And this day started out so well.

My first instinct is to chase after Arcadia, but I restrain myself. She’s not seeing things clearly, but I don’t think I would get through to her in the mood I’m in. I saw the greed in Belina Magnotto’s eyes, plain as day, but Arcadia either missed it or she’s deliberately overlooking it. Arcadia should know better. She grew up around these people and their machinations. And she knew the risks well enough when we were sneaking out of the palace, so why would she act so recklessly now?

I don’t know. What I do know is that I’ll need to be there, to protect her.

Since I’m at the tailor’s already, I purchase the nicest tunic I can afford. It’s red linen with gold trim around the hem and sleeves. A few more coins gets me a new pair of sandals, with fine leather strapwork up the calves. For the rest of the day I wander the forum, window shop at a weapon smith, sit and watch a fight or two at the amphitheater.

I can’t really enjoy any of it. I keep worrying about Arcadia. The urge to turn the city upside down looking for her is constant. I’m being remiss in my duties, wandering the city like this. But I suppose I don’t have those duties anymore. The thought settles on my shoulders like a leaden blanket, slowing me down for the rest of the day.

When the sun begins to descend I seek out the Magnotto residence. It isn’t difficult to find, though it is a bit of a trek from the center of the city. There’s trouble at the door, the guard doesn’t have my name on his list, but that handmaiden of Belina’s, Cadie, happens to be walking past while I’m arguing with him. When she sees me her eyes widen, and her skin pales a bit, but she has the damn guard let me in.

I’m asked to leave my weapons at the door. Then I am escorted through the house and out onto the balcony, which alone is larger than most people’s homes, and is built at the edge of a high bluff overlooking the city and the sea. The sun is low now, close to the shimmering plane of the ocean, and its light paints the clouds overhead in a swirl of reds, oranges and purples.

I scan the gathering for Arcadia, but she isn't here. Not yet, anyways. Just the usual gilded degenerates, men in bulky togas and women decked out in gowns and glittering jewelry. I look around again. Still not here, fucking hell.

There’s a table in front of me, fully laden with food and drink on fancy platters. I grab a goblet and fill it with wine from a silver decanter. Then I pull the knife out of the boar on the center of the table, and stab it in harder than I really need to, cutting out a fat chunk for myself. There’s a young woman next to me, her hair done up in a cone atop her head. She recoils from me when I reach past her for a piece of cheese.

"Who do you belong to?" she asks.

"Excuse me?"

The woman looks me up and down, her lip curled in disgust. "You're not excused. I wish to reprimand your owner for such a sorry display, a beast in cheap clothing is an assault on the eyes."

My pulse quickens, but I find my discipline. She isn't the first person here who's looked repulsed by my presence, just the first to have spoken her mind. Their arrogant gazes chafe more than this new tunic. It takes me a moment to think of something to say, and when it comes to me I give her a thin smile.

“You know,” I say, as I pluck a grape from the sprig and pop it in my mouth. “We K’zar have a saying; Pride is a shield with nothing behind it.”

The lady gives me a haughty smile. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I could wipe off the prettiest parts of you with a wet rag.”

Her eyes bulge comically and she stiffens, her chin rising. “Do you know who you’re speaking to?”

I shrug. “No. Do you?”

“She is Julia Agrippa,” says the man who steps between us. He has the build of a soldier, and his longish gray hair is white at the temples. “And I am Marcus Magnotto, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise. I’m Rekka.”

He smiles at me, then points. “Would you pass me a goblet?”

“Of course,” I say, handing him one. He takes it and fills it from the decanter, while Julia sneers at me over his shoulder. When he lifts his arm to do so, I notice a diagonal scar across his forearm. The slash of a sword did that. He laughs when he notices me glancing at it.

“You serve in the Legions?” asks Marcus.

I served in the palace guard, actually. Guarding the Prince. Personally. But of course I can’t say any of that, so I have to think fast. “The seventh, sir. Optio under Quintus Felix.”

Marcus Magnotto sips on his wine, stares at me for a long moment. He’s still smiling, but the expression gives me no clue as to whether or not he believes what I just told him. Behind him, Julia Agrippa huffs.

“We were talking,” she says.

Marcus turns to Julia, pats her on the cheek in a paternal kind of way. “Oh, I know. But now I’m talking. This one isn’t your speed, Julia. It’s unwise to anger a K’zar.”

I smirk at that, but I don’t have time to elaborate because Marcus is gesturing for me to follow him. I do so, taking my goblet and plate with me, leaving Julia Agrippa glowering after us.

