I thought that the first night’s feast was a party, but I was sorely mistaken. Ahead was a raucous celebration, the likes of which I had never seen. Bellgate’s people had congregated in the gorge, setting up tarps and standing on the cliffside’s ledges. On the island in the middle of the natural lake, five musicians strummed string instruments and sang, the music echoing off the rock walls. It was cold, but a group was setting up fires by the water, and some of the more adventurous had even stripped off their outer clothes and jumped into the lake.

Near the water, a lythe woman with black hair was dancing. I recognized her as Gizem, who had helped me find books on engineering in the library. I joined the crowd watching her as she raised her arms above her head and spun, twisting in the air and landing perfectly on beat. The crowd shouted with appreciation. The music picked up again, and her dance became increasingly frantic until her body was a whirlwind. As the song ended, she flipped in the air, keeping all of her limbs outstretched like a bird in flight.

I closed my mouth, rendered speechless. As the band began the next song, Gizem wiped her brow and accepted a drink from someone in the crowd. She spotted me and beelined over, downing the liquid in one gulp. “Anabelle,” she greeted me, her eyes dark and relaxed. “Happy winter solstice. What do you think of the festival so far?”

I smiled, still unsettled by her. “It is spectacular, of course. There is no equivalent in my homeland.”

“Karakul?”

I shook my head, feeling the urge to tell her the truth. “No, Historical Amberasta.”

“I did not know that you grew up in the capital.”

“It is not common knowledge.”

She shrugged. “Come with me, I am going to have a drink.”

I considered it. “All right, but be warned—it has been years since I last had alcohol.”

She laughed. “In the capital? I’m not sure that counts anyway.” Before I could ask what she meant, she handed me a jar of thick, viscous liquid. “It is pulque, made from the sap of the maguey plant. The drink of the gods.”

Hesitantly, I raised it to my lips. The taste was tangy and sour, and the liquid seemed to fizz on my tongue. It was markedly different from the gin I had drank back in the city. Gizem returned to her dancing, now joined by half a dozen others. I watched them, sipping the pulque until the jar was empty.

Warmth spread out from the center of my chest, and I felt pleasantly abuzz. I returned to the barman and refilled my jar, this time downing it in only a few gulps. Everything seemed sharper—the music of the band, the boisterous conversation, all echoed within the walls of the gorge.

I jumped as a hand touched my shoulder. I turned to see Nico, holding a stein filled with a clear white liquid. “You’re back from patrol!”

He grinned, an uncharacteristic sight. “I was coming to find you!”

I pointed at the stein. “It looks like you found something else first. I’m guessing that’s not water?”

“Mezcal.”

“Is it like pulque?”

He laughed. “Same plant, ten times stronger.”

He tipped back the stein, downing the liquid, and I wrinkled my nose at the scent. For a few moments, we spoke of the festival, with Nico seeming far more animated than usual. Every few minutes, a new drink seemed to appear in his hands. After the third, he grabbed my wrist, pulling me towards the water. I laughed, completely shocked. As we reached the riverbank, he pulled his shirt over his head and dove into the lake, becoming totally submerged.

He sprang out of the water, brushing his wet hair from his eyes. My gaze traced the muscles of his arms and torso, and I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. He called to me, barely audible over the sound of the music. I pulled off my jacket and rolled up my pants, wading into the frigid water. The cold cut into the buzz, but my body was aflame with excitement. Nico reached for me as I neared, grabbing my waist and dunking me fully into the water. I emerged, sputtering and laughing from the shocking cold.

As the darkness deepened, so did the party. More and more people flooded into the canyon, bringing torches, food, and alcohol with them. The band grew to over twenty in number, adding drums and horns. The air flickered with the light of the fires, and the water soon grew warmer.

Suddenly, the band struck up a slow and rich tune. The drums rumbled like thunder, and the crowd froze, looked at each other, and let out a shout that shook the earth. A chant took hold, almost masking the sound of the music. Next to me, Nico smiled, joining in.

“We live upon this land of old,

keeper of secrets and stories untold,

river and rock and morning frost,

in our canyon beneath the sun.”

The chant rose and fell until I could no longer discern the lyrics. When the song ended, the crowd roared. A wild dance broke out as the band picked up another jazzy beat. I rose from the water, shaking out my hair, and climbed out onto the river bank. My leg bounced, and my body seemed to remember suddenly that I had liked to dance, once, back when I had frequented the Byre with Owen and Katrina.

My legs were the first to move, stomping and kicking on the beat. I slid to the side, flourishing my arms. “Is that the rivertown rumba?” Nico asked, appearing next to me.

“How do you-” I asked, cutting myself off as I remembered that he was also from Historical Amberasta.

He smiled, taking my hand. “Let’s dance.”

We stepped together, twisting back and forth. He held my hand and the small of my back, leading me through the familiar motions. We moved easily, turning and dipping with the music. As a sheen of sweat formed over our foreheads, he grew braver, lifting me by my hips and tossing me into the air. A cheer went up, and I realized that we had attracted a small crowd.

