The castle was in chaos.
Nova perched on the table in the guestroom she'd been escorted to and listened to the staff running back and forth outside. There were soldiers talking in the foyer and Faellian was yelling about something, and Nova was quite happy in her bubble of calm. She winced as the maid plaiting her hair yanked too hard.
Almost happy, then.
Her outfit for the Hallow Festival taking place that day was hanging from the wardrobe door, the only dress she owned with any colour. She was allowed to wear it twice a year for the lord's public appearances at the big festivals, and she hated it on principle for the fact that Faellian had picked it for her. It was undeniably a beautiful dress; she just wished it wasn't so she could hate it more.
The Hallow Festival always took place on the first full day of the dark season, and this year everyone had been taken by surprise when it fell early. The preparations had only been in the earliest stages, hence the chaos. Down the corridor, Faellian bellowed like a demon at his tailor, who had been summoned in the small hours to start making last-minute adjustments to the lord's outfit. Nova swung her feet and smiled faintly. She hoped the tailor had stuck him with a pin.
The maid finished braiding and crossed to the dress on the door. It was purple brocade with silver detailing, in a traditional Kelian style with the high stiff collar and fitted bodice. A cut out below the collar left space for a necklace to show against her skin before giving way to a mauve stomacher. Faellian had ordered that the skirt not be extravagant, but the seamstress had still given it a little more shape than Nova really had. The only thing that ruined it was the stumps of her wings, bound in purple silk and sticking out of holes in the bodice that had been tailored in to accommodate them.
Grace walked in at that moment. Household staff were required to wear one item of clothing in the house colours and a pin brooch with Harkenn's ram skull emblem, and Grace wore her colours in a cloak with a deep hood that looked suspiciously like an homage to the Unspoken style. Beneath it she wore a demure dark grey dress with a white collar and pinched sleeves, and she had tied her hair into an elaborate knot. She stopped in the doorway, eyes widening.
"I know," Nova said. "I look like a pudding."
Grace looked tempted to respond, but maids had orders not to communicate with Nova while she was still in the royal apartments. She had already broken that rule too many times to count, of course, but they didn't usually have a witness.
"I can take over if you want," Grace said. "I'm ready to go."
"Oh, would you?" the maid asked, and Nova startled. The girl had been totally silent up until this point and Nova had almost forgotten she could talk. "I haven't even got my dress on yet."
"Of course," Grace said, stepping across the room and avoiding Nova's eye. "Go and get ready."
The maid hurried out, squeaking another thank you before disappearing into the bustle of the corridor beyond.
"You don't look like a pudding," Grace said, laughing. "Why'd you have to say that? I almost gave us away."
Nova smiled despite herself as Grace's fingers set to work on lacing her bodice. Her hands were confident, almost practiced.
"Do you wear clothes like this where you're from?" Nova asked, picturing the otherworld garb she had first seen Grace in and struggling to make it match up. "You seem to know what you're doing."
"No," Grace said. "But I used to work in a museum where I did this all the time for displays."
"What's a museum?"
To her credit, Grace's pause was minute. "It's like a display of historical artefacts. For preservation and so that public can come and see it. They're fascinating. I suppose you don't have them here."
"Artefacts are kept in the temples," Nova said. "Or the lord has them in his vaults."
"Of course he does," Grace muttered. She did a good job of sounding offhand, but she couldn't hide the disappointment in her aura.
"He spends a lot of time in the city in the dark season," Nova said, questioning the wisdom of what she was about to suggest even as she was suggesting it. "Sometimes you can convince Jan to open the vault door while he's out. If you ask nicely and don't touch anything."
She turned as Grace finished lacing her dress. Her heart jumped at the excitement on Grace's face and she hated herself for it. She'd been here – exactly here – before, and look where it got her. As if she had picked up on the direction of Nova's thoughts, Grace's smile faded a little. Cheeks pink, she reached over and tucked a flyaway strand of Nova's hair back behind her ear. Her skin tingled at the touch and she rocked on the spot, torn between stepping away and stepping forward.
"I feel like I've been pressuring you," Grace said. Her mouth twisted into a tiny frown. "We can take things as slow as you want to."
Nova blinked. "What things?"
The pink deepened to red. "You know...us. I mean... I don't know, I just thought...."
She trailed off. Nova didn't know how to make things better, so she stood as awkwardly as ever and watched Grace grow increasingly agitated.
