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DINNER
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SAVARA RINSED HER SKIN under steaming water to rid her body of the nervous energy. The first knock at the door came from a young parlour maid waiting to wrap her hair in braids and paint her face. The girl applied a gentle smattering of makeup to her hollowed cheeks and the bags under her eyes, recoiling slightly as she noticed the bright red rubies streaking across Savara’s cheek. The girl opened the wardrobe, revealing a flowing green gown, which she helped Savara into silently before bowing out.
Savara twirled around in front of the mirror, letting the setting sun reflect off the glittering emerald embroidery. As she imagined her childhood, filled with similar dresses and attending balls and galas, a second, gentle knock sounded at the door. The young soldier from before, wearing a black suit and jade bowtie, bowed gracefully.
“Are you ready?” he asked, offering her his arm.
Savara nodded, allowing him to lead her down to one of the open-air carriages on the streets where her companions were already waiting.
Jasper’s jaw hung open as his eyes followed her down the stairs. Griffin pushed Jasper’s jaw closed and bowed, nudging him in the side to do the same. She may have looked like the royal she was supposed to be, but she still didn’t feel like one. A vivid blush crept over her nose and sprawled onto her cheeks.
“You two clean up well,” she said, staring at them in their matching moss-coloured tailcoats. Jasper smiled awkwardly, reminding her of home. In his smile, she saw the world they’d left behind, the one that didn’t care if she was a princess or a daemon. For a second, she let herself indulge in the memory, imagining the world didn’t depend on how well they could hide in plain sight—how well they could be sheep among wolves.
Sebastian, who’d added a large blooming rose to his tails, made a show of bowing as he winked at her. Storm appeared behind them looking like a goddess in green and white, complaining about the laced flowers that covered her dress. She glanced at Savara briefly before knocking Sebastian across the head and stepping into the carriage.
The carriage was designed to look like an elegant minecart with a half-roof and a driver’s perch at the front. The body was made of stained wood and velvet, but the wheels were made of solid stone. The young soldier hopped into the driver’s seat and began moving his hands in a circular motion. The carriage lurched forward abruptly but soon began to glide up the street.
Jasper marvelled at the ingenuity of the Harri in using their powers for transport and struck up a lengthy conversation with the soldier on the topic. Savara watched him glow with curiosity, remembering how fond she was of that curious spark of his. She wished they would talk again like they used to, but she knew it would take more than an apology to repair what she’d broken. Savara turned to the world outside, watching night begin to settle around.
Beside them on the pavements, the streetlamps began to come to life. People in uniform worked quickly, stomping on the ground to lift them, sparking rocks together to light the fuses inside, and stomping back down to ground level. This great dance of lifts and drops accompanied their journey en route to one of the grander houses in the neighbourhood, that of Lady Amaia.
“Have you been here before?” Savara asked Griffin, noticing the downturn in his lips deepen as they neared their destination.
“A lifetime ago,” he offered. “Our gracious hostess was a friend of my mother’s once upon a time...”
Savara pursed her painted lips. Griffin looked worried, and she’d come to realise that the things that worried Griffin should worry them all.
The carriage slowed as it neared a grand two-storey house at the base of the mountain. Wooden columns gently wrapped in ivy rose sprouted like trees from overflowing flowerbeds, supporting the structure. A neatly curved stone pathway bled onto an imperfectly cut rock staircase, which in turn gave way to paper and wood doors. Groomed topiaries mixed with wild bushes, river stones with paper lanterns, and lots and lots of glass. It looked like a symphony brought to life.
They were led into a large parlour with flutes of something akin to champagne in hand by a kindly manservant, who assured them their hostess would be down soon and dismissed himself to attend to the other guests. Jasper was instantly swept up by the daughter of a visiting minister and some of her friends. Savara frowned but made no attempt to save him. She figured he’d have more fun with them than with her. Besides, she had a different task that night. It was a long shot, but if she kept an ear out and her eyes open, she might be able to find news of where Big Tog’s son was hiding.
Savara bit her lip as she gazed around the bustling room. “When she said she’d invited us to dinner, I didn’t expect...” she mumbled to Griffin, her face blanching at the sight of the crowd.
