JESPER'S EYES NEVER LEFT Anastasia from the moment they stepped into the carriage to when they left it. His gaze was a heavy, hot weight on her shoulders, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She hated how he stared at her; the others weren't stupid in the slightest, and if he kept this ridiculousness up, they'd figure out that something had gone on between them soon enough.

    Still, despite the sharp look she shot towards him, he continued to stare. If anything, he smiled wider, and she forced herself to avert her gaze, turning to look anywhere but his face.

    The carriage was big enough to hold four, but with Kaz and Jesper's lanky, leggy bodies crammed in, it felt too small and too hot and too cramped to house all five of them. There was no option but to sit between Clara and Inej, both dressed in equal finery, their thighs and shoulders pressed together in a way that some might find immoral.

    Even Kaz had dressed up, in his own way. He wore a suit and his black gloves, as always, but he'd thrown a mask over the top half of his face.

    Rain pelted the top of the carriage, and Anastasia looked past Clara to peer out the window. The smell of wet dirt and grass was in the air, although there was very little grass in Ketterdam. She watched as the lights began to flicker on outside of every establishment on the street, for dusk was upon them and patrons needed to find their way.

    Inside this tiny carriage, Anastasia thought Ketterdam looked beautiful.

    The five of them didn't have to discuss the rules for this evening—because, with the two Grisha and a gun-loving pervert, rules were a necessity to keep a fistfight from breaking out—but they knew all the same that they were to stick together, never going off without at least one other person, and that they could drink as much alcohol as they wanted as long as they behaved themselves.

    A foot touched hers, and she was startled out of her stupor. She looked to the floor of the carriage, finding five sets of feet, including one boot that partially covered her shoes.

    When she glanced up, Jesper was grinning.

    She resisted the urge to smack him or call him a cocky bastard.

    When they reached the dance hall, Clara was shoving them all out of the carriage, pushing them through the door and dragging everyone towards the bar.

    "Five double shots of whiskey, please." She asked politely, and she slid a few kruege over the counter towards the barkeep.

    Anastasia was shot back in time, back to a very different bar-top and a very different version of the same city. She thought of a man who drank whiskey, who loved her until he didn't, who had been kind until he turned cruel.

    She didn't wait for Clara to count her down before knocking back the whiskey, feeling its warm burn in her throat. The bitter taste drove away thoughts of him and replaced them with thoughts of a taller, cruder man who filled her with fury.

    She turned to the others, reinvigorated by the alcohol that swum through her veins. "Well? You said you wanted to go dancing. What are we waiting for?"

    Clara looked at her with narrowed eyes, searching her face for any sign of something being wrong. When she came up empty, a smile broke onto her face. "Alright, party animal." She conceded. "Lead the way."

    Kaz and inej stayed by the bar, and, judging by how Inej was blushing fiercely under her makeup, there was a fair bit of fancying going on between them.

    Jesper followed them, much to Anastasia's disdain, and she did her best to lose him in the crowd of costumed people milling about the hall. He followed them, however—probably an order from Kaz to keep an eye on them, if Anastasia had to guess.

    Unlike the music at the birthday gala, which had been slow and lilting, the band played a thrumming, sanguine beat that Anastasia felt in her bones. That, mixed with the alcohol, pushed her even more. Her dress swished around her legs as she moved further into the crowd.

    Now, Anastasia had never been much of a drinker, no matter what name she went by. She found that it was better for her to stay sober, just in case a situation arose in which she'd need to defend herself. She drank so rarely that the few ounces of whiskey she'd had had already taken effect, and for a moment she felt happier than she'd been in years.

    "Clara!" She had to shout to be heard over the music. When she got her attention, she smiled and held out a hand. "Miss Wilde, will you dance with me?"

    Clara couldn't help but snort as she took Anastasia's hand. "It would be my pleasure, Miss Sokolov."

    They spun each other in circles, hands joined between them, paying no mind to the boy that stood only a few feet away and watched them curiously. They twirled until they were dizzy and nearly laughing too hard to keep themselves upright.

    When the music changed to a rhythm that she recognized, Anastasia gasped.

    She reached for Jesper then, a warning look in her eyes. "This one requires more than two people. It's popular in the Wandering Isle." She explained, and her tone suggested that he better not even think to make a lewd comment.

