A simple snowfall has never made me nervous before. But the idea of being stuck here for skies know how long while Veradeaux and the Man from the East are still on the hunt for Aster gives life to fluttery dread in my stomach. I shove it down, though, and smile at Idyne.

Her gaze is light, body language relaxed, weight shifted onto one leg—an almost natural pose. A smile rests on her lips, one hand at ease on her hips. But looking closer, there's cracks in her easy-going facade. Dirt streaked down her face, dark bags under her eyes, tiny twigs strewn among the beaded braids. She reminds me of some of the Dock girls Tavion and I used to go out with. They'd smile and laugh like they didn't have a care in the world. Then they'd drink themselves into oblivion. There was always something in their eyes. A haunted look, like they were running from a past they couldn't quite escape. And Idyne is a runner if I've ever seen one.

I try to keep my expression light. "See?" I say, gesturing to Marcí. "Like she said, you're stuck here. Might as well get that leg fixed before it gets worse." I wink at her. "My room's up the stairs, first on the right. I'll meet you there."

Not giving her time to argue, I go get some water and cloths. When I get to the room, she's there, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You know, I don't know a lot of folks that go around bossing people they've just met."

I laugh, sitting the bowl of water on the bedside table. "I don't know a lot of people who don't want their injuries treated."

"I don't know a lot of people that like admitting they're injured."

"That's fair," I smile. "Here, let me see."

"Are you a doctor?"

"Not exactly, no." I dip the cloth in the water. "But I study..." Vitaliti is what I want to say. "People. And animals. It doesn't take much"—I tap my temple—"knowing to be able to clean an injury."

She cocks her head at me. "What language do you speak?"

A sly smile slips over my face. "Show me your leg, and I'll tell you."

She tips her head at me in playful irritation. Waving her hand, she says, "Fine." She pulls up the bottom of her leggings, revealing a long, jagged cut.

"That doesn't look too deep," I say as I pat the skin with the wet cloth.

She hisses, then frowns. "You haven't kept your side of the deal yet."

"Errelian," I answer. "Can you turn your leg slightly?"

She does, then says, "Say something."

My smile gains a mischievous tinge. "Gihseirre."

"Just repeating 'something' in the other language is not creative, Leavi."

The cloth drops from my hand. "You... you're speaking Errelian."

"Mhm! I mean, I assume I am."

My mouth moves in silence as I try to process it. Then a rush of questions tumbles out. "Where did you learn it? Do you know how to get back to the High Valleys? When did you—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. High Valleys?" A strange expression crosses her face. "You know, that sounds like a contradiction."

How is she so calm? "How—how can you speak Errelian and not know about the High Valleys?"

From underneath her collar, she draws out a small, corked glass bottle on a tarnished chain. Something colorful swirls within the glass, giving off a faint light. It must be some sort of neon solution. "I speak whatever language I heard last."

Another trickster, then, like Aster. But last night was something far beyond a trick. My eyes study the neon in the bottle.

"Are you done?" Idyne asks.

"Oh." I look back at her leg. "Not quite." I pick the cloth back up, wetting it again, and finish cleaning the wound.

There's something going on here that I don't understand. But I will figure it out. Just because I can't explain last night doesn't necessarily mean that Idyne isn't some sort of con. It's possible she's from the High Valleys or has learned the language from someone who left. Maybe she's a linguist and uses the magic excuse to pull more interest. Whatever the situation, there's a logical reason behind it. There always is.

I finish cleaning her leg and do my best to wrap the wound in clean cloths. After offering her a change of clothes, I encourage her to get some rest, and she grudgingly listens. I wander downstairs, but not finding who I'm looking for, head to the kitchen. Marcí is dicing potatoes.

"Where's Aster?" I ask.

"Oh, in his room, I think. Said something about needing to practice something or another. Here, chop these for me, would you?" She hands me the knife.

I oblige her. "What are we making?"

"Right now?" She bustles over to a pot on the stove. "Potato soup. But then we'll be busy cooking refreshments for the party tonight, so don't run off."

Panic spikes in my heart. "Party?" I choke.