“No. Neither did I,” he replied, feigning the indifference in his tone. “It’s either a good way to dissimulate our presence, or to keep us from causing trouble—and knowing her, it’s probably both.”
Savara sensed the nerves trickling from him despite his usual rigid façade. His anxiety ate into hers so much so that the drink in her hand began to shake and spill. She made to drink it to avoid more spillage when Griffin rested a gentle hand on her glass.
“Be careful; it’s stronger than what you might be used to,” he whispered.
Savara knew it was best to heed his warning, but between their combined nerves and the sweet scent that seeped from the glass, she was enticed into sipping. A hot shiver rushed down her throat, warming the rest of her body and dizzying her mind.
A band struck up a chord in the far back of the room, its music causing her to unconsciously sway lightly on her feet. Couples all around the room joined hands and began to twirl around the dancefloor like freefalling leaves twisting in the wind.
Griffin extended a hand to her, having noticed her awestruck gaze.
“I didn’t picture you as a dancer,” she said in response.
“I’ve got a few surprises up my sleeve,” he grinned. “Besides, I’ll get a better view of everyone from the dancefloor.”
Savara looked down at his hand hesitantly. “I don’t know how,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to,” he replied. “I’ll lead.”
Maybe it was the drink or vibrant energy around them, most likely the combination of the two, but she took hold and followed him out onto the dance floor.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, drawing her in close for a dip.
“Nervous,” she replied.
“I know, you’ve been stepping on my feet.” He smirked, turning her cheeks red. “I mean in general.”
“Oh...” Savara cast her gaze to the ground as he spun her out. “Nervous? Guilty? Worried that I won’t be able to control my powers, whatever they may be.” Savara frowned and lowered her tone. “This is all my fault, and so many people might lose their lives.”
“The world was broken long before you,” Griffin said as he snapped her in for a rhythmic embrace. “Let’s hope no one else has to lose their life to fix it.” His dark blue eyes glittered inches from her face. His worry hovered around her, tangling in the grip of her powers, but as always, he hid it well. “I’m going to go find out where our hostess is,” he added when the song finished.
Savara stayed behind, contemplating the dancers that spun like twirling tops around the ballroom. She desperately wanted to believe Griffin when he said she was merely the consequence of a broken world rather than the cause, but the darker part of her knew better.
Some of the guests glanced back at her, their heads tilting curiously as they caught sight of her gemstoned scar. Savara made to blend in with the crowd, but someone had already set his sights on her.
“Don’t they all just look ridiculous?” said the strange voice she’d taken for Death before, only this time, Savara knew she’d been mistaken. The voice, which rumbled low like tides against a cliffside, belonged to a man with ebony black curls and a matching suit. The air around her went cold as he neared, like being blanketed by the night.
“If you say so...” Savara replied. He had a static about him, standing beside her, one that rippled through the little distance separating them. Savara searched the room for her companions, wishing not to meet eye to eye with the mysterious stranger—however enticing his energy might’ve been.
“They dance around as if there’s nothing more important than this...pretentious display of ill-gotten wealth.”
“Harsh tone for a guest, wouldn’t you say? Or do you pretend not to be one of them to be able to judge them?”
The man laughed, the timbre of it sending shivers down her spine. “Let’s just say I’m happy to point out the obvious.” His eyes burned into her skin as he spoke. “For example, the way you won’t even look me in the eye for fear I might see you for something more.”
Savara’s cheeks bloomed rosier than the bloodied stones that marred them. This stranger seemed to know more about her than anyone in her own party—save for Jasper. She worried he might even know too much...
“I’m kidding,” he replied with another gentle laugh. “Actually, I was hoping for a dance, and thought if I rattled you first, you might not be so averse to it.” He extended a hand towards her. In his palm, she glimpsed a star-shaped scar. “It won’t be worse than looking like a lost puppy all night.”
“Hmm...” As much as she didn’t want to, Savara found the prodding gazes of the crowd to be motivation enough not to be seen alone. She reached her hand out for his, whipping it back as soon as their fingers met. She stared at it incredulously as static danced through her palm and trickled down her spine. The blood drained from her face faster than a tropical shower.