Marcus finds an open couch by the balcony’s ornate stone railing and I take a seat next to him, setting my plate down on the little table in front of it. There are three men playing music nearby, one with a flute, one strumming on a lyre, the third sitting cross-legged, slapping the drum on his lap with his fingertips. They’re producing a nice, mellow tune. A troupe of four dancing girls surround them, twirling their colorful sashes as they flow about the band in a semicircle.

I take another look around, still no Arcadia. Urgh.

Marcus sprawls out on the couch like a big cat, draping an arm over it, raising an eyebrow when he notices me searching the crowd. He follows my lead, lifting his cup to his lips for a sip of wine, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hairy forearm as he scans over the party goers with me.

“It’s a meat market, to be sure,” he says. “But they only offer the priciest cuts at a party like this.”

I smirk, and sip from my own cup. “I don't like the way Ecean ladies do their hair. Too many curls, odd shapes, embellishments.”

“Ah, so you lay with women.”

That makes me blush, and grin. “I like… Soft things. Things that need protecting. Most men don’t fit my taste in that way,” I say, as I turn my grin in his direction. “Besides, you think anything with a cock wants a woman like me?”

Marcus grins back at me. “Some men will climb any mountain, just because it’s there.”

I can’t tell if I’m being insulted or flirted with, but a few moments of staring blankly at Marcus’s oafish grin makes me break out into laughter regardless. He joins in the laughs, clinks his goblet against mine, and we both have a drink.

“I think I’m starting to feel the wine,” I say, as I settle back against the couch.

“Good,” says Marcus. “Means we should keep drinking.”

“I shouldn’t. I prefer to have my wits about me.”

He laughs. “Expecting a brawl? Sorry to disappoint, but all you’ll get from this crowd are flowery insults.”

I can’t explain to this man why I’m on guard. Even if I could, where would I begin? I sit there for several moments, gazing at the party while I figure out what kind of excuse to give. Eventually Marcus gets impatient, bumps my bicep with his elbow.

“Come on,” he says. “They get prettier the more you drink.”

So we drink. When our cups run low, we hail passing servants to refill them. Eventually Marcus just grabs a full decanter from one and sets it on our table, which reminds me I have food sitting there. The cheese is tangy, a little dry, but the pork is particularly good. Sweet and spicy, perfectly tender. The wine’s good too, and the music. So good I begin to sing along with the musicians. Marcus sings it with me, but he doesn’t know the words because I’m making them up on the spot. He’s singing louder than I am so I have to sing louder too. It’s a lovely song anyway. I know it is, because people are laughing. That means it’s quite good. Yes. Everything’s very very good.

After a time, Marcus and I are sprawled against the couch like red-faced corpses with grins on our faces. I don’t know how long we’ve been drinking, but the torches are lit because the sun’s almost all the way down. He catches me searching around the party looking for Arcadia again, kicks his foot against mine to get my attention.

“There a girl you fancy?” he asks.

My grin is foolish, but I’m not in total control of my face anymore. “I think so?”

“What do you mean you think so?” he says. Then he kicks my foot again.

I kick his foot back. “I don’t know! It just happened!”

“Just happened? Ooh, this sounds good. Tell me about her.”

“Well I’ve known her for some time. Years. She used to be happy, but then for a long time she was…”

Marcus stares at me, his mouth slightly agape. I can’t tell if his head is slowly swaying back and forth, or if it’s me doing that. “Sad? Depressed?” he asks.

I snap my fingers, point at him. “Yes! Depressed! And I didn’t help! Because I had no idea what to do, or even what the problem was!”

“But your heart ached for her.”

I blush, and stare down into my wine like it holds all the answers. Then I tip it back and swallow what’s left of it, rest my head against the couch and stare up at the sky.

“Yes,” I say.

Marcus claps his hand down on my knee, gives it a hard squeeze and a bit of a shake. He takes care to speak extra slowly, so as not to slur his words too much. “We can’t always speak about what troubles us, especially if it’s deep trouble. You stayed by her side regardless. Good for you. Good for both of you.”

I nod, smiling, but I don’t look away from the sky above. The moons are coming out. It’s going to be a violet evening, I think. Ala and Zia are about the same size tonight, so the red and the blue will mix. I hear the clink of a goblet against the floor, hear Marcus curse, but I don’t look. He probably spilled his wine.

I’m still gazing up at the moons when he asks, “What does your lady look like?”

“She’s a little thing, about chest height on me. Short brown hair, but not as short as mine. Quite a figure. She has the prettiest green eyes you’ve ever seen, and--”

He pats me on the shoulder, and points. “Like her?”

