Leslie offered her his arm, and felt a homesick longing gnaw at his stomach in a way it had never before.

He remembered the first time his father had taken him to court, to kneel before the haloed crown of the Emperor of Calmoori. He majesty of everything he saw, the carefully made beauty of the gilded halls, the splendour. He danced with women whose beauty men had ruined their lives to try and acquire, had seen the Emperor's daughters dance to humiliate suitors, had been awed and enraptured by all of it.

And here, with the dank mud of Drummond's Spite clinging to his boots, he looked at his shipmate and felt exactly the same way he had the first time danced at the Sunward Festival.

The grease stains and singed overalls had been replaced by Olencian silks. Sweat-matted curls were now a cloud of black that glistened in the sunlight, and rode the breeze like a river of mist sweeping over an island. Coarse canvas overalls was now delicate, pale green silk, nearly the same shade as his waistcoat, with ribbons of black and grey.

"Mercy's hand in that," Leslie said as he turned one of the ribbons over with his fingers. "These are our clan colours. Ravens are black, with grey eyes."

"This is all Mercy's doing." Anita flicked at her hair with her fingers. "Ain't none of this feels right. Stuffed up more like a turkey at a feast."

"No turkey that's ever been born has looked as good as you do," Leslie said, the flattery out of his mouth before his head had a chance to process it. He grinned and rubbed his hair with his free hand, trying to cover the fear now gnawing at his stomach.

Anita was as close to family has he had left beneath the blue. Far, far too valuable to gamble.

Thankfully, his next change for a careless slip was interrupted, as the doors were opened by a pair of uniformed valets. Leslie kept his eyes forward, recalling that he needed to look the part of a nobleman. And a man of money and good breeding did not stoop to inspecting the help.

Instead he blocked the doorway, and tapped his foot once. He grinned, straightened his back, and did his best to look uninterested in the round man wearing Olencian silks marching towards them.

"Sirrah! My word, you are a surprise," the man panted. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve, which left a deep stain in the thin black silk. A wealthy man, Leslie could see, but not a man accustomed to being one. "Calmoori, by the look of you, and a man who should have been better received on our little island!"

"Think nothing of the slight," Leslie replied, and he stepped inside before the fat man could offer. Anita squeezed his arm, and gave him a grin. "I'm afraid it rather succinctly summarizes my fortunes of late. My name is Leslie Madrigan, and I was hoping to get into trading."

"Not Von Madrigan?" the fat man asked. "I'm afraid I don't know much about the court of Calmoori, but most lords go by Von."

"That, alas, is part of my woeful tale," Leslie said. "And part of what I hope to remedy by making my fortune."

"Indeed, indeed. Money can often heal wounds to one's reputation," the fat man agreed quickly, stepping ahead to steer them towards another set of large doors. Valets pushed them apart, to reveal the ballroom.

The vaulted glass ceiling let in so much light it was comparable to standing outside. Crystal chandeliers, more ornaments than lanterns, scattered tiny rainbows across the hall like shrapnel. High wooden walls were covered with an array of artwork. Painting and murals and tapestries were set wherever there was space. A dozen couples danced to a tune that Leslie could recognize as an Olencian waltz, played by a band on the far stage.

Leslie's mouth twitched, as he tried to hide his disgust. His captain was right about new money putting on airs.

"I'm afraid you caught us in the middle of a celebration," the fat man continued to say, ushering them inside. "There's wine and dancing, but sitting down to plot serious business won't happen for some hours."

"That's quite all right," Leslie said. "I promised my companion I'd teach her to dance. And the best way to learn your worth as traders would be to sample your wines."

"Of course, Mister Madrigan. I'll see you again after the dancing. And please, enjoy yourself," the man tilted his hat, bowed a little, and let them walk to the dance floor.

Anita jabbed him in the side with her finger. Smiling, he stepped in front of her to shield her from the sight of most of the crowd, and leaned forward until his head was at the edge of her cloud of hair. "Dancing would help acclimate this crowd to us, so we don't stand out as much. And it gives us a good look at the room."

Anita nodded, but she still looked unhappy. "Can't say I like being used as a prop, Mister Madrigan."

"Prop?" Leslie asked. "Of the two of us, I'm the prop."

He took a step back, put his left arm behind his back, and bowed to her in the proper court form. With his front knee bent, and his right hand extended. He could practically hear his family's master of arms chewing him out over his posture, and reminding him to avoid bowing so low that he'd lose eye contact. "It's easiest to see in Volante, where the men all wear black suits or their military uniforms, but the dance floor isn't where a man is supposed to stand out."

Leslie straightened up, and held his right hand out. Anita took it, and Leslie wrapped his other hand behind her waist. "I'm just here to help make you look good."

Anita looked down, covering her face with her cloud of curls. "I've never danced before."