"Do you feel anything for me, Nova?" Grace finally asked. "Because I really don't know where I stand anymore. Do you... Did that night mean anything more than just...."
"Angels do not desire sex in the way humans do," Nova said carefully, aware of what was hanging on how she answered. "For us it isn't a physical need, but linked strongly to emotion and connection with another being. If there is no connection with our partner, we get nothing out of it."
Grace thought about that for a moment. "I suppose that is a yes, then. In a way."
"I don't think..." Nova said, haltingly. "I don't know...if I have what you want. If I can give you what you want." She glanced at the door. "In any sense."
Grace's hand brushed hers, but she appeared to think better of taking it. "I don't know what I want." Her expression was troubled. "I don't know where my life is going. I don't know whether I will ever see my parents or my friends again, and I feel like I'm losing my brother to something I don't understand. But I know I like this. I like...spending time with you. And I would like to keep doing so, if you do. I just want to know that I'm not making you feel like you have to."
Nova wanted to do something to make things better. In another life she might have embraced Grace, kissed her, known the right thing to say – this was not that life.
"I...like this, too," she said. "But I can't promise that...that it'll be good for you."
Grace's mouth was against hers and her back was against the dresser. She wanted to resist, but at the same time desperately didn't. Her hands hovered, uncertain, near Grace's waist. She was already too far in. She couldn't have friends. She hadn't had friends for years. She knew she couldn't, but Grace's aura was already growing too familiar to her, the resolve and the determined fire in it like a bulwark.
She was almost relieved when she sensed someone approaching, separating them so she didn't have to – she wasn't sure she could.
"Someone's coming," she muttered, pushing Grace back and rearranging her skirts just as Jan walked in, already decked out in a purple gown she'd stitched herself. The housekeeper paused, blinked, and then arranged her features into a disapproving scowl.
"You girls are going to get yourselves in such trouble," Jan whispered, stalking over to fix Nova's ruffled hair. "And in the lord's apartments, too, Kiel's beard, you must have a death wish." She pinned Nova with a stern glare. "If you ruin this dress the lord will have my head for it, you remember that."
"Sorry, Jan," Nova murmured, not feeling sorry at all. Grace met her gaze over the housekeeper's shoulder and burst into a fit of silent giggles.
Jan rounded on her. "And what are you laughing at, miss? If I were you I'd get downstairs and join the other girls before you're left behind."
"Sorry, Jan," Grace said, still stifling rogue splutters. "I'm going."
The next time Nova caught a glimpse of Grace, the procession was underway. The household went first, as was traditional, marching under a moonless sky with braziers blazing, out of the gatehouse and down the street towards the Threadneedle. Faellian was mounted on his black stallion, which was decked out in gold harness, its breath steaming in the night. The lord himself was in a purple full-skirted coat, a black leather waistcoat and white cravat, and his hair was iron-straight and beaded with tiny pieces of gold. Due to the obnoxious finery of both their outfits, Nova wasn't required to share the lord's saddle like she usually did. Instead she rode a mare whose reins were controlled by a member of the guard, while she sat astride it with her hands chained. She still had bare feet; while she was permitted to wear a gown to the festival, Faellian had to keep up appearances.
The market square was the traditional place for processions from all the religious houses to join the royal column, to make the journey to the plaza where the Night Fire would be lit. The Orthanians would join first, followed by the Kelians, the Varthians – provided they showed up – the Heretical Orders and the Nicts. When the procession reached the square, the heads of house awaited the lord's arrival on their own mounts in the centre, while their houses waited in rows in their own sections of the square, all wearing their colours.
The Unspoken contingent was the only one that was separated, cloaked figures just visible at the fringes of the gathering, guarding against demons that might be attracted by so much life in one space. Yddris waited on foot with the heads of houses. Looking past him, Nova spotted Jordan standing with four other figures in brown apprentice cloaks, the only ones who were not part of the defensive corral. She could tell it was him immediately, not only by the relative familiarity of his aura but also by the nervousness bordering on abject terror in it, and the way he fidgeted as Grace came into view.
Nova made the mistake of looking down as the procession came to a halt, and her gaze immediately found Grace's. The girl made a minute jerk of her head towards the apprentices. Nova glanced at her guard, made sure he was looking the other way, and then nodded .
