Aravin was away from home more often than not, so Alyss considered it a blessing when word spread after three days that he had returned to Tranendal. As always after visiting one of the oases, he celebrated his homecoming with a lavish party at the theatre.

Well—his mother organized the party, to be precise. Alyss knew the woman had nothing good to say about her son spending so much time beyond Tranendal—the part of the world she deemed irrelevant—and by hosting such grand events, she tried to inflate the importance of his eccentric travels and boost the popularity of her family—or more accurately, herself.

The theatre’s portico was already crowded when Alyss arrived. The building had once been a dragon temple, still evident in the scale-shaped stones, the mechanical dragons crawling up and down the many columns, and the towering statues flanking the entrance.

Alyss didn’t plan to stay long. These kinds of parties weren’t her thing, and she wasn’t about to discuss her business—however urgent—in a place like this. She simply wanted to reconnect with Aravin and arrange a time to speak with him later. Besides, showing her face wouldn’t hurt. She was well aware that she tended to withdraw from social circles, which didn’t do her any favors.

Despite the early hour, some guests were already drunk. Laughing, they leaned against the pillars or walls, pointing or shouting things at her.

“Nice dress, Lizzie,” Benjamin hollered, giving her an exaggerated wink. He belonged to the Enforcement Pillar and had left his overcoat behind. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to show off his muscular arms.

Alyss wasn’t impressed. She gave him a curt nod and moved on. Still, a little self-conscious, she glanced down at her champagne-colored dress. A darker overdress was buckled to the underlayer, and the bodice’s lacing displayed a complex knotwork that had taken her maid an hour to complete. Gold ruffles ran from her collar down her sides to the hem. It was a tasteful gown, nothing out of place among what her female peers were wearing. She shouldn’t stand out in it.

She entered the small theatre hall. The usually neat rows of chairs had been cleared to make room for a dance floor and a few seating areas. Alyss took a deep breath. Now what? A sharp pang of loss stabbed through her chest. In the past, she would’ve dragged her brother along by the arm. Or Mart. The pain worsened at the thought of her first love. Her brother had found peace, but Mart was locked in a dungeon while the rest of the world believed he was dead. Even if he were freed, he would never again laugh and mingle in a room like this.

Alyss accepted a drink from a passing waitress and sipped the sweet cherry liqueur. Her gaze swept across the room. It wasn’t hard to spot Aravin; a large group of young people surrounded him. He was talking animatedly, with grand gestures and constant laughter. So fake it was a miracle no one else saw through it. Even from here, she could see the weight on his shoulders, the emptiness in his eyes—inevitable when your soulmate was trapped in the deepest pit of despair imaginable.

Alyss didn’t approach him right away. She struck up a conversation with Victoria and asked about her wedding preparations, congratulated Corlette on her new position at the conservatory, and listened to a heated debate over a literary work, feigning interest. The many voices threatened to drain her. Due to her own research, she wasn’t used to being around people anymore. It was strange to think she once drew energy from gatherings like this.

Her attention drifted from the conversation to the musicians on the semicircular stage: a woman with an accordion, two brass players, two violinists, and a pair of double bassists performed lively pieces. Although they had likely started off more restrained under Madame Charlotte’s direction, her son—or one of his friends—had quickly urged the tempo onward.

Aravin and his friends had now gathered around a table, indulging in a platter of meat fingers. Delicacies most ate as absentmindedly as soup, but Alyss couldn’t help wondering whose desperate souls those fingers had once belonged to. No matter how often she saw it, it never failed to unsettle her. She waited until the platters were cleared before making her way over.

Aravin was leaning back on two chair legs, but he straightened the moment he spotted her. His brown hair was tousled, as always, like someone had just run their fingers through it—a kind of dishevelment only he could pull off. He raised his thick eyebrows slightly in question. With his high cheekbones, sharp jawline, flawless skin, and full lips, he made a striking figure. Many of her former friends had giggled about wanting to kiss those lips. None ever had.

“Alyss.” His voice had a rough edge. It always did, but it sharpened when emotions stirred. She was a walking memory to him, just as he was to her. After a long time apart, the scars always felt fresh again.

“Aravin.” She faked a smile. With so many people around, she couldn’t say much. “I was hoping you’d grace me with a dance.”

“You know I’ve got two left feet.”

She stayed beside him and offered her hand. “Everyone knows that. So no one bats an eye when you make a fool of yourself.”

One of his friends burst out laughing. “Can’t be worse than being found naked in a trash heap.”

A shadow passed over Aravin’s face. Alyss smirked behind her hand. That had indeed happened a year ago during one of his trips to the oases. Someone had taken flash portraits of the unconscious tincture master sprawled among the rubbish and later cast them in bronze. The art pieces still surfaced from time to time, much to Aravin’s embarrassment—who, in that regard, was more reserved than most of his friends.

“That’s not funny,” growled Leopold. The broad-shouldered young man with slicked-back black hair was Seymon’s son, though the two couldn’t stand each other. Not being a scholar, Leopold had been a disappointment and had moved to the Enforcement Pillar two years ago. Last she’d heard, he was chasing a thief outside Tranendal—someone who had stolen from his uncle, a controversial figure exiled from Tranendal for gruesome experiments. Alyss suspected Leopold had only rekindled contact to spite his father.

One of Aravin’s buddies—a blond guy whose name escaped her—turned in his chair and grinned at her. “Same thing happened to Leopold four days ago. Went to Koperhaven, picked up some blonde girl, and next thing you know—naked in the gutter.”

Aravin stood. “I know you look up to me, Leo, but you don’t have to copy everything I do.”

Alyss chuckled. “Honestly, I think it’s quite the interesting trend.” Better than eating other people’s fingers like they’re baby carrots.

Leopold narrowed his eyes. “Laugh all you want. Unlike you, I’m not letting this go. I’ll find that girl and make her pay. Even my copera flasks were emptied—every last drop.”

“Maybe Aravin sympathizes enough to give you a mates’ rate on a new batch,” one of the men suggested.

Aravin smirked. “Sounds more like you wanted to take a whore to a room, had nothing to pay her with, and are now trying to spin a story.”

Laughter erupted around the table, and Leopold turned beet red, muttering under his breath. Aravin turned back to Alyss. “You wanted that dance?”

He offered a gloved hand.

Alyss took it and led him to a corner where a few other couples were dancing. They swayed to the music for a while. Only now did Alyss realize how much she had missed dancing—it had always made her feel free.

“How are you, Alyss?” Aravin asked after spinning her and pulling her close. The many buckles on his jacket and the decorative dials on his shoulder gleamed under the gaslights above. “You wouldn’t seek me out without a reason.”

She looked up into his brown eyes. “I’m at my wit’s end, Vin.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked away sudden tears. “And the fact that I’m turning to you of all people shows just how desperate I am.”