Damian had never been much of a social butterfly—a term he’d learned when Asta, Finn, Gunnar, and he went to see the cloud of migrating cinderwisp butterflies that circled the mountain shadowing Bekham. It had been a surreal experience: standing in a field of flowers halfway up the slope, surrounded by tens of thousands of orange and red butterflies. As they flew, the magic butterflies trailed sparks behind them, and their parents had made it very clear that if they spooked the swarm, they’d likely end up burned.

  They hadn’t spooked the swarm.

  Finn had joked that Damian was so quiet he couldn’t have spooked it if he tried, leading to a discussion about how he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. At the time, Damian had thought Finn fit the bill perfectly. But now, watching Konrad glide through the alchemical haze and dim light of the mist house, he realized he hadn’t had the faintest clue what that term really meant.

  A smile and a comment got him into every group. He’d compliment their clothes, their hair, or even just say they had the air of a powerful class—and everyone took to him like fish to water. Damian followed quietly in his shadow, mostly unnoticed. Within minutes, they’d be chatting like old friends, and soon after Konrad would ask to try whatever mist they were sharing, only to make a sour face.

  “I’ve felt more relaxed watching two men oil wrestle,” Konrad said, brow furrowed dramatically as he shook his head. “No, no, my friends—you deserve better. Tell me, have you ever heard of Saint’s Breath?”

  Most people didn’t end up buying, and Konrad never pushed. Some said they weren’t interested in anything more tonight; others balked at the price. In both cases, Konrad simply nodded, said he understood, and moved on. But... the fifth group had someone interested enough to go through with it.

  To take it, they pulled the cork from the vial, pressed a finger over the opening, and flipped it. A single drop of oil clung to their fingertip; one tiny, precise dose, as Konrad had recommended. Damian watched their first customer—a man with tanned skin, a black goatee and curled mustache, wearing a strange headwrap—lick the drop. For a moment, nothing happened. Konrad hadn’t said how long it would take to kick in.

  Then the man’s head snapped back, eyes rolling white, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp. It lasted only a few seconds before he slumped back into a relaxed sprawl. His breath came in stutters, his expression shifting from shock to awe. A moment later, he held his hand to his mouth, breathing on it and giggling like a child.

  “Er... Yusef, you okay?” one of his companions asked.

  Yusef turned toward him, eyes wild. “This... this is incredible. It’s like I’m breathing the very essence of our Lady Lumora. I can see—”

  Yusef’s breath hitched, and tears welled in his eyes. “There’s a light within you, my friend—the light of our Lady. Her light moves in all things...”

  After that, he devolved into muttering and grasping at things only he could see, and his friends couldn’t scramble fast enough to try it themselves. Damian felt... uneasy, watching them clutch at invisible lights. They seemed to be having a great time, yet it felt like they weren’t really there. Like someone, or something, had borrowed their bodies for a moment.

  Maybe that was exactly what they wanted to feel like.

  Once the first group started wobbling and giggling about their breath and strange lights, it caught the attention of the other patrons. Some who’d turned down Konrad’s offer before suddenly changed their minds, while others he hadn’t even spoken to began seeking him out, following the trail of babbling, blissed-out customers. Before long, Konrad stood at the center of a flurry of movement, and it felt like the whole room was spinning around him.

  Damian slipped into the shadows, keeping his distance so he wouldn’t be swept up in the sudden current of activity. Even the lights seemed to burn brighter, the music growing more upbeat and alive like the [Bards] were in on it. Then, through the rising chaos, Konrad caught his eye and gave a little bow.

  Konrad whispered his next words—but Damian heard them. Everyone did. “[Call To Revel].”

  What began as a casual murmur of interest erupted into full-blown chaos. The music surged into something fast and thunderous, paced by a drum that thrummed in time with Damian’s heartbeat. People were passing around vials of Saint’s Breath, many taking far more than a single drop. Konrad himself took two, one on each finger. Somewhere, a [Mage] cast illusory spells, flickering forest creatures rendered in soft light dancing over the heads of the crowd.

  Damian suddenly felt the urge for a horn of mead. A horn of mead, some honeycomb, and maybe a dance. He suddenly wondered if Konrad danced. Then, without conscious thought, [Focused Mind] activated. The music, lights, and people blurred until Konrad was the only thing in focus. The hunger to drink, eat, and dance was brushed aside like cobwebs, replaced by a dull, simmering anger.

  Konrad had used his skill on him. Whether on purpose or not, he’d targeted Damian with a mind-altering effect. The more Damian thought about it, the angrier he became, until he was pushing his way through the crowd toward him. A few steps away, Konrad noticed and beamed like he was expecting praise.

  Damian closed the gap, grabbed Konrad’s tunic in a balled fist, and yanked him close. “What the fuck was that?”

  “What?” Konrad shouted back, a little too loud.

  Vaguely, Damian registered the music pounding in the background, but he couldn’t really hear it.

  “You used your skill on me,” Damian growled.

