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“Not on their own. Not at events like this, at least. In a little while, the music will change and couples will be able to spend the remaining time dancing as they please. The men who are married or engaged will join then. Or men who want to show their interest, I suppose. Though I doubt any will be brave enough for that tonight.”

The group of women smiled and cheered when we approached, adjusting their spacing so that Amaria and I both had a place with them. They didn’t mind my lack of confidence. Shelby pulled me closer to the middle, urging me into a dance with my hands above my head, my hips moving to the beat of the music. After a bit, Monique replaced her, and she laughed while we both awkwardly tried to figure out the right kind of steps for the song.

“This is not at all how we celebrate at home,” she admitted after she stumbled into me. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, you’re fine!” I seized the opportunity to learn more about her even as I helped her regain her feet. “Where is that?”

“Fallpar Cay. It’s a small island off the southern coast of Varím.” She smiled and then spun, her hair and dress twirling. When she was facing me again, she said, “Varím’s parties are much more rigid. The dancing is very structured, and there is an order to the events. Seated dinner and dessert and speeches. I always thought they felt more like a wake rather than a wedding celebration. This is so much more relaxed. I love it.”

Varím sounded more similar to American weddings. I wondered if she’d find them boring, too.

“What about kids?”

“At the celebrations? Or between Arden and me?” Her smile was just as bright as before.

Color drained from my face, and I stammered, “Cel-celebrations. I would never ask about someone having kids.”

She laughed. “Don’t panic. You would be one of the few who didn’t feel the need to ask if Arden and I were planning to prevent pregnancy so soon into our bonding.” She glanced around for a minute and then held her hand out to one of the women I didn’t know, spinning her a couple times. Another woman approached, and she spun her, too, laughing the entire time. When she turned back to me as the song faded and another one began, she said, “Children were often excluded. If they were allowed to attend, they were expected to be quiet and respectful. Most found the entire experience incredibly monotonous, so they didn’t mind being forced to miss them.”

“That’s much different from here.”

Even as I said it, a young girl around the age of ten stepped to the edge of the dancing area. Her plain satin dress was a light green, its hem a bit too long—though she didn’t seem to mind. She had dark gray leather wings that shone with blue undertones in the firelights. Her ears were pointed, and her eyes were a rich hazel. Her curly dark brown hair brushed her shoulders, the top half pulled back with a silver clasp decorated with vines and a lotus in the center. Her teak skin was somehow pale with nerves.

It was Amaria who drew her into the dancing group of women, her smile both soft and warm. The girl was hesitant for a bit, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. One of the women accidentally bumped into her wing, and she flinched. The woman quickly apologized.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you.” She circled the girl’s wrist as she offered the apology. “Is your wing all right?”

When the girl nodded, the group moved around her, giving her a bit more space to keep from accidentally brushing her wings again. Then Amaria held out her hands. When the girl took them, she spun her around and around, the way Monique had done a few times with some of the women. On the fourth, the air around Amaria rippled, and the back of her dress seemed to split apart and then reform. Between one breath and the next, membranous wings—the much larger version of the girl’s—protruded from Amaria’s back, falling to her knees and arcing gracefully above her shoulders and head by at least a few inches. The girl’s eyes were round as saucers, and then she squealed in delight, wrapping her arms around Amaria’s waist.

Trying to be subtle, I looked around the rest of the garden. Genetics would imply that one of the adults here must have wings, too, if this girl did. But the only two were her and Amaria. Maybe they could summon them the way Amaria could?

One of the women beside me noticed the glance.

“Her parents were on one of the trade boats sunk along the northern coast,” she whispered. “They’d been traveling back from Tousir. Julian was in Frostdale when the news came. He offered to take her instead of giving her over to the temple.”

That was a lot of information packed into four sentences. I tried to pick out what to ask first.

“A trade ship was sunk?”

The woman nodded, her expression going grave. “No one knows who was responsible. The northern coast has always been safer than the Passage. It surprised everyone in Frostbell. Many have chosen to not make the trip by sea, opting to cross the Thaeris Mountains instead. It’s less hazardous now that the snow is beginning to melt. Hopefully by the harvest there will be renewed trust in the waters.”

That didn’t bode well. I tucked away the information to ask Callum about later. The woman continued without me having to ask another leading question, still moving to the music.

“Julian is unmarried, so it wasn’t a sure thing that he would be allowed to take her. But after the temple approved it, the governing council of the city decided she would do best farther south where more of the Eldarhím and Odaileon live. He requested a transfer to the training center here as soon as the verdict was given. They arrived a few days ago, right before the equinox.”

Sympathy welled in me. To be all alone in a new city? I eased away from the middle of the group, joining Amaria where she danced with the young girl. When the girl turned to me, she dropped into a precise curtsy.

I was probably about to break a hundred cultural rules, but I tried not to panic about it. I glanced back toward Amaria and then the tables around the edges of the garden still filled with food. Somehow, Amaria seemed to know what I was about to do. Her smile was softer than before as she nodded. I turned back to the girl, leaning close enough I didn’t need to raise my voice.

“Would you like to get a bit to eat with me?” Her eyes were wide again. “I think they just put out a new round of cookies.”

Her nod was jerky, but her hold on my offered hand was unwavering. Amaria joined us, walking on the other side of the girl. Callum’s gaze was a weight on my chest as we crossed to one of the tables full of sweets and other desserts. He didn’t seem angry, though, so I tried not to focus on it. The girl looked over her shoulder, unsure, before carefully grabbing two of the cookies from a tray. When she’d started eating one, I pressed closer to Amaria, angling my lips so no one else would see.

“Who is Julian?”

Amaria looked across the celebration then turned back to me. “He’s the man talking with Kalise with the white hair worn in a braid. He was close friends with the girl’s father.”

When I looked toward the small group, I found a man who seemed middle aged, his hands marked with years worth of scars from training and swordplay. His brown eyes weren’t as bright as some others here, though he seemed to be happy enough in his conversation. He wore the same full regalia as the rest of the guards, though his embroidery wasn’t as intricate. It must be indicative of rank to those who knew how to read it, like the bars on an Army uniform.