The hall is a cacophony of happy voices and laughter. Children run around the meal circles with silk ribbons, and toss colorfully dyed cloudstone through the air. The councilors are still arriving, meeting Mirzayael and I at the meal circle at the head of the room, while Ollie sprawls on the open-air balcony behind us. Meritis prances around in front of him, showing off his newly dyed feathers in shades of green and blue.

  “DO YOU THINK THEY COULD DYE ME GREEN AND BLUE, TOO?” Ollie wonders, delighted by his friend’s new colors. “OR MAYBE RED. OR I COULD BE A DIFFERENT COLOR EACH DAY!”

  “I’m not sure we have enough dye for that,” I reply. “Perhaps we could look into some different colors of clothing you could wear instead.”

  “CLOTHING?” he asks skeptically. “AS LONG AS IT DOESN’T ITCH. LIKE THE HARNESS DOES SOMETIMES. IT FEELS LIKE A SCRATCHY TAG.”

  “I’ll see if Sora can find something less abrasive for you,” I say.

  “THANKS! OH, AND FYRE?”

  “Yes?”

  “DO YOU THINK YOU COULD DO A MIND LINK WITH MERITIS, TOO?”

  My mind skips tracks. “What?” I ask, bewildered.

  “IT WOULD BE SUPER COOL IF I COULD TALK TO HIM,” Ollie says. “AND BEING ABLE TO TALK INTO EACH OTHER’S MINDS WOULD BE AWESOME! LIKE WE’RE SPIES.”

  I’m rattled. I’d never considered adding someone else into the network—it’s permanent and invasive. The ones I formed with the Dungeon Core, Ollie, and Mirzayael were out of necessity in dangerous situations.

  But could I—should I—do it for Ollie? He can’t even talk to his friend unless I’m there to give him a voice. I don’t want to doom him to a life of solitude.

  “I… I’ll think about it,” I tell him, torn.

  He drops the conversation just as quickly, however, when Meritis starts talking to him, and Ollie swivels his head back to listen. I fondly watch the two boys as I try to sort through my troubled thoughts. I’m not sure this is something I can come to a decision on overnight. Resolving to talk it over with Mirzayael later, I turn my attention back to the rest of the hall.

  I try to remember the last time I saw the entire city gathered like this. Perhaps the only time we did was when the lost colony joined us, and we had a celebratory feast much like this one. The thought summons a brief note of anxiety in me. That feast had been immediately followed by the Jorrian confrontation; I hope that’s not an omen for how tonight will end.

  We wait until it seems like most people have arrived and settled into the various meal circles. When Mirzayael stands, a hush rapidly falls over the hall.

  “Thank you,” she says, her voice echoing through the room. “It is my honor to serve as one of your leaders today, as it was my honor to serve as the Keep’s Captain of the Guard for decades past. I never expected to claim such a position as this. I never expected much of the things that occurred over the last few months.”

  She pauses to glance down at me with a faint smile when a murmur of agreement passes through the crowd. I give her an encouraging thumbs up, and she snorts. She turns back to the hall. “We will face new challenges in the coming days, and in the coming years. We will encounter people and situations entirely foreign to us. Some will be for good, and some for ill. We are truly venturing into the unknown.

  “But through all that, I have faith in our strength. Our continued existence proves our tenacity, our will to persevere. We will meet all these new challenges head on, and we will overcome them!”

  Mirzayael pauses again as a cheer rises. She really seems to be hitting her stride now. She had been so worried about this talk, but it’s apparent her fears were unfounded. This seems to be coming naturally to her.

  “But those are the challenges of tomorrow,” she continues. “Tonight is for our past. Tonight is a celebration of what we have accomplished, and the adversity we have overcome. For those we have lost, and those who we still honor by persisting. This is not a night to celebrate me or Fyre. And though this Fortress is great, it is not a celebration of its majesty. This is a night for you, our people.” Mirzayael looks down at me, offering a hand. I take it, and she pulls me to my feet. “For every one of us past, and every one of us here today, this is for Fyrethians!”

  Another louder cheer answers her words, and a few chants of “Fyreneth!” resolve among the cheers.

  “And now,” I call, when it’s settled enough for my voice to make it over the din, “let the festival begin!”

  Mirzayael lets out a breath as we sit back down.

  “You did great,” I assure her, answering the question that lingers on her mind, though she’s too proud to ask. “It was perfectly brief, and exactly what they needed.”

