Despite being the last to know of their destination, Zyryxa was the first to arrive. She remembered this place from years ago, though she’d never technically been allowed to go inside. Little seemed changed, except her.

The fires still raged in hearths, though they didn’t burn wood. Some fancy Leverian wizard contraption kept their enchanted stones ever-burning, creating a climate that was much like the Frostmelt, rather than frigid Loxzua. Unlike in their sacred land, this place kept as many foreigners as Volqori.

The Leverian barmaids and barmen were still dressed in scanty clothing without any fur, their stomachs open to the air. The men called at Zyryxa, naming her a beauty and vying against each other for her attention. Unlike girlish fifteen-year-old Zyryxa, this different woman took their approaches without a sense of scandal or any giggling. Leverith’s luscious lips, the memory was enough to make her feel a shockwave of shame. Yes, she’d be worshipped upon their altars of promiscuity. Let them pray, but she wasn’t their prey. She’d never truly been intimate, and she wasn’t going to waste her first time with some puny Leverian man with dirty eyes and flowery yellow hair.

Her mind strayed to Rivux, wishing they’d had more time to get to know each other beyond physical intensity. That was a man worthy of a first time. Probably at least a second and a third too, just to make sure she got it correct. Yet, he wasn’t here. Neither were her broodmates.

Some of Gaeliz’s warriors were, several broods taking up the wooden tables near the stage where a naked man and a woman wearing an undergarment certainly unworthy of a Nix Tezyk blizzard danced provocatively enough that Zyryxa felt her cheeks getting warm from more than the tavern’s heat. Besides the off-duty dragon warriors, there were Leverian sailors, and a few browner-skinned stragglers from Isihla or Kavova. Notably, Mahagan sailors never came to “The Sapphire on the Sea.” Those ebony-skinned folks weren’t built like the rest of these lascivious degenerates.

She drew plenty of eyes from the sailors, the staff, and Loxzua’s warriors. Keeping her lips flat and her eyes ahead of her, she marched toward the bar. Whether her gawkers saw her as Zyrthalla’s daughter or as a prime piece of meat, she didn’t want to be on either the stage or the menu right now.

Zyryxa claimed a stool. She nodded to the Leverian barmaid, a girl with yellow hair and pathetically little muscle definition. “Give me your coldest drink.”

Smiling, her eyes lingering dumbly on Zyryxa for several heartbeats, the pretty lass finally nodded back. She pulled open an icebox and poured something blue. “First one is free,” she said, winking.

Zyryxa snorted. They were all going to be free, unless one of her broodmates carried coinage with them. Zyryxa hadn’t thought of collecting any since she left Loxzua last year. The little chips of metal were useless in a fight, and nearly as meaningless at the homesteads where everything was bartered. Hopefully Natazia got some from Gaeliz. If not, she’d deal with that headache later. One headache at a time, though this was more of a heartache.

Zyryxa sighed. A cowardly father, a bitchy sister, and poor Basyx left on his own. The whole damn thing was as depressing as Abbaz’s music. Then there was Natazia. Zyryxa thought they’d gotten better, but her “broodleader” seemed determined to contradict her in her own childhood home. Pelzyq and Lexyn were still off doing whatever—probably each other—as a woman squealing and a bed squeaking from the second floor reminded her. Divinedamned Leverians and their lust.

Surrounded by people, grouped with allies, she felt no less alone than she did last year on the rite. Zyryxa drank until the whole mug was empty. Strong, but sweet, the cold went down well. If there was anything good about this moment, it was that this concoction was as unlike Ozyeeq firebomb as could be.

“Another,” she said, offering her most charming smile to the barmaid as she pushed her mug toward her.

“One more,” she said, “but just because you’re the second prettiest person here.”

Zyryxa felt like the bitch slapped her. “Second?” She would’ve thrown the liquor in her face if she didn’t feel she needed it so much.

The Leverian girl giggled, putting up two fingers and walking away as another customer called for her.

Shaking her head, Zyryxa scoffed. Second. “I’m second to none,” she muttered, before draining her second mug.

“Another,” she called, wiping the wetness from her lips. She felt light, as if her burdens could just all float away. Well, not the one about her being second. That nonsense ate at her as she waited for the barmaid to return.

She twisted toward the stage, where the naked man was swinging his erect cock toward a brood of cackling blue-haired women. A particularly scrawny Isihlan man, dressed in tattered sailor’s garments was pulled onto the stage by a– she did a double take—Mahagan sailor. “Make sure those sails will hold up in a storm, Quresh!”

The little Isihlan man took in a deep breath, buried his head into the dancer’s breasts, then blasted them with his mouth, her floppy tits audibly slapping his cheeks.

“They’re seaworthy!” he called, before blowing into them again.