    Whether he genuinely wanted to dance, or if he was simply too put-off by the natural, easy-going smile on her face to say no, Anastasia didn't know. Either way, he took her hand, and the familiar buzz of energy didn't take her by surprise this time. She just suppressed an even wider grin.

    "So, it's quite simple, really." She began, directing him where to stand. "It works better with four people—any even number of people works best—but we did it with three a few years ago." She broke off to glance at Clara, a laugh bubbling from her lips. "D'you remember the idiot who broke my toes the last time we did this dance with three people?"

    Jesper huffed impatiently. "By the time you're done reminiscing, the song will be over." He said.

    "There's no need to be rude." She spat in return, her smile losing its leverage on her face.

    His mouth opened, and for a moment he looked like he was going to mention the night before—Saints, was it really only a day ago? It felt like lifetimes had passed since she showed up to his bedroom in the middle of the night—but he stopped before he said anything incriminating. "Alright. What do I do?"

    He was surprisingly malleable and allowed her to show him the basics. "It involves a lot of switching partners. That's why there's meant to be an even number, so everyone has a partner and no one's left out. It'll be me and Clara, then Clara and you, me and you, and then back to the start. Makes sense?"

    He shrugged. "I'll figure it out eventually."

    And he did. He watched as Anastasia and Clara did the steps to the Wandering Isle's favorite folk dance, let Clara lead him when it was his turn, and by the time he got to Anastasia, he was confident enough to take the lead.

    One of his hands found her waist while the other wrapped loosely around her own. It was an unconstricting hold, but he still pulled her in close, despite the fact that the dance was meant to be relaxed and casual. He was quite still for a moment, even as the crowd around them danced.

    "You're supposed to move." She whispered, face flushing pink when his grip tightened. "People are looking at us."

    He complied with her wishes, talking her along the steps of the dance almost halfheartedly. "Why did you come to my room last night, Anastasia?" He asked, and the question was phrased so simply, his words so breezy and nonchalant, that she was surprised he hadn't made a dirty joke somewhere within it.

    Anastasia hesitated for a heartbeat, and he grinned at her pause.

    "Oh, you fancy me, don't you?" He was laughing, laughing at her mortified expression. "Don't worry, princess. No shame in it. Honestly, I'm flattered." He teased, still dancing.

    Her face pinched, and she had the violent urge to rip her hand out of his grasp and slap him across the face. "I—No. I do not have any sort of interest towards you. I was... I was lonely, alright? You were a warm body. That's it."

    It was a half-truth. He was interesting to her—mostly the fact that he was Grisha without even knowing, but interesting nonetheless.

    She turned away, annoyed at his presumptiveness, only to nearly crash into a waiter carrying a tray of glasses filled with clear liquid. Her jaw clenched, and she grabbed two of the glasses before downing them both, barely wincing as she did so.

    Saints, vodka burned. Why she was surprised, she didn't know. What she did know, however, was that it was the type of burn that lit her insides on fire and made her feel almost halfway alive for the first time in a very, very long time. Her skin was  suddenly feverish, and every stitch of clothing on her body felt too tight, too itchy.

    Anastasia lifted her hair off of the back of her neck, causing a shower of silver and gold glitter to sprinkle her shoulders. Even the slight relief of having her hair away from her skin was euphoric.

    She felt him watching her even more, his dark eyes tracing down the exposed skin of her neck. Part of her wanted to forsake Kaz's rule of never leaving anyone alone, to ditch Jesper and run off to somewhere else in the city with Clara. She wanted to be alone with her dearest friend, just like they had been for centuries.

    "I know what you're thinking." He said, ripping her away from her fantasy of fleeing. His hand wrapped around her wrist, grip somehow loose but tight at the same time. "Don't. Don't run. I'd hate to kill you when we just started having fun."

    A sneer slipped onto her face, and her annoyance at him smothered the spark of power she felt when he touched her. "Oh, you wish I'd run. I think you'd enjoy chasing me, wouldn't you?" Teasing him came so easily to her that she'd barely realized she'd been doing it.

    Jesper smiled, clearly amused. "Oh, princess. You think so lowly of me. Maybe I just enjoy your company."

    The snort that slipped out of her was unladylike, and she let her hair fall back down her spine. Even more glitter rained down from her icy blonde hair. "I hate the way you talk to me." She said. "Truly, I do. I've never been spoken to so disrespectfully in my life. What goes through your head when you look at me, that you have no other choice than to berate me and degrade me at every opportunity?"

