"That's a lot of flame," I whispered from where I stood on the castle's eastern ramparts.

"They never did festivals like this back home," said Grace. "Not enough trees to fuel all those fires, and coal was too valuable to use. But I've seen them out in the Vale every autumn and spring."

She stood, dusting herself off before heading down the steps and back towards the front gate, gesturing for me to follow along. It was the first time in…five years that I'd seen her without her weapons and gear. Instead, she wore a clean suit, with a tailcoat the dark burgundy colour of the Dragoon Corps and a white shirt beneath. She hadn't donned her mask yet, but had it in hand as we headed for the gates.

I was reminded of how expensive my wardrobe was as we made our way across the open courtyard and I tried my best not to let any bits of dirt or mud cling to my shoes or coat. In an effort to hide myself as much as I could, I had opted to listen to Emrys's suggestion and copy his outfit, which was apparently the traditional style in Laimnâch, consisting of a black frock coat with a slightly longer skirt and upturned collar. I had made sure the collar fit around my mouth, and between that and the mask, the most grotesque parts of me were hidden from easy view. The only thing I couldn't really cover were my horns, which I had done my best to hide amongst my hair.

The others stood ready by the gate as we approached, waiting on our departure. Ingo and Arthur wore the same style of burgundy coat and white shirt with boots that Grace wore, while Yura had elected to request clothing based on the formal style in the Kiiro Islands, a simplistic long dark grey robe with loose sleeves that was tied around the front and a darker, shorter jacket resting on top. Rosalie, meanwhile, had donned a plain dark green dress with several bracelets and bangles on her wrists as the only piece of the outfit that stood out. None of us had been overly ostentatious, which I was glad for.

Griffin and Brand had simultaneously much more complex and much simpler outfits, considering that they were made mostly of flat strips of cloth. Two sheets of black cloth were draped over their backs, one around their necks and the other down their torso, with holes cut for their wings. Griffin wore sheets of red gossamer, two that hung between their neck and waist, pinned to their robe, and two that hung between their neck and wings, restricting their movement. Brand simply had an additional layer of orange fabrics trimmed with silver thread that rested atop the black cloths, framing her neck and pinned to the robe above her legs, giving her loose sleeves that were significantly less restricting than Griffin's curtain-like ornaments. Both of them had acquired silver caps for the horns or spikes on their heads, with Griffin's having more of that hanging gossamer draped between them and the base of their horns.

The carriages arrived only a couple minutes later. I was nervous as I stepped into the first one right behind Grace. Amongst the finely-carved dark wood interior and plush red seating, I already felt like I was somewhere I wasn't supposed to be, and we weren't even to the palace yet. Emrys and Ingo entered behind me, and the other three humans climbed into the second carriage while dragons stood by until the drivers flicked the reigns and started us back down the road. I glanced back to watch them through the window as they walked along behind us.

"I would have thought that they made carriages for dragons," I said. "It doesn't seem that hard. Just an open wagon with cushioned seating would be enough, if they really didn't want to make a bigger box than this."

"They do indeed make those," said Emrys, "but I wasn't able to find any here. I suppose Yorving must have fewer dragons than other cities I have visited. I haven't seen any the entire time that we've been here."

"I know there used to be a lot of dragons," said Grace. "Maybe not as many as Kirkwall, but still, a lot. They used to run the big forges in the Southridge Quarter with their breath. It's concerning that they all seem to have disappeared."

"Perhaps something to talk about at the ball, then?" suggested Emrys.

The carriage made its way down the overgrown dirt road until it rejoined the main path to the city's southern gate. Traffic was heavier than usual on the night of the festival, but all the pedestrians made way for the incoming carriages. Once we crossed through the gate, we all put on our masks. I tucked my face down into my collar as I watched out the window.

The path we took was straightforward, through the Goldenrod Ward and across Pillar Bridge until we made it to the outskirts of the castle grounds. But the city had changed virtually overnight. Having spent the last few days at the castle, the stands and hanging lanterns that choked the streets seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Hundreds of people had taken to the roads to talk, dance, play games, feast, and admire performers and beautiful displays of fire and symbols of the coming harvest bounty. I was distinctly jealous as I watched them celebrate. I desperately wanted to be out there, celebrating with them, rather than stuck inside out of shame for the shape of my face, or going to a stuffy noble ball.

