“Show them your talent.”

“…that wickedly beautiful talent.”

Very well. As you wish.

The show had finally reached an intermission after thirty minutes of mindless replays of how the bride and groom met, one sketch for each “side” of the story. More characters that were supposed to represent their friends entered, and with each new friend character introduction came a zany little dance number.

Zara cracked a smile maybe once. Or twice. Cina and everyone else was giggling away the whole time though, enjoying the show like normal people. Zara couldn’t get her heart into it. It was too sappy and lovey for her. The way everybody cooed and cawed over Dolly’s character—who was the pretty dancer with the wide hips, as she recalled Rowan gushing about—made Zara’s chest sting. She usually loved romance. But for this play, with all its musical and comedic outbursts, rang hollow for her.

Maybe she couldn’t stand the damn grins on all these people. They’d slighted her, be it through vicious words or unpleasant looks, or mockery—as some of the younger kids had done when they thought she wasn’t paying attention. She didn’t like that they were happy. Especially the group surrounding the bride. Everything about what they had felt unearned, like a good life and beauty just happened to land on their heads because the angels favored them for no real reason. They weren’t good people. But there they were, happy and loved anyway.

“Zara,” Cina said, “can you get me some of those lentil balls? I want to try!”

Zara glanced at her friend’s eager face. She was practically salivating at getting her hands on a plate of spicy fried lentil treats that were being passed around by the staff, mainly where the bride’s party was seated. The other guests huddled around the quilt, grabbing what they could before it was cleared out. The servants were doing their best to keep things orderly, but their efforts were failing.

“No. I’m not going up there. Why can’t we wait until they bring us some?” Zara complained.

“No, there are no more plates left, can’t you tell? All the good snacks are going to them. Look at all those other people, they’re going to take everything…”

“Why don’t you go?”

Cina shook her head. “Nuh-uh. That’s your cousin’s territory and from what you told me about them, I’m not going over there. I have no energy for a fight right now. Especially not in front of your older brother. Married or not, I don’t want to look stupid in front of him. And I look like shit, I can feel it. I don’t want them to see.” Her skin did seem paler, and while her pupils had shrunk back to normal, the tired shadows under her eyes had grown prominent.

“I don’t want to go either,” Zara hissed. “I don’t think I look any better and they’ll definitely notice me up there. They don’t like me!”

Cina pouted. “Just be really quick? Look, that one servant over there served a plate to the family next to them. They seem nice enough…and maybe no one will notice you.”

To Zara’s relief, it was Rauna who was doing the serving. Naz and Sonya were nearby, though.

“Please,” Cina begged. “Please, I’m starving.”

Zara rolled her eyes. “You’ve been eating all day. How are you still hungry?”

Cina shrugged. “I get hungry when I’m high.”

“You were high?!”

“Shhhh!!” Cina put her finger to her lip angrily. She didn’t want her parents to overhear.

Nima turned to them, smiling obliviously. “Are you girls okay? Did you want me to grab one of those plates for you? I wouldn’t mind having some more food myself. Everything’s been so delicious.”

Zara stood courteously. “No, Auntie. I’m just about to go.”

“Are you sure?”

Cina grinned cheekily. “Thank you, Zara.”

Nima frowned. “Cina, why don’t you go for yourself? Always making others work for you.”

“Ammi, I’m a very hard worker as is, you know that! I’m just feeling shy right now.”

It was a load of shit, but since Nima was a kind person, Zara was willing to do her this favor. It was a matter of getting it over with. Besides, maybe she will get lucky, and that group would continue being absorbed in themselves to even noticed she’d come and gone.

Zara took her plate and approached Rauna, who was all too happy to see Zara. Rauna then divided up the snacks on Zara’s plate upon request. It was all too easy, except for the uncomfortable sour face Sonya was making at her. That woman was not going to be easy to live with, and she wanted Zara to know it. Zara didn’t even bother looking at Naz. She could feel him leering. It was smarter to ignore him.