My head snaps upright, which makes me wine-dizzy for a moment, and I look in the direction he’s pointing. It is her!

Arcadia stands beside Belina Magnotto, looking around as if wary of predators. She’s wearing an off-white tunic with puffy sleeves under a brown corset, a fancy red shoulder cape over her right arm, and a pair of tight britches with thigh-high leather boots. She spots me, and at first her face lights up, but then her eyebrows furrow and she looks away with pursed lips.

Belina stands a pace ahead of her, and she has a mysterious smile on her face. She raises her goblet, and rings the edge of a silver knife against it a few times to get the attention of the room. The music stops.

“My friends, I have a very special treat for you tonight. A spectacle the likes of which you’ve never seen in your lives!”

She pauses for dramatic effect, smugly surveying the hushed gathering. Her gaze stops on Marcus and I for a moment, and her expression sours. It makes Marcus chuckle.

She continues. “My lovely new friend here is no charlatan, no mere trickster. She has studied the arts of the most ancient of civilizations. Techniques known only to those people of hallowed antiquity.”

That gets a few reactions. Smirks and rolled eyes, mostly. A fellow in the back laughs before his wife swats his shoulder. I glance at Marcus, find his expression neutral. Perhaps the wine will let him suspend his disbelief.

“Your eyes will not believe what they’re witnessing,” says Belina, with an upraised finger. “For tonight, we witness the arts of the Kingdom of Sorcery, Amoraketh!”

Amoraketh. Didn’t Sigrun say something about that?

Belina Magnotto steps aside for Arcadia then, and at the same time a few of Belina's servants come out onto the balcony, carrying large wicker baskets. They set them down around Arcadia in a circle and remove the lids, revealing hundreds of papercraft lotus flowers. They’re a mix of colors, red, blue, yellow, green, purple. It must have taken her all day to fold them up.

Arcadia stands in front of the baskets, her eyebrows wrinkling as her gaze darts about the crowd. She takes a shaky breath, stabilizing herself. Her face relaxes. Then Arcadia's arms lift and sway up and across her body in an arc. Her left leg extends backward, straightening out, her right knee bending to accommodate the pose. All the while she is speaking softly, as if to the air itself. It sounds different than the other two 'languages' I've heard, smooth like water, but more spirited. Her eyes are relaxed, as if nothing in the world concerns her.

It's like a dance, or some sort of meditative martial art form. She extends one hand up toward the heavens, then to the left. Her feet switch positions. Graceful, measured movements, more so than I’d expect from a girl who fidgets like a ball of anxiety most of the time.

Some of the guests appear to be enjoying the performance mildly, others not as much. A man near Belina raises his eyebrows at her, and she answers with a mischievous smile. Next to me, Marcus’s brows are drawn in, and he’s frowning, his eyed fixed on Arcadia.

He leans in so close I can smell the wine on his breath. “What is she doing?” he whispers.

“I don’t rightly know,” I say, giving him a sidelong grin. “But whatever it is, it’ll be unforgettable.”

Arcadia draws her arms inward, then lifts them up toward the sky. A gust of wind explodes upward when she completes the gesture, strong enough to make the torches flicker. Everyone's clothing flutters around madly as the air surges. Her paper flowers take flight from the baskets like a flock of birds, whipping up into the air with speed before swirling into a loosely spherical formation over everyone’s heads.

Everyone is craning their necks skyward, wearing looks of wide-eyed wonder. I glance at Marcus, smirk when I see a similar expression on his face. When I look back at Arcadia, she’s slowly lowering her hands, stretching her arms out to her sides and twisting herself around in a circle. The paper flowers follow her lead, descending until they’re inches overhead, swirling like they’re caught in a whirlpool.

The vortex of varicolored flowers funnels downward, enveloping Arcadia as if she were standing at the center of a miniature tornado. Those standing nearby take a step backward in alarm as the wind buffets them. The flowers crowd in so closely she disappears from view, and they’re flying around her body with such speed that the colors begin to blur together.

And all of a sudden, the wind stops. Rainbow flowers flutter outward with the last breath of the spell. A number of them settle in a loose circular pile like so many autumn leaves. Arcadia is gone. Disappeared. Gasps ripple through the gathering, people looking around, bewildered, wondering where she went.

Their eyes aren’t quick enough to follow her, but mine are. She didn’t vanish, she shot straight up into the air like she was flung from a catapult. But she isn’t falling. She’s floating, slowly descending to alight upon the edge of the house’s roof, an unnatural breeze blowing her hair and cloak straight upward. I see that look of otherworldly serenity on her face again. It’s as breathtaking as the first time I saw it, which was only this morning. But still.