  She nods curtly. “Good. I don’t think I would have been able to say more regardless.”

  “I suppose it’s good practice for future feasts,” I remark.

  She looks at me sharply. “Practice? What other speeches will we need to make?”

  I shrug. “We’ll be meeting with ambassadors and traders in the coming days. And that’s likely to just be the beginning. We’ll need to speak with other kingdoms, attend more dinners like tonight, treat with—”

  “Alright, alright, I understand.” Mirzayael grimaces, rubbing at her head. “As I said in the speech, such nightmares are future concerns. Please at least let me pretend for tonight that this is the biggest speech I will ever be required to make.”

  I laugh. “I can indulge the delusion for one night, I suppose.”

  Then the food arrives. The first serving is light; a palette cleanser, I think. It’s moss with a hint of something almost citrusy, served with clear cold water from our recently functioning rain collection system.

  Ollie is not given distinct servings, but rather a few Fyerthians begin to carry out gallons of broth to fill the oversized stone bowl I’d created for him. We don’t have enough fresh produce for him, but he wouldn’t want to eat it anyway. It seems his dragon anatomy leaves him desiring a more protein heavy meal, so we separately prepared a broth made from boiled bones and shells of stingers, fish, and the remains of everything we still have from the arctic. Meritis teases him for the pungent smell, but Ollie seems perfectly happy to chug the soup down.

  A family of dracids perform a dance with ribbons of water, and later a partition of Mirzayael’s guard execute a synchronized form that is symbolic of some battle past. Dozens of different performers take to the stage as more rounds of the feast are served. There’s a light, fishy broth, similar to what Ollie was served, and there’s smoked seafood bites. The vegetables and fruits we’d traded for show up in several of the dishes, prepared a variety of ways: some as chopped pieces garnishing a dish, others blended into a puree drizzled over the top. I notice more soup and stew dishes are served between meals that have whole chunks of meat or fruit; likely meant to fill us up and stretch the solid food as far as possible. It’s extremely effective, as by the time the last serving is brought out, a frozen fruit treat similar to a snowcone, I’m so stuffed I can barely bring myself to try it.

  The evening passes in a blur of delicious food and delightful performances, which leave me feeling increasingly warm and content as the night progresses. Or perhaps that’s the alcohol that was brought out sometime around the third course. Every time I reach for my cup, it seems to have been refilled when I wasn’t looking.

  When Mirzayael nudges me, I realize I’ve come to lean heavily against her side. I struggle to push myself upright.

  “Are you doing alright?” she asks me.

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  “Yes.” My head is swimming a little, but in a fuzzy, pleasant way. “I think I’m drunk.”

  Mirzayael chuckles. “I’ve noticed. I believe that’s enough libations for you.”

  “I didn’t have that many,” I object, focusing on my cup. It’s small, like a sake glass. “I’ve drunk much more in the past.”

  “As a human?” she asks.

  “Mhm.” I lean back against her once more, because it’s more comfortable than trying to remain upright, and everything feels a bit heavy.

  “From what I can tell, humans seem to be larger than most harpies,” she remarks.

  “Oh! Yes. Of course.” I nod along with her insight. I didn’t take the difference of mass into account. “Harpies are lighter. The alcohol would be more concentrated. And maybe there’s a difference in metabolism… I bet I could calculate the ratio.”

  “I’m sure you could,” Mirzayael agrees. She sounds amused. “Do you feel comfortable getting up?”

  Probably, but I’m very content right where I am. “What for?”

  “The fireworks,” Mirzayael says, gesturing. Others in the hall have moved toward the open wall, or are filing out to view the display from different balconies. “Dizzi just left to get everything set up.”

  I do recall her leaving, now that she mentions it. “Of course,” I say, gathering my legs beneath me. “I can’t miss that. She requested notes for improved performance.”

  I stand up, swaying faintly, but my wings help with the balance. I’m rather proud I didn’t need Mirzayael to steady me. I’m not that far gone. Hopefully.

  Even so, Mirzayael offers me her elbow, and I link my arm in hers, as she guides us out onto the platform next to Ollie.

  “YOUR BRAIN FEELS WARM,” Ollie tells me.

  Oops. “Sorry.” I try to rein in my thoughts; sharing my inebriation with Ollie or, god forbid, the Dungeon Core, is the last thing I want. “Better?”