“Dolly.” Zara couldn’t help but flinch at suddenly hearing Sonya’s voice speak out. “Tell me again which day is the wedding, hon.”

She’s talking like they’re so close already…

“Everyone is trying to clarify that with me,” Dolly answered back. “Maybe I should make the announcement.”

“Don’t bother with that,” one of her many friends chimed in. “You’re the guest of honor. Somebody else should make the announcement.”

“Melega should do it,” one of Varun’s friends said, laughing.

Zara walked on, overhearing the incessant chatter of the women:

“I can’t wait to have our henna all done again next month.”

“Yes! Hands and feet this time. Dolly, be sure the artists have the darkest paste. It’s the highest quality and will ward off all evil spirits—”

When Zara sat back down, allowing Cina and her family to dive in to the plate, Dolly’s redheaded friend, Melega had resigned herself to walk on to the stage and make the announcement. Her friends cheered for her, obnoxiously. The performers and musicians were off to the side, sipping on refreshments and watching her with curious eyes.

Melega cupped her hands around her mouth. “May I please have everyone’s attention?!”

“Everyone! Everyone!” This was Tina shouting, the one with the impressive cheekbones. “This is a relayed message from the BRIDE! QUIET!”

Cina winced with a full mouth and muttered, “Ugh does she have to be so loud? My head throbs.”

As soon as the guests settled down, Melega continued talking, loud and proud. “Thank you everyone. This has been a wonderful party, don’t you all agree? Thanks so much to Dolly’s family for working so hard to set all this up!”

The guests applauded and whistled. Zara’s parents were elated. Noina smiled humbly.

“And let’s please not forget how great the show is going. Thank you to all the dancers and musicians; I’m really excited for second half!”

The dancers and musicians whooped, and the dancers even jingled their anklets.

“So on behalf of our beautiful bride-to-be, Dolly, and her lovely groom, I want to clear up when our other upcoming celebrations will be. These will be taking place near Dolly and Varun’s future home in Darhai. Everyone who is here today will be receiving invitation letters with the date for the wedding. It will take place in the middle of next month. Do not fret, you will receive the proper date and the address to the location for your carriage rides. It is going to be fantastic. Get ready for a big party; there will be many many more invitations being sent out for all the family and friends that couldn’t make it for this party.” Melega beamed. “Close friends and family members will also be receiving the dates for the gift exchange at our temple, the clay and spa ceremony, the henna party, and of course this will all lead up to the best wedding ever!”

Dolly and her girl friends squealed. Everyone else clapped politely as Melega left the stage and sat back down with her group.

“What was the real point of the last part?” Cina asked exactly what Zara had been thinking. “To boast about these endless parties she’s a part of, or to hear herself yap some more? So annoying.”

“Cina,” Nima scolded. “You are so rude. I think she is a pleasant girl who is excited for her friend getting married, as any friend would be.” She smiled at Zara. “I bet you are just as excited. Dolly is your family after all. Your mother mentioned you two were quite close?”

Zara nodded, smiling back stiffly. She wondered if her mother had a clue about how their relationship was going now.

“But did she really have to point out all those other events?” Cina complained. “It sounds exhausting and I’m not even invited to any of them. Besides the wedding.”

“It is,” Nima answered. “But that is how these things go. It is very much how my wedding went.”

Nima’s husband groaned at the memory. “So much planning, and it ends all too quickly.” He laughed. “The temple visit and the gift exchange is the most important before the wedding. The rest is just frivolous spending.”

“It was fun, so it was worth it,” Nima argued, teasingly.

“Sure.”

“Abbi, I want all of it too, all the events,” Cina said.

Zara gaped at her. “What? You just said it was too exhausting!”

“Hearing it from her shrieky mouth is. Besides, I don’t know your cousin very well, so attending her events would be exhausting for me—” She rolled her eyes. “—not that I’m invited anyway. But when I’m getting married, I want to have everything. It’ll be fun then, because it’ll be all about me.”

“And it will be the same for you,” Nima told Zara. “Has your family spoken to you about marriage my dear?”