  Konrad’s brows furrowed in confusion before understanding dawned. “Oh! Sorry—didn’t mean to catch you with it. It’s just... everyone around. You seem fine though, so what’s the problem?”

  Damian started to echo in disbelief, but someone shoved him from behind.

  In a tangle of limbs, Damian spun through the air, pivoted around Konrad, and landed upright. Somehow, Konrad had caught him and kept him from falling flat on his ass. Konrad was shouting at someone Damian couldn’t see through the blur of the crowd. “—you’re going, you fucking ape! Oh, fuck off, or I’ll make you [Sober Up]!”

  It all happened so suddenly that Damian was caught off guard, heart racing from the sudden movement and the closeness and the dull music and the thick smell of sweat and the mist and the flashing lights and—

  “Hey.” Konrad’s voice cut through Damian’s panic. “You okay? That guy just wasn’t looking where he was going, is all.”

  “I’m fine,” Damian managed. He was not fine. The wildest party of his life before this had been him and his eleven siblings getting tipsy on mead while stargazing. This was so far beyond his comprehension it hardly felt real.

  “You sure? You look tense. Are you tense? I’m good at fixing tense.”

  “I’m fine,” Damian insisted.

  But Konrad was already tugging him through the crowd. For a moment, Damian thought about pulling away—but then he’d be alone in the chaos, and he really didn’t want that. As they wove through the press of bodies, Konrad kept talking. “Nah, you’re stressed. That’s my bad. What’d the skill make you want to do? What’s your stress relief?”

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  “Nothing,” Damian lied.

  Konrad laughed—and when he was the only thing in the world not blurred, it was a beautiful sound. It caught Damian off guard, made him stumble. “Bullshit. Drinking, eating, drugs, fucking—everyone’s got a thing. Well, most everyone.”

  They stopped, and Damian realized they’d reached one of the secluded booths, walled off by real wooden half-walls instead of the suggestive silk dividers. His head throbbed, heart racing, music pounding. Even with the world blurred, it was too much stimulation.

  “I dunno. Dancing, I guess,” Damian said absently, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, trying to remember to breathe.

  At that exact moment, Damian realized that when all you could see or hear was a single person, every tiny shift in posture or expression stood out. From the way Konrad moved, Damian could tell what he was about to say. Even just the twitch of his lips gave him away.

  “Really? Dancing?”

  Damian scowled. “No. Forget I said anything.”

  “No, no, hold up.” Konrad raised his hands in mock surrender. “No judgment, you just didn’t strike me as the dancing type, y’know?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Mmm.” Konrad hummed, stepping closer. Damian leaned back from the manic energy in his eyes. “You’re a dancer and a terrible liar. Will you dance with me?”

  “Will I—” Damian began, then stopped midway through the sentence.

  Damian was completely taken aback by how bizarre that question was. Here they were, in a drug house, in the middle of a city so unlike anything Damian had ever seen it might as well have been a dream, surrounded by people high out of their minds on drugs he’d helped make. His heart was pounding with anxiety, even though his handy-dandy skill blurred and numbed most sensations for him. Not to mention there was a god almost certainly hunting Konrad down, a god Damian was fairly sure wouldn’t take kindly to seeing his face again.

  But did he want to dance?

  His family had been murdered. His mission was to save this somewhat dopey, certainly morally ambiguous dipshit—someone apparently more interested in selling drugs and getting high than saving his own life. His head hurt, and his ears hurt, and his heart hurt, and it felt like his chest was being crushed under Nephret’s foot again.

  And yet, despite all that, did he want to dance?

  “Okay,” Damian said softly. Konrad beamed.

  Before he knew it, Konrad was pulling him back into the chaos. At first, it was terrifying—just like before—and Damian was tempted to drop his skill to better sense his surroundings. But he didn’t want to trip, fall, or be swallowed by the sudden surge of sound and color. As it turned out, he didn’t have to worry; Konrad led easily.

  Konrad twisted and twirled, arms sweeping up from swaying hips to overhead before shimmying back down. Every so often, he’d offer Damian a hand, pulling him this way and that, spinning him until Damian felt dizzy. Dizzy, and clearly outclassed. He’d never claimed to be a great dancer, but Konrad made him feel like he had two left feet. As they moved, more of the music began to bleed into Damian’s awareness. Maybe because it was part of what he was focused on: dancing with Konrad.

  “You’re really good at this,” Damian said honestly.

  Konrad grinned. “I’m cheating—[Inebriated Grace].”

  A moment later, Konrad laughed, that same laugh that made Damian’s heart skip. “You sure you’re a dancer? You’ve got the right idea, but no moves!”

  “Haven’t had much practice,” Damian mumbled as Konrad pulled him close, then spun him out again.

  “That’s a shame,” Konrad said, sweeping his arms out dramatically. “May I use a skill on you? Nothing mind-altering, promise—just something to help you dance.”

