IT WAS A comfort to know that all bars seemed to be the same – no matter the time period or... dimension, or whatever.

The Gilded Swan's air was thick and warm from all the bodies pressed together. The lights were dim, like candlelight just before it flickered out. I could even pretend the smoke curling into the bar came from cigarettes or joints, not long wooden pipes.

The table Amero found was tucked into a corner at the left: a plush booth pressed close to the one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that wasn't open. I noticed the seating arrangement. I was to sit in the empty space between Dame Gloria, and Sir Nico would slide in next to me. The other knights were stationed close, and while they casually leaned into their seats, I knew they would be ready to jump up at a moment's notice for my defense.

Or demise, if the King gave Sir Nico an order.

I glanced at him and how ridiculously easygoing he seemed. Like Dustin when he goaded me into going to that stupid party to get my fake ID. What was this man thinking right now? Probably collecting any piece of information he could get and send it straight back to the King, searching for any weakness in mine and Claire's lies. He wouldn't succeed.

A burly man came up to our table with five wooden goblets dwarfed in his large hands. He was even bigger than Sir Wat, which was saying something. Did only giant men work at this place?

"Thank you," Sir Nico said as the man set the goblets on the table. The knight distributed them evenly amongst everyone. One even settled in front of me.

The glint of lacquered wood flashed in the dull lights and pulled my focus in a completely different direction. A guitar. It belonged to a man settling onto a stool at the other end of the bar, his movements causing everyone in the crowded room to hush or lower their voices. Had everyone come for him?

The worn leather crackled under my back as I leaned further into my seat, taking the goblet with me. I glanced at the crimson wine inside before taking a generous swig. I wasn't much of a red wine drinker back home, but this place was starting to turn me. Or maybe it was because it was the first nerve-settling substance readily available.

"Calling sharp," Sir Fulbert suddenly said. "The first string always starts out sharp."

Wait – I knew those words. It was the first time I knew what one sentence meant in this place. But I didn't know why they were all being used at once, amongst all these people.

"That is not true," Dame Gloria scoffed. The other knights drank from their goblets, glancing between the performer and... Sir Nico?

"What's the game?" I asked Dame Gloria.

"Guess which way the starting note falls while he tunes it," she nodded to the performer. "You drink if you're wrong. It's entirely senseless, of course... but fun."

"I'll play," I said.

I could feel our table's anticipation mounting as the guitarist pulled his instrument closer to his chest. I leaned forward in my seat, taking another sip of my drink. He strummed the first string –

"Flat." My voice harmonized with a deeper tone, while Sir Fulbert let out an annoyed sigh. I met Sir Nico's curious dark eyes.

"Do you play?" he asked.

"Do you?" I could help but give him a quick onceover. His hands were calloused, but I just assumed it was from sword fighting.

"All the time," Sir Wat piped up. "Quite well too – probably better than this –"

Dame Gloria smacked Sir Wat's arm to shush him, but Sir Amero picked up where the Viking-esque knight left off. "He speaks the truth, Gloria. It is only natural Nico is good," he boasted. "He gets it from our people. Cetiole is the capital of music."

I'd noticed the name of the seaside country while studying the world map in Swords and Roses. Sir Amero pronounced it completely different from the way I thought it was supposed to be. It was all hard consonants and long vowels. Keh-tee-oh-lay. Tied with Sir Amero's accent, the name slipped through the air like silk.

Sir Nico's focus didn't shift from me once. As if waiting for me to answer his question. "Guitar," I said. "You?"

"The same," he replied, before finally turning back to the performer, who was tuning his final strings. He plucked the next one.

"Sharp," I said when Sir Nico responded, "Flat" in tandem. Our eyes locked once more. The other knights' drinks were suspended in their hands, torn between drinking or setting them down. I couldn't help but smile at Sir Nico's slightly furrowed brows. "It's sharp," I said.

"No –" Sir Nico began.

"I'm right," I finished.