“Marriage?” Zara’s mouth parted, unsure of how to answer, even if the answer was obvious. “N-No?”

Nima tilted her head, confused. “Really? I’m shocked. With your age, I was sure your parents would have brought it up. Do they not have plans of arrangement for you? We’ve already started looking into matches for Cina, just after she turned twenty-one this year. We would have looked last year, but I needed more hands-on in my shop and Cina was just not interested in settling down and insisted she help out instead.” She rolled her eyes. “Foolish. I could have hired anybody. Young women like you two cannot be sitting around without a plan.”

“Ammi,” Cina whined, “You are talking like we are still living in the older days. Women are fine with marrying slightly later now.”

“But not too much later,” her father cut in.

“The matches you try bringing me are not interesting in the slightest. They are so boring and I won’t even start on how they look.” Cina shivered. “Studious men are not my type.”

The man raised a skeptical brow. “And the few men you’ve shown interest in are…questionable. To be polite.”

“Zara, do you have any interest in marrying?” Nima asked.

“I…”

Of course not. Zara’s parents hardly ever mentioned marriage, besides a very few times Noina fretted about what would become of her future. But her future was a shadow. Even to her own parents. They certainly did not have a plan before her father decided to finally wash his hands of her by sending her away with Naz.

Marriage was not in her future. Zara rarely thought of it anymore. The occasional fantasies of weddings and romance would pop up when she read her novels, but that was all they were. Fleeting fantasies that used to make her cry herself to sleep. Things had changed now. She was resolved in not marrying, not unless she wanted to end up exposed and behind bars for it. She did not wish to give up learning magic, and that is precisely what she would have to sacrifice should she give in to human intimacy.

A shame, truly.

For a brief moment, Emran flashed into her mind. She blushed at how idiotic that was. She barely knew him, and she really only liked him for the way he looked and his laid-back demeanor. To think of him as a marriage partner was in over her head, ridiculously dumb. She quickly obliterated the thought, never to be revealed to anyone, especially not to Emran’s very family members who were sitting right next to her. They would laugh her off the continent.

“I think…I think my parents have just been so busy they haven’t planned anything quite firm yet,” Zara lied. “Especially my father. He’s a busy man. But…he’s talked about it a little with my mother…but like Cina, I’m not too interested.”

Cina looked at her mother, smugly. “We are too pretty to be tied down, aren’t we Zara?”

“Watch your mouth,” her father shot back. “We’ll find a suitable man for you yet. Hasiim was speaking of it with me this morning, you know.” He leaned back, muttering lowly, “Hopefully he’ll guide your soul to the heavens.”

Cina scrunched her face. “Who? Uncle or my husband?”

“Both.”

Zara’s veins ran cold.

Hasiim. That was his first name. Hasiim Uqzar.

Looking at Cina and her parents, especially Emran, it was too difficult to believe that such a man was considered their family. Zara assumed high priests, spiritualists, and witch doctors alike would all hail from people as fanatic as they were. She wanted to ask Cina about their vastly different ways of life, but it seemed an inappropriate and ill topic of discussion. Cina had apologized to her on her uncle’s behalf before, and she did not want to offend her by insinuating dislike for the man. She had expressed, in tears that night after coming down the mountain and reuniting with the rest of her family, that she was not close to her uncle—none of them really were since he did not live in Pria—but he was still their family and a highly respected member at that. They cared for each other when they could.

Besides, Cina could be quite firm in her beliefs too, almost zealot-like. Perhaps she and her uncle shared more similarities than the eye could see.

Nima chuckled warmly, breaking through Zara’s disturbing thoughts. “Pipe down, Anton, dear. Zara, I advise you and my daughter to consider the marriage market. And when you find your man, you should consider coming to my shop. I’ll provide you with the best wedding jewelry we have!”

Her mind flashed back to the jewel headpiece she saw in the store long ago—a shining, crimson beauty.

Zara smirked, letting Nima’s bright personality melt away her fears about the witch doctor for now. “Only if you save a jewel crown for me. I like them in red,” she said.

