“Do not expect to get another chance beyond this one. Your value in this game depends on your surviving until the end. If you get reckless because you are restless, it is the rest of us who will pay.”

“I understand. I will be careful.”

Zephyr sighed, but sent her on her way with a wave of her gloved hand; the glove she wore at the tavern was pearlescent and dainty, not bloodred and claw-tipped. Not for the first time Aurora noted that she was not the only one with secrets around here.

But she left the mystery of Zephyr’s gloves for another day, and made her way upstairs to the second level where things were calmer and quieter. The girls still wore the same uniforms and fetched drinks from the bar downstairs, but the guests sat in round cushioned booths with more distance between each. Potted and hanging plants combined with the blue light and sea-salt smell to give the atmosphere of a deserted island beach, where one might divulge the most sinful of secrets with no care of being overheard.

Aurora was certain now that Zephyr was using some of her magic, for though she knew there was naught but wood beneath her feet and in the walls around her, the room made her feel as if the ocean were sitting just out of sight. No matter how far she craned her neck, it never came into view. It was bold, indeed, but Aurora could see how at ease the guests were here, and it was more than being in their cups, though she was sure that helped. It likely dulled their senses, made them question the otherness less, explain it away as their mind’s reaction to the drink. Suddenly, it made a great deal more sense how a woman as young as Zephyr, who could not have passed more than thirty seasons and might have seen far fewer, could wield such power in the city.