But this was the duty that I had signed up for when I chose to accompany Grace. She seemed excited for the party, at least, smiling wide enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes behind her visor-like mask. I pulled my eyes away from the windows as we crossed over the bridge, deciding that I'd rather not know what all I was missing out on, but my strong nose still taunted me with the scents of seasoned meats and delicious pastries that we were passing up.

The castle was soon in sight. I had seen it before, but now that it was a destination and not just a landmark on the skyline, I saw how impressive an edifice Yorving Castle really was. The main palace was situated at the top of a cliff within a cliff, a spit of land bordering both Amarclere Lake and the Menhir River Canyon that rose well above all the other canyon walls. It was huge, cut into the stone to make a flat foundations with multiple tiered courtyards and enough fountains on the grounds that I could easily hear them from the next district over. Thin towers marked most corners, soaring into the sky where they were capped by high, pointed roofs. The entire grounds of the castle were encircled in a low wall, interspersed with actively manned guard towers. We had to circle around them to the north, going into the Lake Ward before we could enter through the single gate.

Most of the grounds were taken up by sprawling palatial gardens, which were deliberately left open with trees strategically placed to provide shade for sitting areas without blocking sight lines to any of the buildings that sat at the ends of winding cobble paths. Just like the gardens around the cathedral at the opposite end of the city, these were filled with earthwork ridges and trenches that had been worked into the aesthetic design. Unlike those at the cathedral, however, these earthworks had been fully converted and would be useless in a siege situation, retained only for their aesthetic appeal rather than any defensive ability.

Emrys took to pointing out the various smaller structures on the grounds, eager to show off the research he'd done on the palace over the week. Most of them were embassies or lodgings for dignitaries that the city might host, with the one that stood out the most being a grand structure ringed by marble pillars that stood near the gate, the "Civic Tribunal", the city's high court, according to Emrys.

I could hear the din of a crowd as we continued up the path, and I felt my nerves buzz with nervousness. Soon, the carriage turned to the side before coming to a halt, and the driver hopped down from their seat to open the door. Emrys was out first, waving ahead of him as the rest of us followed behind.

«Relax,» Grace said through the bond as she stepped down the carriage's stairs to the ground. «This is going to be fun.»

«If you're sure,» I said hesitantly as I followed behind.

We stood on a paved courtyard in front of the palace, centred around an elaborate fountain modelled after the palace itself. A second level sat above a set of stairs, with benches near the railing to provide a clear view of the whole grounds. Both levels were positively studded with carved stone decorations. Most were statues of various people wearing regal garb and standing in imperious poses, but there were a handful of gargoyles set into the walls, as well as relief sculptures carved into large stone blocks that stood in the middle of flower beds and in front of hedges.

Everywhere with room to stand was flooded with people. All of them were in fancy dress similar in many ways to what we wore, though none of the nobility here had taken the "formal, but practical" approach that we had gone with, which Rosalie had said was indicative of our status as warriors and knights. There were far more multi-layered coats and jackets, as well as much wider dresses, some of which were absurdly large and must have been held up by extensive framework underneath the ruffled fabric. Most masks were of the plain variety, barely obscuring their faces beneath the various styles of top hats, antiquated wide hats decorated with feathers or coloured fur, and lace frills. A few were more ornately-crafted, which seemed to mark those who wore them as interesting topics of conversation amidst the crowd.

There were far more people here than I would have expected to be. Even a city as large as Yorving couldn't possibly support an ecosystem of thousands of titled nobility; the numbers must have been padded with other important members of society, like wealthy merchants, magistrates, and well-to-do priests.

"I believe our hosts are fashionably late," said Emrys. "Shouldn't be too long before they arrive to let us inside."

"That means we'll have to watch the procession," Rosalie mumbled.