Cina laughed. “That’s fair. I think white and sapphire would suit me best.”

Zara nodded. “They will match you well.” And she meant it. Her friend would look beautiful in wedding attire. Perhaps Zara would be able to attend her ceremony in the future, somehow. As long as Cina never found out anything more about her, they could remain friends.

“Look, they’re going back on stage,” Cina said, pointing at the dancers and musicians moving back into their places. “The show is starting again.”

“Oh! It seems like everyone is going to join in,” Nima commented cheerily.

“Huh?” Zara blurted, confused. Besides Dolly, Varun, and their family members who remained sitting, all of their friends had stood and was striding toward the stage. The crowd whistled at the addition of performers. Even Sonya was joining them, touching Dolly’s hand and smiling cutely before she headed off, as though she was celebrating a sister’s engagement and not someone she just fucking met today.

Naz had kissed his wife’s hand before letting her go, clapping enthusiastically for her while she waited with the others on the grass in front of the stage. The stage itself was too small to accommodate everyone.

“How sweet,” Nima said when Naz sat back down next to his parents and aunt. “I had the pleasure of meeting him, Zara. He’s a very charming man. It’s unfortunate what happened to his otherwise handsome face.” She shook her head, tsking in disapproval. “I did not know squirrels could be so violent with people.”

“He was attacked by a squirrel?!” Cina exclaimed, incredulous. She whipped her eyes on Zara, accusingly. “You said he tripped and fell, though?”

Zara bit her lip, thinking of a way to cover up her error. “Did I say that?” She had not been informed of the cover story for Naz’s facial scars. She’d just made one up on the spot when Cina had asked about it. “Um…when?” she stalled.

“At the house, when we were bringing everyone out?”

“Oh…I don’t know…he told me—uh, it must have happened after the attack. He fell.”

Nima sighed. “He should really be more careful walking through that forest. Any number of wild animals could be deadly. He’s lucky that nasty animal hadn’t infected him with an illness.”

Zara couldn’t help but snicker at the image of Naz being attacked by a squirrel on a morning walk through the forest. What a joke of a story he had come up with, though Zara guessed hers wasn’t much better.

Melega stood in front of the line of people on the grass, beaming happily at Dolly.

“This is for you, beautiful,” she said.

The music began with cheerful beats of the drums, followed by perky whistles from the flutes, then the tranquil melody of the sitar. One of the drummers began to hum and sing aloud. The female dancers that were up on stage twirled and swayed, making their own music with their anklets. Their voices joined in on the song, then the males followed suit, dancing alongside them. The friends danced simply and joyfully to the playful music, singing the song of love and eternal blessings for a life-lasting marriage.

Zara was entranced by the choreography. It was an easy routine, but still managed to look colorful and gorgeous. She wondered when everyone was able to get together to practice this. A few of Dolly and Varun’s friends worked as background dancers, swaying, hopping, and clapping to the beats. This group included Sonya. She had to have been asked to dance with them at the last minute and was instructed on doing the easiest steps. She hadn’t even met this group or Dolly since today for Lilith’s sake.

Dolly’s girl friends bounced to the front to do their special routine for her, while the men stepped back. It was a traditional Prian dance of sharp arm movements and fast skirt twirls. They were doing surprisingly well, despite not being real dancers. The guests hooted and hollered. Dolly squealed excitedly at what her friends had prepared for her. Her dupatta was pinned back on her head. The white flowers in her braid were showing through the cloth’s sheer material. They glowed beautifully.

Next to Zara, Cina was waving her hands in the air, clearly enjoying the show. Her mother was bobbing her head along to the music, and her father was simply clapping to it.

Zara looked around. Adults had gotten up to dance along on their own, the children were also happily joining in. Everyone was loving this. She had been too, but suddenly, it wasn’t fun anymore.

