in the graveyard once they got there, people would take him away from her.

They arrived at the first wall, the one holding the innermost circle of the city well above the rest, and there…

Belle was surprised at the little bubble of comfort, of joy she felt at the sight of the drainage grate. Rather, not at the sight of the drainage grate itself, but the now-familiar magic that hummed through the stone, that vibrated the metal bars even after more than a decade.

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His magic.

After a day choking on Richard’s magic, able to think and feel and say only what he allowed, seeing Daivad’s magic now, a magic that was quite literally her escape … it grounded her. It reminded her that Richard wasn’t her whole world.

Belle told Kitten about Daivad’s magic as she crept toward the grate. After watching Daivad practice Metalwork on the bars of her cell back at the camp, she thought she’d try his technique. It was a little awkward to do while holding Kitten, but she drew up her magic with a sweep of her arm—more malleable than she had tried before—gripped the grate and pulled. The bars warped and groaned, but they obeyed.

It felt clumsy, and it took longer than she was used to, but it did take less effort. Daivad had made it look like nothing, of course. But she expected if she got more familiar with this technique, it would be far more efficient than the one she’d learned on her own.

She’d found this grate for the first time nearly a year after she’d come to the castle. As soon as she’d earned enough of Richard’s trust to move freely through the grounds, she’d begun looking for a way out. After several months of sneaking out to explore whenever she could, she’d found it; but then it had taken another half a year of studying the magic, playing with it, trying and failing to imitate the practice that had shaped it, before she’d managed to get through. And then she had to repeat that process with every circle of the city.

Belle wondered how Young Daivad had managed to move throughout the city when he snuck out. Someone so invisible as she was could hop the railways and make it to the outer circle in an hour, but surely the young Inhuman prince wouldn’t have been able to stay so invisible in his own city? She thought back to the way he’d moved so silently across Urden’s rooftops when tracking her… Perhaps he could. Perhaps this was where he’d learned it.

With some difficulty, Belle managed to convince Kitten to stay quiet long enough for her to buy him some food from a night market, before they finally reached the graveyard.

The graveyard was huge and abandoned and it was Belle’s favorite place in all Broken Earth. Most of the graves had been marked not with stone, but with vegetation of all sizes. It was the same old tradition that Belle had used when burying Clarix. When someone died, their loved ones placed their chosen seed in the body’s mouth before burial. Though magical practice in the time before the walls had been even rarer than it was today, back then even children knew the burial rites that called the dead’s magic to find new life within the seed.

Belle had buried many people in her life, many monsters too, but with the transient nature of the circus, she’d never been able to stay long enough to watch the new life really take root. Here, a thousand different magics hummed in a thousand different bushes, trees, blooms, and each turned, curious, as she and Kitten passed. Great trees shifted and whispered. The faces of sweet-smelling flowers followed them.

This graveyard, so full of magic that lived beyond death, beyond memory, always filled Belle with a kind of holy sorrow. An aching joy. A grief that was also peace.

She knocked her hood back, looked up at the stars, and began to pray in a rasping voice, “My Dark Mother, Goddess of Chaos and curiosity, fear and awe, I pray for these souls. I pray that when their magics touch mine, they know they aren’t forgotten. I never saw the faces they wore in life, I don’t know the languages they spoke—but let them understand these words. I…”

She squeezed Kitten, who licked her ear in response, his forked tongue venturing deep enough to tickle her brain. This, she said directly to the dead around her: “Would you dance with me?”

First, she just swayed, rocking Kitten gently and listening to the swish of her shredded cloak on the overgrown grass. It had been a while since she’d danced, and some part of her warned her to go slow. Then, she shed the cloak and her bag and began to twirl until Kitten squirmed, asking to be let down. She released him, and for a moment he just watched her twirl, two glittering eyes among the weeds. Belle let her arms drift out, let her magic drift out as well, to brush Kitten’s and those of the dead around her. It rippled through the graveyard, and the ghosts began to dance with her.

Belle picked up her feet and slipped between the trees. Branches reached out to take her hand while Kitten trotted after her. She wasn’t sure exactly who was leading, but it didn’t matter. Maybe it was the Dark Mother herself, hidden between the many-colored magics of the dead, who took Belle’s hand in hers, who cradled her waist and guided Belle deeper into the graveyard.

Before long, the singing started—Belle thought at first it was only in her head until she recognized Julius’ voice. Voices. So often when the monster spoke he screeched and squawked, but he always sang in many voices, all of them beautiful, harmonies slipping seamlessly in and out of each other. This tune was both bright in the peace of this warm night, and sad with the knowledge that the sun would bring this Dark to an end. Now that she searched for it, she felt the magics of more of her friends approaching.

Kitten was so busy mimicking Belle’s steps—following her leap with a little hop, spinning when she twirled—that he didn’t notice the newcomers until he smacked into what appeared to be a large gray stone. It began to buzz and shake, glowing orange cracks splitting its rough skin as it swelled to the size of a boulder. Kitten spat, flailed, and slashed, his claws doing nothing to the rocky exterior, though the yowl he let out did silence Julius and still Belle.

“Kitten!” Belle said, exasperated.

“Fuck you, sir!” Julius chimed in.

Even mid-attack, that got Kitten’s attention. He whirled on Julius, perched on a branch a few feet over Belle’s head. The baby beast grinned, his pupils engulfing his glittering irises. And then he leapt—but Belle already knew what he was thinking. Of using her head as a launching point. She side-stepped and Kitten went flying past her head close enough that the wind whipped her hair.

“Kitten!” At her tone, even Tater, the stone-skinned beast, deflated back to her normal size, the glowing cracks sealing themselves with a gentle sizzle.

A grumble rolled through Kitten’s little body. You said play.

Oh. Right.

Belle looked up at Julius, who had his many blunt teeth bared at Kitten, and said, “I did promise him play.”

Julius twisted his head almost upside down so his one large blue eye could blink at Belle. “Snack, please!”

“Of course, sweet boy,” Belle grinned. “I’ll fetch my bag.”