"That's a crime," Leslie murmured. He extended his right hand out a little, and Anita rested her other hand on his shoulder. "We'll start with the basic three-step. I'll lead. When I push, step back with your left foot. Then, take your right foot, pull it back to your left, and then sweep it out a little to your side, like a knight on the captain's chess board. Bring your left foot to your right foot. After that, move your right foot first, and repeat. Ready?"

Anita nodded.

Leslie started, and he was taken back to his first time on the dance floor, nearly a decade ago, a teenager woefully unprepared for court. Like that time, so long ago, his feet knocked into his partner's toe, and she missed the sweep of the leg that followed. But a decade was a long time to grow, and Leslie had managed a little of it. He smiled, and chuckled softly into Anita's cloud of curls. "You should have seen me the first time I tried to dance. It was bad enough my partner's older brother demanded a duel."

"Really?"

"Compared to that, you're a Calmoori princess showing a suitor how unworthy he is," Leslie said, and hoped he sounded reassuring. "Now, let's try those three steps again. With the music."

One two three. Leslie managed to avoid Anita's feet that time, and pulled at her waist gently to remind her to switch the order up. One two three. Anita remembered to step forward on the first try. One two three. A smile pulled at the edges of his mouth, and Leslie hummed along with the music.

"On the leg sweep, we're going to twist a little, so we drift in more of a circle," Leslie whispered. And added a twist to turn them a little.

Anita kept up neatly. And on the one occasion during the next several beats when she did stumble, the weak pull of Drummon's Spite was such that she could keep upright just by leaning on Leslie's shoulders.

One two three. The cloud of Anita's curls spun and danced about half a step being her, waving in time with her dress. Strangely, every time that cloud wafted his way, Leslie could smell just a hint of motor oil, coal smoke, and beeswax.

One two three. Anita's fingers stopped gripping his shoulder, and the hand holding his relaxed. She smiled up at him, and followed as he began to spin them around the room.

"I should have done this years ago," Leslie breathed.

"Done what?" Anita asked,

"Taken you dancing. You have a good ear for the tempo," Leslie said, as he spun them about. "I wish I did this well the first time I went to court."

Anita laughed, stumbled, and lifted her feet so she rode along with him for another set of steps. "You need to tell me that story."

"The short version is I embarrassed the family, and ruined a very expensive pair of shoes," Leslie replied. "But I'm impressed, you look like you're enjoying yourself."

One two three. Her smile was wide and warm, her lips just sling you parted, and her eyes seemed to hold a promise Leslie found himself wanting to drown in.

"I think I am," Anita said. Leslie grinned, and took his hand off her waist to set it underneath the elbow of her right arm. He leaned over as close to her ear as he could manage, and whispered, "Lean on my hands."

"Wait, Leslie, what are you doing?" Anita asked, but she leaned her weight into the palms of his hands. At the start of the next beat, Leslie lifted her into the air, nearly effortlessly under the weak pull of Drummond's Spite. He spun her around, half a circle with the three step, and carried her so that her dress and hair trailed behind.

Other dancers stopped and stepped away to watch, leaving Leslie room as he spun Anita about. Another one two three, and he pushed her at her elbow, so that she spun away. He let her drift until her arm was fully extended, then pulled her back to him gently. He spun her one more time in a half circle, until Anita's feet touched the ground and her heels clicked with the one two three.

Several people were clapping, but Leslie only barely heard it. Anita's eyes were wide, she giggled quietly, breathlessly, and her hand had moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck.

He found the gentle pressure on the back of his neck extremely heavy. The world shrank down to the inches between his lips and hers.

But a whistle and a strong clap pulled Anita's attention, just enough, that she looked away, and the moment passed. Instead, she flinched at whatever she was looking at, even as appreciative whistles grew louder and the music swelled up. Leslie turned to follow Anita's gaze, but all he saw was a well-dressed woman, adjusting an elaborate hat that had fallen off her head as she applauded.

"What is it?" Leslie asked.

"It just hurts to see sometimes. That hat, I saw its like in the market earlier today," Anita explained.

"It's just a hat," Leslie said.

"It is. And cheaper here than Vol Ayre, because they have slaves, sometimes children, working the chemicals to make the felt," Anita's head tilted down, and the cloud of curls covered her face. "Damnit, even the servants wandering the hall with drinks, they shy away from the guests as if they're afraid of being struck."

"I-" Leslie stumbled, and might have fallen if Drummond's Spite was one of the great isles. But all he had to do was lift his feet and catch himself, before he could lead them through to the end of the song.

"Oh, why the hell can't I just enjoy a moment?" Anita asked quietly. Her eyes glistened, and the hand on his shoulder gripped like she was clinging to the ship's rails. "Why do I have to see home everywhere I go?"