When…had they all learned to dance like that? When had they ever liked such a thing? Were they as passionate about it as Zara was? What was it like to perform in front of actual people who appreciated the talent? Why couldn’t she be up there? Why hadn’t she—Dolly’s closest cousin and the first one to have been like a sister to her—been asked to join? What was Sonya doing up there with them? What could Sonya possibly be to Dolly anyway? They had just met. So what was that bitch doing swinging her hips and clapping like she deserved to be there? Zara knew Dolly better than her. Yet she wasn’t with them, even as a last-minute additional background hip-swinger.

Why?

Because she didn’t belong with them. She may be Dolly’s cousin, but she was no longer a sister. The stupid redhead was. And Naz’s wife had managed to snake her way into everyone’s hearts with her pretty face and luxurious manner—all in a few fucking hours. Zara had destroyed her relationship with Dolly in a matter of minutes.

Dancing was her hobby, one of her passions, and she knew she could have executed the moves better than them all. These women were not dancers. They were only doing this for Dolly, for this one stupid day. Yet Zara, who actually loved training in this art, would probably never be allowed on a stage, performing for people like they got to do.

Because the women up there weren’t freaks of nature. They were beautiful and better accepted than Zara would ever hope to be.

The dance finally ended. The proud performers were drowned in applause. It was unbearable to listen to.

The wind picked up, a soft yet firm breeze. The twilight clouds rolled once again. Wisps of fog stroked the old wooden base of the stage.

Attending this party had been a mistake. Dolly had wanted to see her, and now their relationship had resulted to nothing. There had been no point to any of this. It was an even bigger mistake than any to not have walked away by now. Instead, Zara remained sitting on the thin quilt, facing the performers with a face so obviously sour that one of them had noticed it.

The servants were lighting the area with more large candles and lamps. Shyla was squinting at Zara, concerned. She lifted her hand in a gesture that asked what’s the matter? She had the look of someone who did not understand why Zara would be miserably sitting out on such a joyous celebration, when all of the bride’s important people had participated.

Zara shook her head, refusing to answer.

Shyla threw a dismissive wave at her and urged her to come up.

Zara shook her head faster this time.

Shyla wasn’t having it.

Thinking back on this night, the worst parts had moved so slow, yet blinked by all at once. Zara had been quietly stewing under the nuisance noise of these people, then suddenly, she’d been yanked and dragged against her will, moving past the noise, past the people, past the nuisance. Now she stood surrounded by Dolly’s friends and the dancers, in tense silence.

Zara glared at Shyla, who did not seem to notice Zara’s dismay at being manhandled up here. Zara glanced frantically back at her quilt. Cina was looking back at her, her face questioning what was going on.

“Shyla,” Zara hissed. “Why am I here?”

“Yes, why is she here?” Melega asked, her auburn eyes burning into Zara.

Shyla looked at Zara quizzically. “Did you forget to come up here? You were supposed to be dancing with us, weren’t you?”

Zara gaped. “I-I was?”

Melega and the other women laughed before jabbering all at once:

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Who was she again? Pfft…”

“She made Dolly cry, who cares about her?”

“Also, like, half the people here don’t trust her anyway.”

“Oh shut up. That’s too harsh. Dolly’s family would never actually be like that.”

“But you have to admit, she’s a little…”

“Can you say something? Can you, like, speak?”

Zara ignored that final jab to her gut before everyone burst into cruel laughter again. The men stood back, choosing not to get involved in the women’s squabble, though they looked entertained by this little show as much as the guests had enjoyed theirs minutes before.

Shyla’s deep frown created unattractive wrinkles on her otherwise smooth forehead. “What is this? How could you say such awful things right in front of her?” she scolded the group.

“She wasn’t invited to dance,” Sonya said coolly, emerging from the cluster of women. They quickly made room for her, like she was their queen. “I had asked Dolly about it. She told me it would be too uncomfortable, since she and Zara were not close. Besides—” Sonya smirked. “—it is unlikely for Zara to know how to dance anyway. My husband told me she doesn’t really do much of anything.”

How many times by now has Zara prayed that she suddenly gain the ability to make herself vanish? She blinked hard and lowered her head to the ground so no one could see how red her cheeks were, and how badly she was fighting to hold in her tears.