  “I GUESS SO,” Ollie says with a massive shrug.

  “Better,” Mirzayael assures me.

  We sit down between Ollie’s forepaws. The fireworks haven’t started yet, but Mirzayael’s face is turned to the night sky. Light from inside the hall reflects faintly off the metallic texture of her clothes. For a moment, she doesn’t seem real. Like I’m looking at this beautifully carved statue rather than a person. I distantly marvel at the surrealness of the moment. How I came to be here, at her side.

  She blinks, and the illusion fades.

  Embarrassed, I look away, hoping she hadn’t heard any of those thoughts. Instead, I follow her look; it’s a moonless night, and stars seem to fill the sky like powdered sugar sprinkled across the heavens. It’s so many more stars than I’m accustomed to. I suppose it is for Mirzayael as well.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” she says quietly. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, next to sunsets and sunrises.”

  “I’m not used to the moons,” I say.

  She feels surprised. “They do not have moons on your world?”

  “ONLY ONE,” Ollie replies. “AND IT DIDN’T HAVE A NAME. IT WAS JUST CALLED, ‘THE MOON.’ WHICH IS DUMB. IT SHOULD HAVE A NAME!”

  “It had many names, just not in English,” I tell him. “Like Luna.”

  “OH! I’VE HEARD OF THAT ONE,” he says.

  “I don’t know what ours are called,” Mirzayael admits. “They were never relevant.” She sounds a little sad.

  “I bet the other Fyrethians know,” I say. “The Lost Colony. They often went outside. They probably remember the names.”

  “You’re right.” The sadness shifts to a burst of hope and appreciation. In my mind, I think I can see her shifting emotions much like fireworks. I’m not sure if that’s the inebriation. “They probably were able to preserve many such things. It is good to know not all of our history is lost.”

  I jump with the first boom, and many Fyrethians do as well. A second later, a splash of red bursts into the sky before us, like the unfolding petals of a flower. It’s quickly followed by a second, smaller pop. The difference between the speed of light and speed of sound. I faintly wonder what other laws like that exist here; is there a speed of magic?

  Mirzayael snorts. “Why are you thinking about such things now? Can you never turn that scientist brain of yours off?”

  “Sorry,” I giggle. “Maybe.” I try to focus on the fireworks after that.

  It’s unlike any fireworks I’d seen on Earth.

  These are each clearly infused with spells which help shape the resulting explosion. Some swirl into a vortex, while others remain hovering in place. Dizzi layers them so some fireworks burst to life just as others are flickering out, resulting in colorfully overlapping patterns that gradually morph shape over time. There’s some that look like stars or flowers; others are scenes, like a mountain range. A theme of fire and feathers is present, of course, to honor Fyreneth. And at the end, there’s one that burst into a surprisingly accurate replica of the Fortress itself. Dizzi clearly had fun working on this project.

  By the time the last embers flicker out, I’m feeling a bit more clear-headed. As I stir, I realize my arm is still linked in Mirzayael’s. I gently slide it out.

  “Feeling better?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “Sorry if I did or said anything foolish.”

  “If that was you being foolish, you are an extremely mild drunk,” she teases.

  She’s not wrong.

  Ollie started to doze in the midst of the fireworks display, and as everyone begins to file back inside, I leave him to rest. It’s getting a bit late for the kid. The celebration continues indoors, however, with more dance and drink.

  “I think I’ll pass on that,” I say. “I’ve had quite enough excitement for one evening.”

  “Before you head to bed, I’ve something I’d like to show you,” Mirzayael says.

  I raise an eyebrow. Mirzayael’s done something without my knowledge? That’s surprising. She’s not really the type to be indirect or sly, and I never caught a hint of anything in her thoughts. “What is it?”

  “I’ll show you,” she repeats, tipping her head toward one of the doors leading out of the main hall. “Come with me?”

  “Of course.”

  She guides me out of the hall and through one of the many well-worn paths of the palace. Even without the Dungeon Core, I feel I could navigate this place with my eyes closed. I realize where we’re headed before we arrive.

  “The bathhouse?” I look up at her curiously. We turn a corner, and sure enough the entryway to the many-roomed complex of public pools stands before us. We’d just finished draining the drinking water from them into the underground storage tanks a few days prior.

  “Yes,” Mirzayael says. She pushes open the door. “I seem to recall it was on your shortlist of services you wished to restore to the Fortress when you had time.”

