He led us through the city, and the farther we walked, the more beautiful it became. Dusk painted Bastian in soft pinks and purples, and the white stone buildings caught their hues, making everything look like it was from a dream.

The cobblestones bled from rough, paved rectangles to polished granite squares as we made another turn, and Zola stopped, looking at the shining marble face of a grand building in the distance.

A series of enormous arches stood over wide, gleaming steps, where three sets of double doors were flung open to the night. Lantern light spilled out onto the street from inside, the race of shadows slipping into the dark.

The ornate plaque above the center doors read AZIMUTH HOUSE.

The first word was one I knew. It was a term used in celestial navigation to describe the bearing of the sun or moon or stars from one’s position. But house didn’t begin to describe what this was. Stone carvings covered every inch of the edifice in flowers and vines, and above them all, an expanse of night sky was adorned with a pearl-faced moon.

Zola was quiet, his gaze dropping from the arches to his boots.

My brow knit when I realized he was summoning up his courage and a wicked smile stretched up my cheek. I liked this version of Zola. He was unsure. He was afraid.

“Ready?” He glanced back at me but didn’t wait for an answer. He took off up the steps without us.

I looked to Clove. He was missing the hesitation that saddled Zola. And that could only mean one thing. Everything was going according to his plan.

He lifted a hand, gesturing for me to go first, and I picked up the heavy skirts, taking the stairs up to the doors. A gust of air whipped around me, pulling a few strands of hair from where they were pinned, and for a moment I felt like I was up on the mast of the Lark, leaning into the heavy wind. But the Lark had never felt more far away than it did now.

We slipped through the open doors and the warmth of the hall enveloped me as my eyes drifted up to the ceiling. Panes of painted murals set with gemstones looked down on us, too many to count. They were framed by stained glass windows in a kaleidoscope of colors that soaked the light of the hall with saturated hues. The people gathered below reflected their brilliant shades, dressed in colorful, shining fabrics. Coats in the richest reds and golds and expertly draped frocks moved like bleeding ink across the mosaicked floor. I looked down to the toes of my shoes. Beneath my feet, chips of amethyst and rose quartz and celestine fit together in the shape of a flower.

“What is this place?” I whispered to Clove.

He spoke low beside me, his eyes scanning the room. “Holland’s home.”

“She lives here?”