“Is something wrong?” Dolly asked, walking up to the group with Varun by her side. Her skirt still dragged despite her holding it up.

Shyla continued reprimanding the group. “What are you talking about? Zara here wants to be a dancer! She told me so herself, and she had her own set of anklets!”

“What?!” Sonya squawked. Zara could sense her sneering gaze. “I had NO idea.”

“How could none of you know about this? The bride is her cousin and—” Shyla pointed back at where Zara had been sitting. “—she was just over there, the poor girl, looking absolutely glum! Did no one think to ask her what she wanted?”

All eyes were on Zara. She did not raise her head, too cowardly to meet their faces.

“Did…” Dolly began cautiously. “Did it bother you that much that you weren’t—I didn’t know that you liked to dance. That’s not something I pictured…you doing?”

Sonya snorted. “I’m shocked to hear this myself. I wonder what her brothers will think. Her parents too.”

Don’t….please don’t tell them, you patronizing bitch.

Her racing heart sunk. Zara hugged herself tightly. She couldn’t run away. Varun’s friends were standing around, watching in stark curiosity, unintentionally blocking her escape.

Varun sighed and remarked lowly, “Everything is all done with now. There is no use thinking about what we could have done. Let us move on from here. It was a wonderful show. That is all that matters.”

“No,” Melega said. Zara clenched up at her snide tone. She hadn’t lifted her eyes off the ground yet. “No, I want to see her dance.”

Zara’s head snapped up. “Huh?” she croaked.

“You say you are a dancer? Prove it. Do a solo for Dolly, right now.” She smiled with her teeth—a heinous expression. “Since we so poorly left you out, let us see now what we all missed from you.”

Zara was already shaking her head before Melega had finished talking. “No, no, no, no,” she mumbled. “The show is over. The party is over, the people are getting ready to leave—”

“We can remedy that,” Tina said, her smile as vicious as her friend’s.

“No no, I don’t want to—”

Nobody heard her over Melega’s shrieking announcement: “EVERYBODY, PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE US JUST YET, THERE IS ONE MORE PERFORMER HERE TONIGHT! SHE WILL BE DOING A SPECIAL SOLO DANCE FOR DOLLY! PLEASE STAY ON YOUR QUILTS EVERYONE.” She then ordered a passing servant to light more candles on the stage and to quickly pass around the extra bottles of wine from the table.

Shyla was already shoving an unwilling Zara up on the stage. The men were following, actively blocking Zara from wrenching away and escaping. They nudged her forward, again and again.

“Stop!” Zara panicked once she and Shyla were on the platform. “Stop! I don’t want to do this!”

“This is your chance, though!” Shyla said, taking off her anklets. “Here, since we don’t have yours right now, you can borrow mine.”

“For what?!” Zara screeched back through tears. “What do I do? I don’t even have a routine ready!”

Shyla knelt down and wrapped the anklets around Zara’s feet. “Hike your skirt up a little more. You like dancing, right? I’m sure you have practiced plenty of routines, then. Improvise. It’s something dancers should be able to do anyway.”

“Huh?! I’m not like you!”

The guests had settled down again. The servants were pouring the adults wine. The kids had gotten sweet treats.

Zara wanted to throw up.

“You could be.” Shyla spoke gently this time, squeezing Zara’s arms. “I was like you. Dancing was a dream for me, yet only a dream. When a chance came for me to make it my reality, I took it. Zara, this is your chance. You have a stage, you have people watching you. Let the music be your guide. So show them what you can do. Show them your talent.”

Zara let out a soft cry. Here she was shaking and sobbing on the side of the stage, and in minutes she would be pushed to the middle of it. The steps were blocked by Dolly’s poisonous crew, who were watching her expectantly. Gleefully. Dolly was the only one who looked unsure, and a little afraid.

Zara had never been in front of an audience before now. She had never shown anyone her moves. Never had time to refine them either, if she was honest with herself. How foolish she had been to feel upset about being left out of the main dance.

