Part 1- Invasion

***

"To our patroness!" My great-uncle Haim slurs, raising his chalice high above his head. A good bit of the wine inside splashes onto the table below him, moistening the roast duck and bleeding purple onto the tablecloth.

"To Aramizsa!" I yell along with the rest of my family, raising my glass to toast our city's founder. Haim drinks first, as the custom goes, spilling what's left down his throat with an exaggerated flourish.

"To our city!" My great-uncle Nather yells before Haim has even swallowed. He stands up on his chair and wobbles; his wife tries to pull him down but he ignores her and raises his glass as high as he can.

"To Arza!" We all answer, laughing as Nather downs the glass. Someone refills it and he drinks again.

"To- to our family!" Haim calls out, not to be outdone. "A toast to the Amarins!"

"Sit down!" One of my cousins calls.

"Sit down? Pah- how could you ask that? Who said that? Have you no pride in this family?"

"I've plenty of pride," my cousin returns. "But I'd like to stop toasting long enough to eat the duck before it goes cold!"

The whole table laughs, even Haim. "He's right," Uncle Nather calls out. "Sit down, you drunken lout. Let the people eat!"

"All right, all right," Haim concedes, falling back to his chair with mock-sadness. "If you won't toast our family on the feast night, I suppose I'll have to toast it myself." He downs the glass, urging a servant to refill it, then downs it again.

"He's going to end up passed out under the table," my cousin Alya whispers to me. "Again."

I chuckle. "That's right. That was him, wasn't it? The servants found him the next morning and he didn't remember a thing."

"He danced on the table, fell off of it, kissed Lord Nather's wife, got slapped by his own wife, and then fell asleep with the dogs on the floor. You've got to love Haim."

"He certainly knows how to take advantage of feast days," I admit, taking a bite of the duck.

"Don't we all?"

She's right- everyone lets loose on feast days. There's three each year, three opportunities to stop thinking about how to stand and how to bow and when to speak and what to say, three nights where nothing matters and anything goes. This is the Founder's Feast, the biggest party of the year. The specter of our city's founder, Aramizsa Ketoi, is said to wander the streets and grant good fortune to whoever honors her with revelry.

Every other day, decorum is paramount: we are Shikkah's most respected family, after all. But tonight we forget ourselves. Granted, most of us don't take it as far as Haim, but even my pinch-faced Aunt Jinn is laughing.

"Where's your boy?" Alya asks, interrupting my thoughts.

"He's not my boy, Alya!" I chide. "He's our cousin, and the heir to the family!"

"Sorry, sorry," she says. "You're right. So, where is the honorable Izsai Amshira Amarin, heir to the Amarin Dimaraste, son of the Dizsa, Somitu Amarin, blessed of Aramizsa?"

I almost choke on my bite of duck. "He's watching the fireworks on the fifth-floor terrace," I tell her. "He always sneaks out halfway through to get a glimpse of them."

"The fireworks are pretty. I made my father take me to see them every year when I was little."

"I hated them when I was little," I say. "I still don't like them that much. Too much noise, and they don't set them off with any rhythm, so you're always caught up anticipating when the next one is going to go off."

"That's the fun of it!"

I shrug. "It makes me nervous."

"Ooh, something makes you nervous?" She teases. "O'otani the Cruel is frightened by explosions?"

"I never said I was frightened. And don't call me that."

"That's what we all called you as kids," she says, "after you almost killed Dama in a fight."

"He deserved it. And I didn't almost kill him."

"I'm just kidding," she laughs. "Don't be so serious. Why don't you come dance with me?"

"Dance with you?"

"Are you a mimic now?" She mocks. "Yes, dance with me! Come on!"

"But no one else is dancing—"

"So we'll be the first!" She grabs my right hand and tries to pull me up, her eyes shining with mirth. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"I'm not much of a dancer," I tell her, trying to pull my hand away.

"I know," she says. "If it doesn't have at least one sharp edge you never bothered to learn it, right? But that doesn't matter, we're all drunk anyway! Come dance with me!"

I let her pull me to my feet. It is a feast day, after all, and Alya's always had a certain infectious enthusiasm. Her body seems to vibrate with energy, pulling me into her orbit. I'm glad Shira's not here to watch as she wraps her arm around my waist and drags me towards the center of the grand hall. He'd never let me live it down.

"Come on," she urges, trying to get me to perform the proper steps by pushing me bodily. Her chest presses against mine, forcing me back. "Left foot, right foot, hop," she guides, then spins me without warning, causing me to lose my footing. She laughs.

"There you go," she encourages. "We could be a proper couple, couldn't we, O'otani? I think I'd be the lady, and you'd be the lord, even though I'm leading."

"We're cousins, silly."

"Second cousins," she reminds me. "If you were a lord, I'd marry you in a heartbeat."

She spins herself, falling into my arms. I spin her out again. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, I don't know." Her cheeks look like roses under the light of the sconces. "You're so serious, so strong. I admire you for it." She leans in closer to me as our feet fly across the marble floor, trying to keep pace with the music. "I'd probably fall in love with you if you were a lord. Would you fall in love with me?"

"I don't know."

She laughs. "You're supposed to say yes, you know. It's only polite."

"Then yes."

"Too late," she chimes. "I've already fallen in love with cousin Riva. You've lost your chance."

"How horrible. How will I survive?"

"That's better," she says. "Now I might have to reconsider. You're so charming, my Lord."

I'm not charming; I've always known that. But Alya isn't mocking me so I laugh with her, enchanted by her charade. She's dazzling, face shining with sweat and breath smelling like wine, beaded dress sparkling as it catches the light.

"For my bride price I'd like three chests filled with rubies," she tells me.

"Rubies? Why rubies?"

"Because they—" she stops speaking abruptly, a look of surprise seizing her face.

"Alya?"

She screams, her face contorting in pain. Her gentle grip turns to iron, digging into my forearm and waist. Her flushed face has gone white and her laughing blue eyes look frozen, icy.

"What is it? What?" I ask her. She sags against me and I feel something wet touch my hand. I look down in confusion and notice a glint of red.

"Help!" I scream, looking around frantically. Time seems to stop, everyone around us stuck in preternatural stillness while I'm left alone to react. It's only been a second or two since she screamed but it feels like hours, her blood now readily streaming down my hand.

I hear a loud crack and she jerks against me once before going still. "Alya?" I ask, feeling her sag, her body becoming dead weight. She falls to the floor when I can't hold her up. "ALYA! Someone help! Help! HELP!"

Then the room explodes with the sound of gunshots.