Despite her ominous tone, I was less worried about a "procession" in that moment than I was about all the eyes that suddenly turned towards us. I could feel the gazes on my skin, prickling like a thousand tiny needles driving themselves in between every scale. I tilted my head down, making sure my face was as covered up as possible, but my mind still invented the worst possible thing that every half-heard whisper could be saying about us. Still, I knew that even I, the tall woman obviously trying to hide something, was getting less attention than the only dragons in the entire crowd, and they got less than Arthur, who had made no effort to hide his draconic features and was waving his antennae back and forth as he scanned the attendees.

"Try to stay within sight of at least one other person," Rosalie whispered. "But we shouldn't move about in one big cluster tonight. It will make us look frightened."

She was the first to peel away from our group and merge with the crowd, and the rest shortly followed, until I found myself walking behind Arthur as he made his way through the crowd and to the upper level of the courtyard. The people parted for him, and now I could very clearly hear people talking about his face, wondering if he might be the bearer of a curse.

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None of them spoke to us directly until we reached the top of the stairs and a couple approached us, a man in a dark yellow coat with a smile on his face and a silver mask resting just above it, and a woman in a wide-skirted purple dress with a tilted hat.

"Well now!" said the man. "I suppose that you must be the dragoons we've heard tell of?"

"That we are," said Arthur. He held his hand out for a shake before awkwardly pulling it back under the judging eyes of the strangers when neither accepted the gesture. "I'm Sir Arthur Coslett."

"Sir Belfry of Vandermaine," I added, inclining in a stiff bow so as not to dislodge my disguise.

"Splendid!" said the woman. "I am Lady Theresa Ellesbridge, and this is my husband Erineus Ellesbridge, master of the exchequer here in Yorvingshire."

The names and title fell from my ear as soon as they entered the other, but I politely nodded as the two spoke.

"It has been far too long since our city was graced by the presence of dragonkind, and longer still since it was so by the presence of true knights," said Erineus. "Do tell me, are the rumours true?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to specify which rumours," said Arthur, plastering a fake knowing smile on his face.

"Oh! I'd love to hear all there is to tell," said Theresa. "I've heard the most fanciful imaginings of knights slaying a foul butcher in the lower quarters. The wonderful Ms. Lisora told me over wine that she had heard tell of the knights bearing a special curse! It simply astonishes me to think that someone would have the gall to place a curse on such righteous young fellows as yourselves."

"I was of the mind to doubt strange tales of curses and warlockry, but I can't imagine another source for these." Without warning, Erineus reached out and grabbed hold of one of Arthur's antennae between his fingers, shaking it slightly and feeling its flexibility. Arthur flinched and I fought the urge to physically recoil.

"A curse, yes," Arthur said, steadying himself after Erineus let him go. He hid his distress well, not letting it come through in is voice or from behind his mask, but standing next to him, I could still sense it. "Quite an ironic one for a dragon-knight, I'd say, since it turns me into a dragon myself."

"A transformation?" said Erineus. "How peculiar! I've never heard of transformative magic before."

Theresa gasped. "Oh, saints, it sounds just like what they have said about this Scourge business! Do you think it may be the same curse?"

"Now dear," said Erineus, turning his attention to his wife, "let's not go spreading idle reports."

Arthur tilted his head. "What do you mean 'idle reports'?"

"Such tales of some form of curse or plague have spread at salons and celebrations just like the sickness they claim to report," said Erineus. "Frankly, I am a lover of truth and facts that one can feel with their hands. A transformative plague sounds like balderdash to me. Perhaps there is some credence to the rumour, given what has happened to you, but I should still think that a sickness that makes monsters of its victims is perhaps a little more far-fetched than some sort of mass hysteria or some cult of warlockry that is spreading madness in its wake. Heavens know the blood that runs at the foot of the canyon is polluted enough to be to the tastes of such villains!"

"I have yet to read any science on the matter," Theresa disagreed lightly before Arthur or I could process a response to…anything her husband just said. "Until there is better evidence, I would sooner believe it to be the conjurings of fevered and drunken minds at alleyway pubs than any sort of 'mass hysteria'. But until then, oh what a thrilling story it makes!" She turned back to Arthur. "Though it is a curse, can you control these transformations?"

"I can, yes."

"May I be so forward as to request a demonstration tonight, then?" asked Theresa. "Once the celebration has moved somewhere where it would be appropriate, of course. I would love to see as strange a magic as that in person."