    He had the audacity to grin. "You don't want to know what goes through my head when I look at you. Especially not after—"

    "Shut up!"

    "Why are we telling Jesper to shut up this time?" Clara's voice was amused, and when Anastasia turned around to face her, she looked like she was trying her hardest to hold back a laugh.

    Anastasia went red, alcohol making her flush far easier than she would have sober. "No reason. None at all."

    Oh, Saints, she thought, embarrassment rising in her chest. That didn't sound convincing.

    Clara's knowing smile was enough of a tell—Anastasia was certain that Clara had either heard every word spoken between them, or she could feel how Anastasia's heart hammered against her ribcage in a desperate attempt to break free.

    The music changed again, and Anastasia found herself jumping at the opportunity to change the subject. "Oh, it's the Ravkan waltz again. How nice."

    This is why you don't drink, Anastasia.

    Jesper's arrogant expression doesn't falter for even a moment, even as he watched her eyes, as dark and rich as fresh earth, smolder with anger.

    "Well, I'm going to go find Inej, save her from Brekker." Clara said, a smirk causing her lips to twitch. "Saints know she probably wants better company than Kaz, and who am I to deny her that?"

    Anastasia lunged for Clara, grabbing the redhead's hand before she could go too far. Warmth spread from her fingertips to her shoulders, and a calming sensation swept over her—Clara's ability, clearly and infuriatingly. Anastasia didn't want to be calm or docile; she wanted to not be alone with Jesper, even in a crowded dance hall.

    She took a breath. "One more dance?"

    Clara, smiling softly compared to her previously teasing expression, nodded. "Sure, Stas. One more, and then I'm going to find Inej." She said.

⚜︎

    By the time the five of them left the dance hall, they were all mostly sober, with the exception of Kaz, who hadn't consumed even a drop of alcohol. They walked in clusters—Jesper and Kaz leading with Anastasia, Inej, and Clara bringing up the rear, the latter three strolling along with their arms linked together.

    Anastasia was tired. Her feet hurt, and the moment they'd left the hall, she'd kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot along the cobblestone streets. She had half a mind to fall asleep standing up and just have Clara use her ability to carry her home. But Clara was tired, too, even more so. She'd led the patrons of the hall in a square dance, and it had clearly taken a toll on her.

    At that point, Clara and Inej were practically holding Anastasia up.

    The streets were mostly deserted, but the sound of children's laughter echoed off of the road and the stone buildings around them, lilting back towards the group.

    A clique of small children—no older than ten, all wearing ratty, torn clothes—burst out of an alley, all giggling and laughing as if they'd discovered the funniest thing in the whole world. They were all barefoot, just like Anastasia, and the sound of their small feet slapping against stone was louder than it should have been.

    All half-dozen of the children stopped short when they saw Anastasia and her companions, and the little ones regarded them curiously, wide eyes taking in their various costumes and appearances.

    The littlest of them, a tiny girl with clear, inquisitive green eyes, looked at Anastasia specifically, gaze gliding over her, from her icy blonde hair and the silver and gold dusting the strands, to the wings attached to her back and her silvery dress. The little girl seemed to be looking at her like Anastasia was an alien being from a foreign planet.

    Anastasia smiled softly, and the little girl jumped backward, startled.

    The smile fell, and Anastasia found her fingers twitching; with children, who were far more observant and intuitive than adults, they either saw her as a character from a fairy tale, or a monster. More often than not, it was the latter. 

    Anastasia huddled closer to Clara.

    Despite being in a city that had not known her for over a lifetime, she'd never felt more seen and recognized. And saints, it was terrifying to be seen for what she truly was.

    When they got back to the Slat, all stone-cold sober and exhausted beyond belief, Anastasia went back to her bedroom alone and ripped the dress from her body, letting the torn silk pool at her feet. She reached for a rag and used it to scrub off the rouge and lipstick and glittery shimmer that were caked upon her skin.

    Her bare face stared back at her from the other side of the mirror, pale and sharp and angular. She looked like the mother she'd outgrown, the brother she condemned despite being far too much like him.

    The looking glass shattered when a shard of deadly shadow struck it, and without cleaning up the broken fragments, Anastasia Morozova turned away from it and crawled into bed, falling into a dreamless sleep.