"Oh, no, don't worry. It won't be like your party. Town's in a blizzard; no one's coming here in that. No, sweet little Zena suggested we have one, just our little group here, for Miss... Idyne was her name, right?"

I nod, and she points at my cutting board. "Leavi, dear, I need those potatoes about half as big and twice as quickly. Show a little urgency." She smiles, working herself, and we stay busy cooking, only stopping briefly for lunch.

Hours later, I press open the door to my bedroom. Idyne is curled up on my bed, little blonde braids splayed across my pillow. I gently shake her awake.

Her eyes snap open. The panic there drains into recognition, and she relaxes. "Leavi. How long have I been asleep?"

She's still speaking Errelian. It's strangely comforting and unsettling at the same time. "Most of the day, actually. But I came up here to warn you. Marcí, the innkeeper, wants to throw a party for you. You don't have to go, but—"

"A party?" She sits straight up, eyes wide. "For me?" She scrambles out of bed. "Of course I want to go!"

"Your leg—"

She waves it away. "It's not that bad."

"Are you sure?"

"It's practically just a scratch." She grins. "When's it start? How long do we have to get ready?"

"Ah. An hour, maybe?" I'm not sure what kind of getting ready she expects to do. It's not as though either of us has a closet of clothes or a caddy of makeup. All my party dresses are in a rotting trash heap somewhere in Erreliah, where my mother threw them after finding out that respectable, high class Eleaviara Riveirre was associating with Dock girls rather than studying.

"Great! That should be plenty of time." She snags her knapsack and pulls out two simple cotton dresses, one grey and one tan. She hums. "Tan's going to wash you out. Here." She tosses the grey dress at me. "Try that on."

I catch it. "There's no reason to dress up," I tell her. "It's just the boarders."

"There is always a reason to dress up." She slips hers on. Her gaze flicks up and left. "No, I don't know why she's not dressed yet. Shush." She looks back to me, smiling. "Go on."

Trying to hide my askance look, I change, pulling the dress over my head. The cotton's not as high quality as I'm used to, but the fabric is still soft on my skin, as though new. The sleeves flare out, loose, and the skirt bells as it hits my waist. However, what fits Idyne mid-shin only comes down to my knees.

Idyne looks me up and down. "You know, it's a little short, but I think you pull it off." She claps. "Now, hair and makeup." Apparently I was wrong about closets and caddies, because in addition to the dress, she pulls a leather pouch of cosmetics out of her sack.

Ushering me onto the bed, she starts a flurry of beautifying preparations, shushing me any time I try to speak. She keeps up a steady dialogue with herself, though. Her conversation bounces here and there, high and low, and then to some non-consecutive point in the middle. Meanwhile, she alternates between doing my makeup and her hair and her makeup and my hair. There's something strangely comforting about the busyness of it. Even in a room with just the two of us, it makes me think of large crowds, bright lights, and a night with friends. Finally, she makes her last sweep of makeup and places her last pin.

From her bag, she pulls out a long, jagged bit of mirror, wrapped with cloth at one end to make a handle. She holds it out in front of us, and I gasp. Her style of makeup reminds me more of birds and butterflies than socialites and Dock girls. Colors sweep out from our eyes and over our lips in strange patterns, and for a second, it feels like I've been transformed into something else, something wild, free, and triumphant. Gently, my hand touches my cheek. "What is this?"

She giggles. "Do you like it? I was worried I'd get it wrong—not worn festival makeup since I was a kid—but I think we bloomed out prettier than a wildflower field."

I nod, still taking in the strangely exotic feeling it gives my face. "Why don't you wear it anymore? It's beautiful."

Darkness flickers over her colorful face, and the red rose petals across her cheeks suddenly remind me more of tears and blood. Her back turns to me as she tucks her mirror away. "Ready to go? Wouldn't miss a party thrown just for me for the world." Before I can answer, she straightens and saunters out the door. Brown drawn, I follow.

Music fills the living room as Markus plays the strange stringed instrument I heard at the last party. The cat threads through the boarders' feet. In the center of the room, Aster twirls Zena, and she laughs.