"It isn't very nice to look at," I cut in. "It's long and grotesque. And painful."

"I'm not surprised, for something which is called a 'curse'," said Theresa.

"It would also ruin his clothes," I added.

"Ah." Theresa nodded. "Well in that case, I wouldn't ask you to destroy such fine apparel. Perhaps another time, at a less formal occasion, you could show us the length and breadth of this curse."

"Would that my clothes had received the same curse!" Arthur said with a forced laugh. "We will see, but I'm sure you can guess that us knights are quite often busy keeping the shire safe."

"I can imagine!" said Theresa. "Well then, perhaps once you can find the time, you will have more interesting tales to tell, hm?"

My ear twitched as I heard an approaching cacophony of hooves on stone. Erineus seemed to hear it too, and he tilted his head towards the balcony railing.

"It seems the guests of honour are arriving," he said. He turned and gave us a short bow, followed by a curtsy from Theresa. "Thank you for entertaining us."

"It was a pleasure to meet you!" Arthur said as the pair walked away. I sighted Brand and Griffin on the opposite end of the balcony, and nudged Arthur before walking to meet up with them.

Arthur tugged on his sleeve. "That was awful," he whispered.

"Nobles," I commiserated as best I could without drawing any attention to my discomfort. "Never liked them."

"I think Rosalie's nice," said Arthur. "But saints. I felt like I was on exhibit."

"That's why I covered up," I murmured. "You're probably going to get more of that before the night is out. I'll bet everyone here has the same questions and just as little tact."

"Never would have thought the people who play this 'game' of appearances, and talking, and approval, would have so little grace."

"What are you talking about?" Grace asked as we came near enough for her to hear. She and Yura were with the dragons, though I could also see Ingo and Emrys down on the lower level, standing near a statue as they watched the incoming carriages closely.

"Nothing," I said.

Yura walked in front of the dragons and leaned against the balcony, turning his eyes to the carriages as well. "We learned something odd," he said. "Apparently, there truly are no dragons in the city at all."

"We gathered," I said, thinking about the implications of what those two had said.

"The weird part is that no one knows why," added Grace. "Everyone seems to think that all the dragons just got up and left. Went to Kirkwall or something. But that can't possibly be true."

"The people we talked to didn't believe the Scourge was real," I said with some bitterness in my voice. "They thought it was just fear-mongering rumours. Even though they live in a city where it's actively happening."

«Something tells me we won't get much out of most of the guests here,» said Griffin. «I think they like untruths.»

"Bad people," Brand growled aloud in draconic.

«Incurious people,» Griffin corrected.

"We'll see what we can get out of the important heads, then," I said. "I doubt there's any way the burgomaster can keep his head fully buried in the sand, even if he's handed most of the city's controls over to the vicar."

"Speaking of…" Grace trailed off, making a shushing gesture as the carriages down at the plaza pulled up into a neat block, with four in a square at the back and one leading carriage at the front, from which a man in a fine black coat and top hat disembarked, retrieving a scroll from a satchel as another well-dressed servant moved to open the doors.

Even just the carriages themselves were statements, before we could see anyone inside. Most of them were all in dark wood, but one was painted in white and gold, with spiralling filigree and embedded gemstones in the door that could only have been the work of the ostentatious vicar. The others incorporated more silver than gold, with studs and twirling lines that made them look like they were wrapped in shrouds cut from the night sky itself.

The herald with the scroll began to speak once the crowd had all been sufficiently hushed. "The custodians of the city of Yorving, capital of Yorvingshire, are most pleased to welcome all those who have been able to attend this traditional ball, in honour of the autumnal equinox. Now, this palace would like to bid welcome to the hosts of this celebration, as well as their most honoured guests."

He gestured to the door of the leading carriage, and the servant opened it. "Lord Lionel Edgar Ewenbough II, burgomaster of the city," the herald announced. The man who stepped out was far less imposing than I had been expecting. He was a portly older gentleman, with grey whiskers that came down his cheeks nearly to his chin, wearing a top hat and coat similar to that of the servants, and carrying a cane that seemed to be both for style and mobility as he carefully stepped down to the cobbles and faced the crowd with a genuine, broad smile on his face.