“Is something wrong?” the man asked innocently.
“No...” she lied, staring at her palm. The flesh still bore the marks of her fingernails, and now, it buzzed with that sinister energy she’d learned to fear, the kind that meant her powers were waiting. “I um...” The thing inside her had woken at the shock. It pulsed from deep within, like a second heartbeat. Savara took a deep, steadying breath, knowing she needed to compose herself before the man grew suspicious, if he wasn’t already. “It’s nothing,” she lied again.
Savara accepted the man’s hand, this time prepared for the wave of energy that flooded through her body. She focused only on keeping the thing inside her at bay as they twirled around the room, oblivious to everything but the strange resonance between them.
Slowly the atmosphere around them began to change. Unlike the last few vibrant songs, the next was slow and sultry. Classical elegance, tinged with an air of desert mystique, thanks to the addition of a simple Cajon and tambourine.
The idyllic scent of night flowers spilt from him, catching in the air around them as they danced. Time stood still in his arms, and though they were surrounded by dozens of people, in her mind, they were the only ones for miles around.
“I can’t recall the last time I’ve enjoyed a party like this one,” he remarked, pulling her in gently.
“I...” She caught herself before she let slip the fact that she had never been to a party like this, afraid of what kind of conversation might follow. “...can’t either.”
“And to think I was about to leave when I saw you, standing alone, looking like a present wrapped in brown paper and twine.”
“What did you say?” The words fell from her lips in nothing more than a breathy whisper. She hardly noticed the song stop until he released his grip.
“Thank you, Savara,” he said with a bow and turned on his heels. She looked up at him for the first time, though she was sure she’d tried to while they were dancing but to no avail. As he turned back, she caught a glimpse of his eyes twinkling like blue stars under his ebony curls. He winked before being gobbled up by the crowd.
“Wait!” But her call was drowned out by the music and laughter that came crashing into her senses. By the time she managed to process the encounter, he’d disappeared entirely. She almost chased after him when Griffin returned with another drink in hand and a much stiffer expression.
“Who were you talking to?” Griffin asked.
Savara scanned the room for the man dressed in black who had seemingly vanished without a trace. “No one,” she lied. “I was watching the dancers...”
Another sultry song began to play. People continued to dance at first but soon peeled away in favour of watching a single couple in the centre of the ballroom, whose energy seemed to engulf the room in a subtly enticing heat.
Sebastian and Storm danced around each other like a pair of vipers. Their eyes locked on each other as they twisted shoulder to shoulder. She was swift and light-footed, teasing like the breeze that lifts skirts. He was sultry and intense, with all the charm of slow-burning logs in a fireplace. With each gentle twirl, she fanned his embers, coaxing out the flame within. Some of their movements were so provocatively tight that, at points, it was hard to tell where he ended and she began.
Savara marvelled at the sight of them two moving together with such feeling and harmony that they could’ve been mistaken for the most passionate of lovers.
“I thought she hated him,” she whispered.
Griffin chuckled. “They have a chemistry most couldn’t comprehend. When one pushes, the other pulls. It’s all a game they play with each other,” he said as he regarded them fondly. “Everyone plays these games, albeit some grander than others. One day, they’re going to wake up and not know the difference between game and reality.” He looked down at her and smiled. “For the time being, I find it entertaining to watch them bicker now and again,” he concluded in time with the song.
Uproarious cheering and applause filled the room. And just as Griffin had predicted, no sooner did the song end—their false pretence for civility and possibly sentiment—than did the battle begin anew. But now was not the time for lovers’ quarrels. The clock struck twelve, sending the sound of heavy copper chimes reverberating through the house.
Lady Amaia descended the grand staircase with four manservants in tow, holding the train of her glittering red gown and the draping green sash she’d slung over her shoulders. She beamed, displacing the slender gold chains connecting her nose to her ear—the same kind that lined her wrists and layered her neck. Applause sounded for their gracious hostess and, after the typical speech that required time but lacked depth, for the commencement of the meal.