Zara couldn’t do this. It didn’t matter what Shyla said. Without a rehearsed routine, she was meant to fail and humiliate herself.

Shyla led her to the middle of the stage and gave her hand a squeeze before scurrying off. All that was left now was herself, and the quiet crowd in front of her. A crowd whose faces were actually difficult to make out now as the sun dipped lower behind the peaks and the ground fogs thickened. Her nerves were a disaster, but it was a tiny gift that she couldn’t see anyone’s face.

Melega stepped in front of the guests and declared, “This is Dolly’s cousin, Zara. She dances, apparently. We’ve saved the most…hmm, entertaining performance for last. So, please, enjoy the show.” Melega turned back, grinning fiercely at Zara’s shaken figure. “Good luck.”

The sitar’s tune flowed past Zara’s ears. She stood there, letting her eyes adjust to the observing faces in front of her: Cina’s shocked expression, Rowan and Shia’s horrified confusion, her parents’ wide-eyed bewilderment, Noina’s repugnant mouth…

The orange turban shone like a flare amid the evening shadows.

What…?

She had to be hallucinating. The stout figure was still a distance away, but it was slowly approaching. Like a ghost.

It’s not real. I’m just stressed to the point of madness.

In her heart, it wasn’t true. Though the snickering crowd distracted her mind, she kept her attention locked on the walking figure.

Pale, wrinkled face. Long white beard down to the chest. Cloaked in red, his turban deep orange. Those steely eyes were not lined with kohl this time around, but his intimidating features were recognizable nonetheless. His quiet presence here—and that cold, steady gaze—was enough for Zara to understand that she had not deceived him in the slightest.

Revan ran as fast as he could. He cursed himself for not having any more feathers. Flying there as a bird would have been better. But he was quick, and it helped that he was already in the neighborhood.

Zara’s house was distanced from the rest of the scattered out homes around here. No oil lamps or candles were lit at any sill.

The neighbors must be attending the party as well.

Unfit as he felt, Revan was panting heavily by the time he rushed through the gates, which had been left unlocked and unsupervised. Trusting people, they were. But who in this tiny neighborhood would have guessed there would be people like him to worry about?

A couple carriages were making their way down the road as well to take the guests back to their lodges for the night. The party was supposed to have been over by now. But circumstances had drastically changed everything. Revan was confident that he could put a stop to this event before all the coachmen arrived in front of the house.

The commotion, and the dangerously enchanted air, was right in his line of sight. He stood facing the field, where the guests had scattered around in a disoriented fashion.

Zara was standing on one of those portable stages that the theater folks carried around when they traveled through for work. The area was well lit. Revan could see most of the guests’ faces looking lost and worried. The children huddled with their parents. A baby let out a babbling wail.

The witch doctor stood on the grass, his back to Revan, watching Zara silently. If Revan had to guess, it was due to his presence that the people had not fully panicked yet. His “Holiness” was a likely assurance that no real harm would come their way. They glanced nervously from him to Zara.

Here was the woman His Holiness himself had come all the way to see. A woman he just couldn’t dare keep off his mind. A woman that had escaped his “spiritual senses” and created doubt and conflict at the heart of town. This man was here to prove a point.

Because it’s always that way with them, isn’t it?

Revan sighed wearily. Zara was standing in the middle of the platform, illuminated, and gazing back at the man in solemn silence. Her mouth gave no expression, but her bloodshot eyes—and smeared with black makeup—were large and wary. She did not falter or flinch when she finally noticed him—those dark orbs had vaguely shifted on him before moving back on Uqzar. She had not given his position away.

Her waist-length hair blew against the foreboding winds. She was both harrowing and entrancing. Her temper was high, but she kept herself outwardly controlled, along with the surrounding elements for the most part, as he’d been training her to do.

She was a witch who had accepted her fate for what it was. A witch who had nothing left to show, but her power.

The sun was gone, and the fogs—to everyone’s horror—expanded across the field.

Revan gathered his energy, remained alert, and waited.

Zara took in a breath, angled her arms, stepped a foot forward, and began her dance.