"Welcome," Faellian called. All around the square, people were hanging out of windows to watch the proceedings below. This procession was for the houses only; the public arrived later, when the houses had dispersed, so that the Unspoken weren't stretched too thin.
"This is a night of welcomes," the lord continued, as he did every year, "and a night of farewells. The darkness is upon us, but we stand strong together on this Hallow night to defy it. To strengthen bonds. To celebrate life. To celebrate light, and look forward to its return." Faellian nudged his horse into the square so that all could see him, so that he stood side by side with the heads of the houses. "To celebrate the work of those who keep us safe and whose predecessors enabled our city to stand strong in the face of the monstrous hordes from the mountains and plains."
"Oi," the Varthian chieftain interrupted, and a rumble of laughter echoed around the square. The new chieftain – it was never the same one twice in a row – was a vast mountain of a woman, hardened and sinewy from a life eked out in the wilds. A ram skull made up the centrepiece of her headdress, the vast horns framing her face.
Faellian was clearly irritated by the interruption, but weathered it with a smile. "You're right, Ula, there aren't enough of you to make a horde."
Ula laughed, the sound echoing. Her contingent beat the hilts of their falchions on their shields. All around the square the Unspoken shifted, prepared for demons to come running at the noise. Even Nova found herself sucking in a sharp breath of anticipation, scanning the sky for Marrowhawks. She had heard one last night, had felt it hit the tower rune net. It was naïve to think it would have gone very far.
When no beast descended on the assembly from the skies, Faellian continued.
"We celebrate our gods and our blessings, and offer our prayers for a season without losses." Though there was no hope of that, the lord concealed it well in his voice. "I declare this festival open!"
A cheer went up, though it wasn't as vigorous this time, everyone's enthusiasm tempered by the caution of the Unspoken. Looking around the square, Nova wondered how many were left in the guildtown. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen so many supervising one event; it was a bad sign that numbers of this size had been deemed necessary. There were probably more outside the square as the first line of defence; as if to confirm this, a frisson of repellent magic touched the edges of Nova's awareness.
Orthan led the way out of the market square. Their house's acolytes carried firebrands lacquered in gold, and some were clearly trained to play with fire. Most of the acolytes wore burgundy robes, but a few wore tunics and leggings and accompanied the column with spins and pirouettes, burning brands juggled through the air or carried between teeth. An acolyte balanced on the back of the baron Ethred's horse in a handstand on the cantle with her brand held between her feet. Nova could've spit in the eye of the man sitting the horse, but she had to admit it was an impressive display. She had been limber once, a long time ago, before the ravages of constant lashings and nights in damp cages weakened her limbs.
Kiel followed, their whole house a choir, high voices rising into the dark. Kerrin rode a white mare at the rear, smiling down at her charges. Varthi and their thundering drums went next, some of them riding animals which had once been farm beasts but had been bred on the plains into creatures of intimidating size and stature. Their Varthian riders guided them by way of their vast horns, filed to points and decorated with silver.
The Heretical Orders had an orchestra of strings. Nict, as the smallest contingent, with few acolytes and their most ardent sect of worshippers banned from the ceremony, rolled a single gong on a wheeled frame at the back of the house processions, pounding out a slave-drum beat. The Unspoken had drifted away to continue guarding the column, but a few stayed behind – the apprentices, for one, and the demon hunters who were presumably their tutors. Yddris took the lead with Jordan at his side. Jordan and one other apprentice did not join in as the Unspoken loosed arcs of green fire into the air, which twisted and formed themselves into beautiful patterns overhead as the royal household began to move again.
Nova risked another look down at Grace, and found her staring at the Unspoken. She couldn't see Grace's face from where she sat, but the confusion and fear and reluctant awe in her aura gave her away. Nova couldn't speak to her, couldn't reach down and reassure her without somebody seeing. She couldn't make the Gift's effects easier to face without lying, and she wouldn't lie. If she couldn't give Grace anything else, she would at least give her the truth where it was owed.
They reached the Firepit as the night grew to almost unbearable coldness. She had lost all sensation in her feet a long time ago, and pressed them against the sides of her mount in an effort to avoid losing her toes to the blackbite. The pit was a vast crater in the middle of a paved plaza; for the rest of the year it was covered over and locals used it to host feasts and play kickball. It was situated in Bisa, a quarter known for its gambling dens and pleasure houses, but Harkenn had outlawed 'disreputable businesses' establishing themselves in view of the Firepit. The shops around them were bars, secondhand bookshops, a tailor's, a butcher's. Every window was lined with civilians pressing their noses against the glass.