It might’ve been the liquor, but Zyryxa was certain she’d never seen anything so funny. She joined in when most of the bar applauded and hooted with mirth. Yes. She wanted to feel more like this. “Another!” she called.

The barmaid was quick to find her this time. “No more free honey for you, honey. Let’s see some coin.”

Zyryxa really, really didn’t like this snarky bitch. She suppressed her violence with a sigh, then forced a smile. “My friend has the coin. She’ll be here soon.”

The barmaid’s fake smile was enough to make Zyryxa’s fists close and imagine what a bald Leverian girl looked like when her hair was a bloody bundle on the ground. “Then, I guess you can wait until she’s here.”

“Tazi!”

Zyryxa twisted to the calls. A younger-looking brood shouted toward the woman in the entryway. Natazia. She waved to the brood, called out a couple of names, then headed toward the bar. Smirking, Zyryxa tilted her head toward Abbaz’s number one fangirl. “The wait is over,” she said, enunciating each word slowly and narrowing her eyes at the bar bitch.

Wearing a frown that tasted sweeter than honey to Zyryxa’s triumphant tongue, the barmaid filled the mug.

“Tazi?” Zyryxa asked, swallowing a burp that tasted too much like sour yak’s milk.

“That’s my name,” she said, sliding into the stool beside her.

“Na-a,” Zyryxa said, elongating the rest of her name before chortling into her mug, “it’s just the middle of it.”

Natazia grinned. “Beginnings and endings are overrated.”

“The middle,” Zyryxa declared, she chugged her entire mug, “is where the fun is!”

Natazia tilted her head. “You’re sloshed. Try not to throw up tonight. Please.”

Zyryxa rolled her eyes. “You have coin?”

Natazia pulled out a small bag, shaking it in a chorus of clanking. “I’ve got you covered, girl, but I think you should slow down.”

“Ha!” Zyryxa burped. “Me? I can handle anything! After all,” she narrowed her eyes at the barmaid, who stood at eye level with them even though they sat, “there is no way I’m second anywhere.”

Natazia snorted, dropping a few bronze coins onto the bar. “Don’t mind Zyryxa,” she said to the server, “behind those beautiful, judgmental eyes is a warm soul and a kind heart.”

“Another,” Zyryxa snarled.

“So,” Natazia said, as Zyryxa drank her fourth mug, “if you’re the second prettiest here, does that mean Pelzyq is already upstairs?”

Zyryxa blew liquor through her nose—not an experience she would recommend—and blasted it out of her mouth, some of it splattering onto the barmaid. That she could try again.

Wiping the snotty blue fluid off her face, she slapped the bar and exaggerated her laughter until Natazia winced. She snorted. “Pelzyq. Pretty?” Zyryxa scoffed. Then, her heart sank. Upstairs. The bed shaking and the girl squealing had ceased at some point. Could it be?

“I’ll have whatever she’s having,” Natazia said, pointing at Zyryxa.

“Lyonel Vollonaro is the prettiest,” the barmaid said, pouring Natazia’s drink. “He’s a dream. Blessed by Leverith, he is. I can only hope I get picked next time.”

“Blessed by Leverith?” Zyryxa said, brow furrowed. “Does that mean he is extra dainty?”

Natazia glanced down at her mug. “It means he’s … well-built.”

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“What? Some guy with two names?” Zyryxa blew through her lips, trying to mimic what that little Isihlan sailor did to the stage tits. She became aware that her speech was slurring. “Give me any guy with two names and I’ll pin them down before they can spell out all those letters.”

Natazia sipped her drink. The barmaid shook her head and went down the bar to another customer.

“It means,” Natazia said to her cup, “that he’s built like Pelzyq.”

“And I’ve kicked his ass a few times, if you haven’t heard,” Zyryxa said. She started telling Natazia about their first meeting outside the Pridefort.

“No, Zyryxa, built like,” she pointed at the naked man on the stage, his dancing partner treating his manhood like it was a vanilla custard, “Pelzyq.”

She remembered the girl’s moans and, of course, Pelzyq’s third leg. “Are you saying this Lytle Fullonasshole has a big cock?”

Natazia drank the rest of her mug. “That’s what the waitress says.”

Zyryxa snorted. “Should tell Pelzyq when he gets here. Have the Sapphire by the Sea’s first dick-off.” Zyryxa sighed. “Besides, I guarantee I’m still prettier. And I’d take him down.”

Natazia was quiet. She turned her head toward the stairs, her eyes lighting up.

Zyryxa had to admit, Ledo wasn’t that bad. His face was sculpted, just as handsome as any of those ice statues outside. Framed by sun-kissed golden-brown hair that fell in waves like the ocean outside the windows at the back of the tavern, his eyes drew hers in. Like sapphires on the sea, his blue eyes were as mesmerizing as any Zyryxa had ever seen. They seemed to promise boundless love, or perhaps that was just the memory of that girl upstairs squealing.