  By now, Damian had found the rhythm, sweating and panting as he tried to keep pace with Konrad. Part of him wanted to refuse. Not just because he didn’t like skills being used on him, but because his pride insisted he didn’t need the help. Still, he reasoned that if he wanted Konrad to like him, this might help.

  “Okay.”

  “[Ecstatic Purpose].”

  If [Focused Mind] made everything but one thing blur, this skill made one thing sharp—and that one thing was dance. It felt like the dance itself was speaking to him, drawing him in and guiding his movements. Not unlike how it’d felt when he’d been caught up in that big group dance trying to chase Konrad. Then he remembered he’d used that skill then too, so maybe this was the second time he was experiencing it.

  When Konrad stepped back, Damian stepped forward. When Konrad went left, Damian moved with him; instinctive and simultaneous. He didn’t even have to look, extending his hand and finding Konrad’s waiting for him. The world became a whirling blur, and they spun together in the calm eye of the storm, to music that beat in time with Damian’s heart. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt.

  For just a moment, he forgot his quest. He forgot his dead family, the dangerous stars overhead that promised divine violence, his brothers and sisters, and Finn. There was only him, Konrad, and the dance.

  Feet stamping. Arms twisting. Heart pounding. Breath catching.

  The music and the dance reached a terrible crescendo. Konrad flung him outward and pulled him back, spinning and spinning until Damian was wrapped in the music, in his arms, and—

  Then silence.

  Damian realized he was pressed against Konrad—so close he could feel the frantic heartbeat matching his own. Konrad’s breath stirred the damp bangs clinging to Damian’s forehead. It would’ve been unfair to claim he hadn’t noticed how handsome Konrad was; he’d just had more important priorities. But now, with the world fading into the background, he couldn’t help but notice the sharp line of his chin, the fall of his long blond hair, and his warm brown eyes lit with a gentle flame. For several heartbeats, they stood inches apart, staring at each other.

  “I think...” Konrad murmured, leaning closer. “You should try some Saint’s Breath.”

  The moment shattered into a thousand pieces.

  Damian was so caught off guard his skill collapsed, and the world suddenly became so much louder and brighter than it had been before. His face twisted in anger as he shoved Konrad away, though the push barely moved him. Konrad had the audacity to look confused.

  “What’s wrong?” Konrad asked.

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Damian snapped, balling his hands into fists. “Really?”

  “What?” Konrad said, so earnest it made Damian want to punch him. “You don’t have to, I was just—”

  “I can’t fucking believe you,” Damian spat, turning on his heel and shoulder-checking someone as he made for the fastest path to the exit.

  A moment later, Konrad shouted behind him, “Wait!”

  But Damian didn’t. He put his head down, fighting tears he didn’t understand, pushing through the crowd that felt three times thicker than before. A small part of him hoped Konrad would catch up—stop him, say something—but he reached the door without interruption. One glance back showed no sign of Konrad. Maybe he’d chosen not to follow. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe...

  The tears burned as they spilled from his eyes.

  Night had fallen, and the port was nearly deserted. Only a few drunk stragglers stumbled along the docks. Where was he supposed to go? An inn? There wasn’t anywhere he wanted to be.

  He wandered to an open berth and sat on the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the water. The air here was cool, no longer city-warm but crisp against his feverish skin. It helped. A few quiet minutes staring at the dark water lapping below steadied his heart and slowed his breathing until he was something close to calm again.

  At first, Damian wasn’t even sure why he was crying. He felt a little betrayed by Konrad, sure. But it wasn’t as if he shouldn’t have expected it. It was exactly the kind of thing Konrad would say. So why did it make him so... so angry?

  The dance had been... nice. For a moment, he’d forgotten everything. The loss, the fear, and the weight of it all. In hindsight, Damian realized he’d felt light and free for the first time since... Finn died. And then Konrad had ruined it. Maybe not on purpose, but he’d dragged the whole conflict crashing back down, the same dread that made Damian’s stomach twist. Nephret was coming—he was sure of it—and Konrad was busy getting high.

  Why?

  How could he possibly choose that over saving his own life?

  Until he understood that, Damian was certain he’d never convince Konrad to take his class seriously. On a whim, he glanced up. The sky was full of glittering stars. It would never look the same again. He could no longer see them as distant, harmless pinpricks of magic. To him they were eyes; malicious and watching. And in his gut, he felt it: he was running out of time.

  He was pissed at Konrad. Beyond pissed—absolutely livid. For a moment, he’d felt the same spark he used to with Finn, and Konrad had ruined it by being... Konrad. But if Damian couldn’t make him take this waking nightmare seriously, he knew Konrad would die. As crazy and infuriating as he was, Damian didn’t want that.

  A thought cut through Damian’s haze, and he sat up with a jolt. Maybe Konrad didn’t want to listen because Damian had been acting like he knew better. Damian hated it when people talked down to him—so why wouldn’t Konrad? That... that made sense. It explained the deflection, maybe even why he’d believed Damian so quickly. If Konrad thought he was so intense, so sure of himself, that he had to be right...

  Maybe he just needed to show Konrad he could really be on his side.