The Firepit was stacked with timber. It looked like it had been mostly salvaged from wreckage in the slums, though on top was fresh lumber to draw attention away from it. A bowl filled with coal stood at each compass point around the pit to represent the Lodestones marking the edges of the settled world. Outside the bowls stood the heads of the houses, all holding a flaming firebrand except for Yddris, whose green blaze sat in his palm. Lord Eril was pinning the Unspoken with a distinctly filthy look that went ignored.
Harkenn dismounted and accepted a firebrand. Though the mass of people in the square must have numbered two hundred at least, it was silent.
The lord of the Reach lit each bowl of coal first. Eril stepped forward and dropped his brand into the Night Fire. Kerrin followed, then Ula of Varthi, Medra from the Heretical Orders, and Callan from House Nict. When it was burning with some conviction, Faellian threw his brand into the flames.
Yddris stepped forward last and knelt at the edge of the pit, hand outstretched. With a flash and a sound like a crack of thunder, the Night Fire blazed green.
The Unspoken around the edges of the plaza responded with their own green torches, and candles and firebrands were held aloft as a cry went up. The order of the crowd was crumbling, the houses beginning to mingle and disperse, the public starting to leave their homes. Green sparks licked at the sky above them, filling the air with an ambient crackling.
Faellian finally turned his attention elsewhere. For this one night of the year he would turn a blind eye if Nova dismounted and mingled with the crowd, so long as she stayed where he could see her. She slid down the moment he looked away, landing with light feet on freezing ground. She looked around for Grace, but it appeared she had been swept away by the crowd.
Instead, she came face to face with Grace's brother.
"Hello," Jordan said, hesitant. His eyes kept straying to the Night Fire, a flicker of trepidation in his aura, and she didn't blame him. That job would be his one day. "Can we talk?"
Nova waited, her face neutral even as her heart thudded. If Jordan didn't approve of Grace seeing her, Grace might listen to him.
Jordan darted a furtive look around the crowd. "There are people in the castle who might want Grace dead," he said. "They're using her as blackmail. Against me. If I piss them off...." He swallowed, his whole body giving way to visible trembling. "You would be able to tell who they were, right?"
Nova couldn't hide her surprise. She remembered the figure she had seen on the roof the day Jordan had returned from being captured, but hadn't assumed it was anything like this.
"That would depend on how intent they were on killing her," Nova said. "If they haven't been ordered to do so yet it's unlikely I could tell unless they were stupid enough to lie about it in my presence." She narrowed her gaze. "But you don't appear to think they're that stupid, or you wouldn't be telling me, would you?"
"I'll do anything," Jordan said, "For you to keep her safe. Please."
"There's only so much I can do," she said, and even as she was letting him down she hated herself for it. "I'm a slave. And Harkenn will separate us the minute he suspects we're even remotely close."
"I just need to know you have an eye on her," Jordan said. "Anything you can do. Name your price, I don't care."
"I don't need anything," Nova said, and as Jordan tensed, added, "but we can call it a favour owed."
"Thank you," Jordan said breathlessly. "Thank you."
"What are you two talking about?" Grace appeared from nowhere. She was carrying three cups of spiced apple wine, gently steaming. She gave one to Jordan, and then held another out to Nova, who blinked. "I got this for you."
She took it, still watching Grace for the punchline, but she only continued to look expectant, her hands cradled around her tumbler.
"I got paid yesterday," she said, a touch defensively. "Why are you both looking at me like I stole them?"
"We're not," Jordan said, recovering first and wrapping an arm around his sister's shoulders. "You just surprised us."
Grace narrowed her eyes, and then playfully nudged her head against Jordan's chin. With her free hand, she grabbed Nova's fingers. Nova's heart stuttered, and she scanned the auras of those around them for any sign that it had been noticed. Before she could check a second time, Grace was frogmarching both of them to the side of the Firepit.
She exchanged a look with Jordan, whose aura was suddenly conflicted.
I won't hurt her, she wanted to say, indignant at his mistrust before her senses returned to her. It wasn't a promise she could make.
She untangled her fingers from Grace's.
She wouldn't lie.