His smile drew her own lips up, melting away her desire to be ice. Even his pearly teeth were perfect. Others were drawn to him, eager to share in his aura of charm. The biggest strike against him, and Qoryxa, it was big, was that his form was lean and lithe and Leverian. Then again, couldn’t the same be said of Rivux, of Lexyn?

“Leenol is too lee-tle,” Zyryxa said, lifting her mug to mask her blush. Then setting it down nervously when she discovered it empty.

“Lyonel,” Natazia said. She turned from him, eyes toward her mug. “It’s Lyonel.”

“Whatever.” Zyryxa restored her icy expression as the guy winked at her from across the bar. “I’m way out of his echelon.”

“He’s the nephew of a Leverian king and grandson of one of the wealthiest Kavovan governors,” Natazia said, taking on that same pissy tone she did when Zyryxa was speaking to the bard.

“He comes from a long line of people who’ve been given things instead of earning them?” Zyryxa asked. “I bet he’s here because he worked hard for it,” she said, infusing her voice with innocence. Zyryxa chortled, before failing to restrain deeper laughter. Thirteen Divines! She felt light of heart, her shoulders free. Not like poor Vollonassholearo and the hard, hard life of living pampered in a foreign city piercing barmaids with his meat spear.

Natazia’s silence would’ve been louder, were Zyryxa’s listening less impaired. It turned out, her hearing was generally impaired, for she didn’t stay alert to Lyonel’s approach.

Soft fingers tapped her shoulder. Zyryxa spun, bearing witness to his smug grin, she laughed in his face. This man wasn’t a match for her. He was smaller in every way that counted. There, on his nose, a dusting of freckles. His teeth, perfect from afar but far from perfect, with a slight crookedness. So much for his esteemed breeding. His hair, though not as pathetic and weak-looking as the yellow of the bar bitch, was lacking in the vibrancy native to Volqor. Simply put, he didn’t shine like she did. If this man was a star, she was the moon. She kept laughing, before turning her back on him.

“Second,” she sputtered at the barmaid between laughs, “give me another one.”

“You should stop,” Natazia mumbled, but she put the coin on the bar. Clearing her throat, Natazia glanced at Lyonel, putting on a smile. “Hello.”

“Hello,” he said, shifting to the other side of Zyryxa, claiming a stool, and gazing up at her. “I haven’t seen you around here.” He offered his hand. “Lyonel. Lyonel Vollonaro.”

Zyryxa glanced at his hand. It wasn’t as soft as she expected. She knew the calluses of martial training, saw the faint lines of a few old scars on his arm. “Maybe you haven’t been looking,” Zyryxa said, letting his hand linger in the air between them.

“Impossible,” he said. “Any man with eyes would never overlook you—” he baited, fishing for her name.

“Zyryxa,” she said, extending her hand after he’d waited the appropriate pause for one very clearly not first among them. His grip wasn’t weak, but she still overpowered him, grinning as he masked his grimace.

“Zyryxa,” he repeated, shaking out his liberated fingers beneath the bar. “It is my deepest pleasure to make your acquaintance. You are truly first among the beauties I have seen in this beautiful land.” He touched the streak of silver in her hair. “Kissed by Qoryxa.”

Zyryxa seized his wrist. “Do they not teach little princes not to touch things that don’t belong to them? Or do you simply get taught that everything belongs to you?” She smiled at him, flashing perfectly straight teeth on her unblemished first-place face.

He lifted his hands up, smiling right back. “We get taught how to touch things the right way, how to make them want to belong with us.”

Zyryxa thought of the girl upstairs, of how the barmaid wanted to slobber on him like the dancers on the stage. Blessed by Leverith, like Pelzyq, but actually pretty. Son of important people with two names. He thought himself so smooth, so perfect, like a god strutting through a village of his devout. She laughed.

He cocked his head, still holding that diplomat’s smile on his imperfect face.

Zyryxa leaned in. “Why don’t you go find a mirror to kiss, Leto, because if you tried to touch me, you’d break.”

His one-sided, smug grin made her want to throw him through a table just to see it flatten. “If I didn’t hold back,” he said, “you’d break.”

The drink made her want to giggle like the fifteen-year-old girl would’ve. Fortunately, she was stronger than that. “In the sparring grounds or…” her eyes drifted to the stairwell.

“Yes,” he said, winking.

She batted her eyelids. “Tell me more,” she said, her voice breathy.

His mouth opened before he recovered his sleezy grin. “You may be blessed by Qoryxa, Zyryxa, but I’m blessed by Leverith. I could hit you so hard that you’d never feel the same again.”

That was it. She wasn’t strong enough. She laughed in his face. At first, he let out a chortle, like he was in on the joke. Eventually, he realized he was the joke. He looked like a little lost drake searching for his mommy. She kept laughing, repeating his words, and laughing some more. Zyryxa laughed so hard she rolled out of her stool, then laughed from the floor, not caring who saw her. Thirteen Divines!