"They started without us?" Idyne exclaims. She grabs my hand and pulls me to the middle of the floor. We dance, and in the lightness of it, I almost forget how far away home is, how impossible last night was, and how frightening the people of Veradeaux manor are. The storm outside covers the inn like a child's blanket, and as trepitadous as it made me earlier, I'm suddenly grateful for the thin respite it offers.

Eventually, Idyne and I both tire and move to lean against the wall, laughing as everyone else dances. "Thank you," I say, still catching my breath.

"You're welcome!" Her gaze sweeps over the room, and something wistful takes her voice. "These seem like nice people."

I nod. "They pretty much are."

"Pretty much?" Her head cocks.

"Well." My arms cross myself. "I mean, everyone has their quirks."

"Like?" she draws out.

I roll my eyes. "What are you looking for, the town gossip?"

She twines her hands together, rocking with the playfulness and innocence of a child. "I'm new here."

I laugh. She might be new here, but she's not new to this kind of situation, I'd bet my last mark on it. "Alright, you want the rundown?" It's too easy to talk in my home tongue, and I can't help but let the words get away from me. "Marcí is the benevolent boss the world revolves around and her family—Bukki, Markus, and Zena—is completely harmless. Jacin is trouble." I give her a teasing smile, but saying the word somehow cements it in my mind. "And Sean is..." My gaze flicks to the boy sitting in the corner, head turned to the presswrite in his lap. "A recluse," I settle on. "He won't bother you if you don't bother him."

"You make him sound like a dog you're worried might bite me!"

"It's not that, Idyne. It's just... he wouldn't know how to have a normal, friendly conversation if he read a library on the subject."

She giggles. "Sounds like a challenge! I like it."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." I shrug. "I doubt you'll get past introductions."

She shrugs mischievously, and I shake my head, turning to watch the two pairs of dancers. Bukki and Marcí sway to the music alongside Zena and Aster. The little girl stands on his feet now, and he carries her through the dance. She giggles. He dances straight-backed, arms and head held high—as high as a four-foot partner allows. The candlelight shimmers gold in his short blond hair, mirth shines in his eyes, and his broad smile adds gentleness to his sharp, high-boned features. He looks like some noble fey from my story books.

"Who are you gazing at so dreamy-eyed?" Idyne asks.

"I was not 'gazing dreamy-eyed' at anyone," I protest.

"Mhm. Sure."

I roll my eyes. "Unlike you it seems, I'm not looking for anything—or anyone."

"Okay." She grins at me. "Well, I have higher hopes for my life, so..." She pushes off the wall, heading toward the corner where Sean is sitting. Halfway there, she glances back over her shoulder and twiddles her fingers at me. My hand drifts to my necklace as a cold anxiety rises in my stomach.

The music pauses. In the center of the room, Aster bows to Zena. Her little hand covers her mouth, a blush spreading across her cheeks. As he stands, she runs to her father, chattering excitedly.

"Play us another, Markus!" Marcí calls, and the music starts up again.

Aster walks toward me, offering me his hand. "May I have this dance, maedimoielle?"

I tilt my head and tease, "Was that an insult?"

Startled, he refutes, "Not at all! It means 'miss.'"

I press my lips together. "I don't know. I think you might have said something rude in a," I say, searching for the Avadelian word, "foreign language."

A knowing glint lights in his eyes. "Ah, yes, you've caught me." He spreads his arms wide. "What can I say?"

"I think an apol—apolo—"

"You have my most sincere apology."

A grin spreads across my face, pleasantly shocked he knew what I was trying to say. "Good."

"You never did say about that dance."

I smooth my dress out. "Are you not tired from dancing with Zena?"

He laughs. "As demanding a partner as she may be, it wouldn't feel right to pass the night by without a dance from the girl that saved my life."

My eyes flick up to his. "I can't say no to that, can I?"

His face lights up, and he sweeps me onto the dance floor. He's a good leader, confident, poised, and it's easy to follow his steps. His surety seeps into me, and I feel like a princess in a ballroom rather than a poor traveler in a parlor.

"Do you know Idyne? From before now, I mean?" he asks suddenly.