The servant moved to the side of the white and gold carriage. "His Holiness, Saint-Archvicar Paul Barbosa, first of his name and keeper of Yorving and of the Cathedral of the Holy Rosary Bell."

The vicar stepped out in nearly the same robe he had been in at the cathedral, a picture of serenity. Despite the lack of religiosity at this event, he had not taken off his mitre, and it seemed that he had too much fondness for his face to wear a mask, making him the only person in the courtyard without one. Two deacons exited the carriage behind him, eliciting a few intrigued "ahhs" from the crowd, as well as two serious-looking ordinary human priests.

"Lord Niklas Dracontrine, of the esteemed Cord Dracòn," the herald continued. The man that stepped from the next carriage was entirely unremarkable, save for his extra tall hat and bushy beard. He gave a raised eyebrow to the obvious dragons watching from the balcony, and I wondered what the source of his family name was, and what exactly that "Cord Dracòn" referred to.

"Lady Florence val Lunedor, representative of the noble House val Lunedor, proprietors of the renowned wines of Sangvieille." The woman who stepped from the next-to-last carriage seemed quite young, only a little older than me and accompanied by a single even younger servant. She had simple attire, yet it stood out amongst the other nobles here, being composed of a relatively thin dress cut from dark red cloth, the colour of blood, and red gloves with pieces of silver embedded into the top to resemble claws. Her mask was beastly, with long fangs that fell over her mouth and a snarling face, and her dark brown hair was far shorter than most of the other nobles, only one or two inches long.

I tapped the pouch I had hidden beneath my coat. She was the one I'd have to give Ms. Malvina's letter to. I hadn't heard of the Val Lunedor family, but she definitely seemed important in a way most of the no-name nobles here weren't. It was the air she carried. Charged, like a storm about to break.

"Lastly," the herald said as the servant opened the door to the last carriage. "Lord Kaspar val Hosk, and Lady Katra val Hosk, many-faceted patrons of our city, stewards of the Kith, and masters of practical applications of the occult."

Yura stiffened. From the carriage stepped a man and a woman, both dressed in somewhat dated costume. They were both in black, with the man's coat and the woman's dress were both detailed with swirls of both blood red and bright silver. Their sleeves were large and loose, and the man had a prominent ruffled white cravat. They looked very similar, both with straight black hair and both middle-aged with shallow wrinkles creasing their faces. The man had a carefully-groomed moustache and pointed beard, while the woman's severe eyes roved over the crowd. Behind them, a younger girl got out of the carriage. She was well-dressed, but she was clearly armed, with a small sword hanging in a scabbard from around her waist.

More important, though, was her face. Behind her simple bronze mask, beneath her long brown hair, I could see the glint of green around her eyes. She was too far away for me to tell for absolute certain, but my interest was piqued by the possibility that she had scales like mine.

As the herald nodded and all the esteemed guests made their way up the stairs towards the main door of the palace, I heard the sound of metal sliding against metal. I glanced back to see the gleam of a knife sliding out of a sheath hidden beneath Yura's robe.

"Stop!" I hissed, getting in front of him before anyone important could see.

"It's her," he whispered, uncharacteristic rage seething from his words. "Katra val Hosk. She's the one I need to kill."

"Not now," I said, trying to physically block him from getting any closer to the procession. Brand grabbed his shoulder, which finally made him stop struggling and put the knife back in its sheathe. "We'll all be executed if you try something now!"

Yura stared hard at the woman he hated as the burgomaster gave a droning preamble while he awkwardly fiddled with the locks on the door. I could tell that Brand was speaking in his head. Finally, he took a step back.

"I'm leaving," he declared, and shuffled backwards. When the doors opened and the crowd suddenly surged forward towards the palace, Yura kept going, silently descending the stairs while Brand glanced between him and the rest of us.

"Me too," she eventually mumbled, padding along behind her partner.

"Make sure he doesn't do something stupid," I said with a sigh that was far too weary far too early in the night. "Thank you."

Brand nodded. Once I was convinced that Yura wouldn't be interrupting the party, I let the current of people sweep me up, and headed into the palace for the celebrations to truly begin.

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