“Can you believe this guy, Natazia?”

She sat up to laugh with her broodsister, finding her stool empty. Probably went to squat, Zyryxa assumed, realizing she had to do the same. From her back, she launched to her feet, eliciting a few hoots from the growing audience. Taking a breath, she smoothed out her expression until it was solid as ice. “I’m not your average barmaid, Lego.”

“Lyonel,” he mumbled.

“I’m going to be the Ice Champion, and anyone dreaming of being my consort is going to have to prove their worth with deeds, not cocky barroom promises, especially,” she took a jumbo shrimp from a plate on the bar, swallowing it in one bite, “about the size of their shrimp.”

“When you sober up,” he said, straight faced, “I encourage you to meet me at the Sapphire Embassy.”

“You got some pretty jewel collection, Layla? You think you can buy me?”

He shook his head. “I think I can beat you. My sword against yours. First to three hits.”

Zyryxa may have never laughed harder in her life. She slapped the bar, shaking the mugs all down the line. “Another!”

When the barmaid protested that her coin was gone, several dragon warriors volunteered to buy her drinks. Lyonel bowed his head to her on his way out. “I look forward to our duel, Zyryxa.”

“I too look forward to broken bones, feeling inadequate, and realizing that perhaps I’m not everything mommy and daddy told me I was.”

Several warriors hooted her name. She sipped her drink, eying the barmaid. “Second best.” She blew a raspberry at her.

The barmaid poured her several drinks, one for each warrior who volunteered a toast to the future Ice Champion, humbler of diplomats. The evening blurred, her focus snapping in and out, her vision swimming, her body struggling to stay in the stool. She may have danced, possibly on the stage, definitely not showing anything beneath the furs. The little Isihlan guy might’ve told her that he’d picked Lyonel’s pocket on his way out, flashing a purse with tiny little sapphires sewn into it. She couldn’t remember whether Natazia ever came back, nor did it matter to her in the moment. She was light and free, her mind far away from everything that weighted her down.

When Pelzyq and Lexyn arrived, she was just lucid enough to grasp how far gone she was.

“Time for bed,” Pelzyq said, lifting her up with one arm. His other arm was in a sling. She barely registered that such a thing was odd.

“I’m not going to fuck you, broodbro,” she said, slurring every word.

“You think Pelzyq wants to have sex with you just because you’re the most beautiful woman in Volqor? Why would Pelzyq want to do that?”

“Convincing argument. I’m,” she hiccupped, “I’m going to make you my diplomat. Turn you into a bard.”

“Pelzyq would rather not be useless,” he said, his deadpan immaculate.

Zyryxa didn’t know if the wheezing noise that came out of her could be called a laugh, but it felt like one. “You could never be useless. You’re too flaming funny. I… I like you, man. You’re family.”

Lexyn wiped spittle off Zyryxa’s lip. “This is worse than the firebomb.”

Thirteen Divines! She was so freezing pretty. Even though Zyryxa couldn’t get a good look at her with how much she was spinning and bobbing up and down. “I love you, Lexyn. I freezing love you. You’re my favorite. Sorry, Pelzyq.”

“You have good taste,” Pelzyq said. “Lexyn is my favorite too.”

Zyryxa chortled. “See,” she said, thinking she was pointing at Lexyn when she was jabbing Pelzyq in the chest. “Perfect comedic timing. And I thought he was an egotistical asshole!”

Pelzyq dropped her into something soft. Her landing wasn’t gentle. “And I thought you were an arrogant bitch.”

“Am I?” she asked, worried that it might be true.

Pelzyq massaged her shoulder. “You’re my sister. I love you too, Ice Princess. Sweet dreams.”

Zyryxa remembered her own sister. Her first sister. His words didn’t heal her worries, even though they were kind.

Lexyn rubbed Zyryxa’s head. Leverith’s luscious lips! She had magic touch. It made her think of her mother. Why was she sobbing? She wasn’t supposed to feel that tonight. The drink was supposed to strip that away, to give her just one evening where she didn’t have to remember that the person she’d loved most was gone, that the people she left behind were broken, that there was nothing she could do to fix any of it.

“I’m going to take care of you tomorrow,” Lexyn promised. “We will talk about Abbaz and everything else you needed to get away from tonight.” She hugged her. “I love you, Zy.” She lowered her voice, just a whisper in her ear, “From the beginning, you’ve been my knight. Good night.”

Zyryxa didn’t know how long she cried but sleep eventually brought an end to the tears. Many of her memories of that evening scattered, but one stayed with her. Soft, tender sounds carried through the walls. Even then, in the most profound intoxication of her life, she knew that she went to bed alone while Lexyn and Pelzyq found something she, deep in her heart, longed for.