I lost myself in the celebration. We transitioned seamlessly from song to song, our movements becoming bigger and bolder. As a drum crashed, he slid me between his legs and threw me skyward. As I landed against him, we stared at each other, our breaths coming hot and heavy. His expression was serious, half cast in shadow, and looking at him made my nerves start to tingle. I became aware that, suddenly, something in the air had changed. We had yet to pull apart, and I could feel him against me. It was cold, but my body pulsed with heat and adrenaline.

Nico wrapped an arm around my waist, bringing his mouth close to my ear. “Anabelle, do you want to go inside with me?”

My heart thumped an uneven rhythm in my chest, and I remembered the silphium that Sarah had given me. “Okay,” I said, gripping his hand. “Let’s go.”

***

When I woke up, my surroundings were vaguely unfamiliar, and I realized I had fallen asleep in Nico’s bed. He was no longer by my side, but I could see his silhouette on the ledge overlooking the canyon. In his left hand was a bottle of Mezcal. Despite the cold, he was dressed in only his cargo pants, and staring at his bare back reminded me of what we had done. I blushed, gripping the sheets to steady myself.

I rose from the bed, pulled on my clothes, and joined Nico on the ledge. I could see crowds lining Gibnor and Bushnell, but the base was a ghost town, and no one bothered us as we dangled our feet over the edge.

“Are you okay?” Nico asked. His voice was soft but his tone was as brisk as it had always been. I nodded, giving him a small smile. I had not expected him to be warmer toward me—what was important was that our comradery had not changed.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, glancing at my face.

“Of course not.” We fell into silence, made heavy by what was unsaid. No matter how we felt, our duties did not lie with each other, but with Bellgate and the Amberastans. In another time, in another place… maybe things would be different.

It seemed like he was about to speak again when we both saw the page approach. He was a young, frazzled young man in tan fatigues, with a bag at his hip holding the day’s messages. Nico and I glanced at each other: it was unusual to have a message delivered by page instead of carrying pigeon.

He stopped in front of us, saluted, and handed us both a strip of parchment. Wordlessly, Nico and I opened the papers as he turned to take his leave.

Operation Exposé will launch tomorrow, in Karakul, Historical Amberasta, and Eldridge. The domestic news of the release has been delayed. We ask for your complete discretion on this issue.

-The Council

I crumpled the message and looked at Nico. “Tomorrow? That’s sooner than I expected. But what do they mean by domestic release?”

He frowned. “They don’t intend to tell Bellgate’s people at the festival, after all.”

“But why?”

His expression darkened. “I don’t know. Perhaps they’re not ready to relinquish control just yet. Bellgate has been isolationist for decades. As soon as the people find out what the king has done, everything will change. And, of course, there will be those who disagree… maybe they do not want to face the discourse.”

I shook my head. “They can’t keep it a secret for long.”

“Why not? All of Bellgate’s news comes from the scouts and the radio. If the elders want to censor us, they can. They probably are, already.”

I found myself reaching for the bottle of Mezcal. “I didn’t escape a tyrant to find myself underneath nine more.”

***

On the last day of the festival, the winter solstice itself, the celebration reached new heights. Each one of Gibnor’s ledges was clogged with people, eating from bags of piñon pine nuts and chewing on sap candy. Nearly everyone had a flask in their hand or at their hip sloshing with pulque or berry wine.

We feasted atop Bushnell, where strips of fabric had been strung up to break the wind. Nico and I stuck together, but amidst the noise, we hardly said a word. Around us, everyone helped to carry the food and spirits were high, but I couldn’t shake off the morning’s news; it felt as though something was on the brink of going wrong.

As we ate, a group of musicians struck up an eerie melody. It was beautifully dissonant, with irregular notes and moments of silence that made the air feel tense. Two women, clearly sisters, stood up and began to sing in a tongue I did not recognize. The words were sharp and harsh, jutting upwards like the crags I’d seen on the journey to Bellgate.

“What is that?” I whispered into Nico’s ear.

“Latin. It is an ancient language, not spoken today.”

I took a deep breath. Something about the music made me feel on edge, and the elders’ words flashed in my head more clearly than ever. I tightened my jaw and prayed to any god that would listen: please, help the operation go well. And may all of Bellgate’s people soon know the truth.

As the feast concluded and the night deepened, the musicians quieted. We sat in a wide circle, and people entered into the center one at a time, telling stories or reciting verses they’d written for the festival. Elsewhere, even from Gibnor, there was little noise. I realized that this, too, was part of the ritual, a final night of respect to honor Bellgate.

A sense of comradery was heavy in the air: here, in spite of the war and the king, there was freedom, acceptance, and peace. As a man rose to tell his story, I realized how quickly Bellgate had become my home. Nico had guided me, Sarah had opened her home, Gizem had helped me when I was lost, and countless others had lended their support. When the current storyteller took a seat, I found myself standing up. I looked back, meeting Nico’s eyes, and he shook his head with alarm. But I was already in motion, taking my place in the center of the circle and squaring my shoulders.

“My real name,” I said, “is Glace Synco. And three years ago, I broke into the Fortress.”