  Hot air billows out to meet us as we step through the door. The nearest pool is full, a turquoise blue from the tiles that line the basin, and the air feels humid and warm.

  “How?” I ask, turning to her in delight.

  “I spoke with Torim and Dizzi about restoring the baths,” Mirzayael says. “They were only able to collect enough water to fill one of the smaller pools. And Dizzi was able to install new spell circles for thermal heating, since we can no longer rely on the springs. This one is the trial basin, but Dizzi insists it should work perfectly well, and the others will similarly be restored soon.”

  Mirzayael pulls the door closed behind us to keep the warm air in as I crouch by the edge, dipping my hand into the water. It’s pleasantly warm. God, how long has it been since I’ve had a real bath?

  “You can try it out,” Mirzayael says. “I’ve seen to it that no one should disrupt us.”

  “What about you?” I ask. “You can’t expect me to bathe while you sit around and watch.”

  A flustered embarrassment radiates from her mind, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “I have only ever had sponge baths,” she says. “Submerging in so much water seems like… a lot.”

  “Then we can take it slow.” She probably doesn’t know how to swim either—in fact, probably none of the Fyrethians do. I’ll have to make sure the pools are kept shallow enough, especially with children around. Perhaps I could install an emergency water-evacuation spell—

  I stop my line of thought. A problem for another day.

  “Come here,” I say, beckoning her over. I sit down at the edge of the pool, hoisting the bottom of my dress up to keep any of the tassels from getting wet. Then I slip my feet in, and sigh as the warmth spreads up my legs.

  Mirzayael hesitantly sits beside me. I help pull the hem of her robes away from the water’s edge as well.

  “Just your two front legs,” I suggest. Carefully, she complies, dipping them into the pool. “There. How’s it feel?”

  “Soothing,” she admits. “I can see why you were interested in restoring the bathhouse.”

  I grin. “Just wait until you get all the way in. It’ll be life changing.”

  “I believe you,” she murmurs.

  We sit that way for a time, shoulder to shoulder, enjoying the warmth and quiet. Well, my shoulder is about at her elbow, really, since her abdomen causes her to naturally sit higher. But her sturdy presence is reassuring all the same.

  Strangely, however, I notice a gradual and faint anxiety growing within Mirzayael. I don’t think she’s intending to broadcast the thought, so I don’t comment on it. She fidgets, one of her fingers picking at a tile at the pool’s edge.

  “Fyre, I enjoy this,” she says abruptly. “I enjoy… being at your side.”

  “I do, too,” I say softly.

  Her anxiety hasn’t lessened. “I mean, not just physically, but working with you. Serving as a ruler with you. I enjoy the time we spend together.”

  My stomach flutters, and I look up at her. She is staring fiercely into the water. If possible, her anxiety has only increased. “I enjoy these as well,” I tell her.

  She nods. “I think, perhaps, it might be to our benefit, and for the benefit of the Fortress, to formalize our partnership.” Her voice is level, but mentally she’s crawling into a deep, dark hole to die of mortification. “If that is something you would desire.”

  Her words squeeze my heart, and I don’t hold back the affection I feel for her as I take her hand that’s still nervously picking at the tile and pull it away. She finally looks down at me. I’m not sure if arachnoid physiology allows for blushing, but I’m sure she would be, if it were possible.

  “Mirzayael, are you proposing to me?” I ask.

  Her mind lurches in an odd manner as I ask this.

  “Ah,” she says, her thoughts a maelstrom of embarrassment, fondness, and surprise. “Well. I was intending to ask if you would like to court me. Not that, I mean…”

  “Oh!” It’s my turn to drown in mortification, and a blush does rapidly burn its way up my neck and cheeks. “Oh my goodness. I didn’t mean—I suppose I had just assumed, given the political position we were already in—Oh no. I’m so sorry. Please pretend I never said that!”

  Mirzayael huffs out a laugh, and the nervousness slowly fades behind the affection. “Then I suppose I should not be concerned over the direction of your response…?”

  “Yes,” I blurt. “I mean, no, you shouldn’t be concerned. Courting—courting sounds lovely.” Then I bury my face in the crook of her arm, and consider sinking into the water.

  Mirzayael’s body shakes with a silent chuckle, and I feel her fingers hesitantly brush through the feathers on the back of my head.

  “Lovely,” she quietly agrees.

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