They turned away then, leaving Ranka rooted in place. A merchant tapped her shoulder and asked her to dance, and Ranka let him spin her away, reeling from Ursay’s words. The hour dragged on. Ranka danced with other witches, with nobles and merchants and even a wealthy cattle farmer who supplied the military with leather armor. Ursay didn’t come near her again, and she saw nothing of Ongrum. Where was she?

The merchant Ranka had been half-heartedly chatting with balked and stepped away. Ranka stumbled and turned to see who had stepped up behind her.

Aramis tilted her head to the side. “You’re not that bad of a dancer.”

“You’re usually a better liar.”

The smile that split Aramis’s face made every nerve in her come alive. It was impossible not to remember their fight, or last night, the way they’d crowded together on the palace roof, and the promise she’d made in the dark.

I will not fail you.

They both stood stock-still, immobile in a sea of twirling witches and humans.

“You’re neglecting your guests,” Ranka said.

Aramis closed the space between them. “Dance with me, witch girl.”

“Here?” Ranka’s voice faltered. “In front of all these people?”

Aramis held out her hand.

Every nerve screamed for Ranka to bolt, but she took it. The princess’s fingers felt cool and right against her own.

Together they moved to the center of the room.

50

ARAMIS DANCED AS THOUGH HER feet didn’t touch the floor. They turned slowly, swaying to the music as couples twirled around them in flashes of color and wafts of perfume. They turned and Ranka caught a glimpse of Tafa, watching them through narrowed eyes. Nobles slowed in their own dances, pausing to watch.

“People are staring.”

“Let them.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Ranka breathed. “About tomorrow. And… what follows.”

“Don’t,” Aramis said, her voice soft. “Let me have one moment. Just one, where we’re not at war.” She laid her head on Ranka’s shoulder. Some of the pale gold glitter dusted across her cheekbones rubbed off onto Ranka, winking like stars. “Tell me about our cabin. The one you’re going to build in the woods.”

Ranka’s eyes stung. Everyone was staring, but Ranka had spent so much of her life twisting herself into odd shapes to soften the gazes of others. She had sacrificed, lost, and grieved. There was no guarantee of what tomorrow would bring—but this moment, this she could have. So instead of pulling away, Ranka settled a hand on Aramis’s waist and held her close.

“The cabin,” Ranka said, her voice barely above a whisper, only for her ears even with the eyes of the world on them, “will be cut from cedar and built along a river.”

Aramis relaxed. Ranka held her close and let the room fade away.