"No. Why?"

"The two of you just seemed very friendly. I thought you might be acquaintances."

"Not before today, no." He spins me. "She knows my language," I explain as I come back to face him.

A sly smile plays at his lips. "You never did tell me where you were from."

I miss a step, narrowly avoiding stepping on his toes. "No. I didn't, did I?"

Eyes shining, he waits for me to answer.

I open my mouth to change the conversation but pause. What harm could telling him do? After all, he's already told me something I don't believe. The worst that could happen is him think me as strange as I already do him. "I lived in a land called the High Valleys."

Our steps take us only inches away from Bukki and Marcí, but Aster seems unfazed. "I didn't know there were many mountains in Draó." He chuckles. "Especially not any so tall that even the valleys were high."

My laughter is tinged with nerves. "I'm not from Draó."

His head tilts. "You said before..."

"I lied?"

He laughs, head leaned back, eyes closed. "Why?"

Because we're from two entirely different worlds. "It's hard to explain. My home was... different."

"Different how?"

I close my eyes, imagining standing in Erreliah's streets, bustling and brightly lit even at night. The music there would have the scratch of a gramophone and be competing with the steamy whistle of the passing public rail. The scent of perfume, wet rock, street vendors' food, and too many people in one place would press in on us, the awful, wild, exhilarating smell of life—

"Leavi?"

My eyes snap open. "Different... completely." I'm at a loss how else to describe it.

"You miss it." Empathy floods his gaze.

"Is it so obvious?"

He smiles. "A little. What do you miss? Maybe we can," he says, searching for the word, "replicate it."

"At this moment?" I glance around the room. "The busyness. Even when we do things here, it feels—" Empty. A facade of what real life should be. Flat.

"Too quiet somehow? Like there is something, somethings, that's missing?"

My eyes widen. "Exactly! How—how did you—"

He shrugs, somehow still light on his feet. "N'veauvia is much busier than here."

"I hope that is where Sean and I end up, then."

"The city is beautiful. You should see the castle in the summer."

The thought of it fills me with wonder. I can't help but imagine what architectural marvels an advanced people could accomplish above ground, unconfined by cavern walls and ceilings. "I would like to." He spins me again, and I muse, "I wonder where Idyne's headed." Something in his expression hitches, and I cock my head at him. "What?"

His lips twist. "I just don't trust her."

"Why not?"

"Kra'kaas..." The music fills the space where his words should be. "Aren't exactly known for their stability," he finishes.

"What do you mean?"

"They're impulsive and unpredictable." He dips me. "And dangerous." Serious eyes hold me in their gaze. He pulls me up.

"Idyne doesn't seem dangerous to me." But hesitation tinges my voice now.

"Kra'kaa magic is powerful and their motives unreliable. You can never be sure what they will do."

The song ends, and I pause, staring up at him. "But what is a kra'kaa?"

"A strong, lone-wolf type caster. Their magic is material based, and they're chronically untrustworthy." A million questions flash through my mind. "They offer magical help, but their kind of magic always comes with a price."

Beside me, Bukki coughs, a thick, wracking sound. The cup in his hand slips, clattering to the ground, and his punch drenches the fabric of my dress.

"Miss Leavi," he wheezes, recovering. "I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

I wave it away, and Jacin moves to clean the mess. Marcí sets a hand on Bukki's shoulder. "Are you alright dear?"

"Yes, yes," he assures, settling onto the couch. "Just a little coughing spell, nothing more."

"It didn't sound like a little coughing spell..."

Aster looks at me. "Are you okay?"

I nod. "Just wet. Let me go change?"

"Of course."

I hurry upstairs as Aster moves to help Jacin. Halfway up, the music starts again, and I glance back down.

The mess is cleared, and everyone's happy, continuing the revelry. Aster dances with Marcí, Jacin dances with Zena, and Idyne dances with... Sean. Sean's dancing, steps awkward and stilted, but dancing. He's not even scowling. Apparently, he doesn't have all that much problem with the activity itself.

Just who asked.

My breath catches, but I turn away. When I change, I don't come back down.