He didn't say anything. Just looked at me, not exactly angry or confused but... that smirk from the town square, one I knew was a challenge, wormed its way on his face. We were locked in some weird battle now, as if he knew how much weight this tiny disagreement between us held for me.

"Oi!" Sir Wat shouted before the guitarist could play at the string to tune it. His voice boomed over the other patrons. My face burned when most of their gazes shifted toward our table. "Play that one again! We have a score to settle!"

Slowly, the performer plucked the string. A sharp note rang out. Nico, with his steady gaze still fixed on me, slowly smiled. He tipped his glass up to his mouth, a sign of defeat. Sir Amero, Fulbert, and Dame Gloria crowed in delight. The pub-goers went back to their drinks and conversation, and the musician to tuning his guitar. And I had won this round. It was a start.

"Now we can finally have an even game," Sir Fulbert said. "I never thought it was fair Nico was the only judge."

"You invented the game because he could be the only judge!" Sir Amero exclaimed. Everyone laughed.

The volume of the rest of the bar rose around us. It crested at the doorway.

It met a man dressed in deep, rich colors of blue and green and black. He'd walked into the bar. Silver and gold jewelry dangled and dripped off of him, between bracelets, brooches, necklaces, and earrings. Long, wispy black hair was pulled up in a massive messy bun high over his head. Dark eye makeup swept over his lids, and I needed to figure out where the hell he got his eyeliner. He stood out completely from everyone else in the bar, and everyone flocked around him like he was some kind of celebrity.

"Holy hellsfire," Sir Wat gasped. "Is that Felic Émile?"

The name slammed into me like a bucket of ice water. I actually stopped breathing, just for a second. Then I compensated with a hearty swig from my goblet, letting the bitterness ground me, also kind of hoping the alcohol would hit and make this situation easier to grasp. I blinked. Stared. Didn't move.

"Who else would it be?" Dame Gloria said. "Of course he would be here for the Autumnal Festival."

Of course he would.

Felic Émile was one of the world's most prolific sorcerers. He was a performer, his shows were well-renowned, but the gaudily dressed man wanted more than fame as an entertainer.

His cloak swished around him as he turned one way, and then the other, making sure to give each person who offered him attention a dazzling smile in return. The knights around me shared their own excited whispers, were already bartering patrol patterns so they could watch whatever spectacle he put on. Everyone loved him. Of course they all did.

I narrowed my eyes.

They didn't know he was a villain. The villain in Swords and Roses.

"Do you think he'll perform at the ball?" Sir Fulbert wondered aloud. "Or will he be a guest?"

He would be invited to a ball? After everything he did? I frowned. "What ball?"

"The Grand Harvest Banquet," Sir Nico replied, his smile gone, and I realized I made a mistake in asking. "It is held after the first day of the Festival."

It was a mistake to ask. I should've known. The risk wasn't even worth the answer. Claire and I had figured out we were in a space and time that took place before Swords and Roses, but I could barely believe Felic Émile was actually here, walking free, talking to people who adored him, and not confined to a pot when Lady Heathwell cursed him to live as a barren rosebush for the rest of his life at the end of her story.

Sir Nico turned to his peers. "With his growing popularity, I'm sure he'll be honored as an esteemed guest for the Royal Family to meet."

"I heard he was even going to Velein," Sir Amero said. "Gloria, isn't your brother stationed there?"

Felic hadn't done anything bad... for now. And honestly, he was only a bad guy in the book because he wanted Lady Heathwood's magic. There was nothing for him in Larnwick.

Wasn't I just wishing I could find a powerful sorcerer?

I took another drink, but slower, so I could watch Felic Émile from over the rim of my glass. I'd dealt with shitty men before. It was how I formed a band popular enough to get an audition spot in a real one, how I even became the person I was in the first place. The world wouldn't change that. I wasn't Lady Joan, dainty noblewoman with delicate sensibilities. I was Jo Motherfucking Austin, and I was used to taking what I wanted, even if it had to come from horrible people.

What was one more?