The schooner swayed peacefully beside Deasan's packed docks. Merchants rushed past the anchored ships, their hands full of goods they'd rather sell late than never. The clouds had fled the gloomy sky, intimidated by the moon's stark glower. Under the dim shine of the moonlight, the buzz of traffic drilling into his ears, Salo sat against a large crate and brooded.

Before she left, Iona had rolled her eyes at his exposed figure and instructed him to scramble back into the captain's cabin. She was right to be concerned; the ball was hours away, after all, and getting caught moments before they carried out their mission would have been frustrating.

Yet Salo had gotten enough of hiding. Who would look at the gloomy boy sitting behind a crate? Whose life could have been this dull on such a jolly night? The music lingered in the air, carried by the air blowing from the brightly shining palace in the distance. It was a memory, a dream, something that barely felt real to Salo as he watched the workers transport bags with frantic grimaces contorting their faces.

The doors to the cabins of the ship swung open. Nora squatted beside him, staring at the rippling waves weakly nudging the hull of the schooner. Her black hair was neat for once, brushed to a tight bun behind her head. She looked young, younger than her usual frown implied. They were all youthful, for good or ill. Nobody would spare their life for it. 

"Do you think he's coming?" she whispered, throwing a quick glance behind her shoulder. The Resistance didn't know — nor did they need to, either — and Ailyn had been kept out of it, too. It wasn't as if they didn't trust her, but the princess tended to make quick decisions that shoved their fate onto a whole different road. Tonight fitted no impulsivities.

Salo puckered his lips, examining the spy's face closely. "He might," he replied, but his tone contained a questioning curl. He probably would not. Despite his promises, Arden couldn't travel such great distance at the same time they did. He knew, Salo knew. Nora being left out of this knowledge was probably for the best.

The girl grimaced as her gaze dropped to her hands. "Don't lie."

"Do you think he would want us to dwell on his absence?"

She barked a bitter laugh. "So we're referring to him as if he's dead already?"

Salo slightly twisted his head to glance at her. A deep wrinkle haunted her forehead, refusing to ease despite the girl's best efforts. He could be, he almost told her. There could be silence on his end forever, for all they knew, but at such a crucial moment they couldn't afford the panic his possibly eternal absence would spawn.

Before he could even consider opening his mouth, Nora abruptly stood back up. She could see the doubt in his features, the sliver of muted sadness in his eyes. It couldn't have been more clear; even if Arden had been found dead in some ditch, even if he simply stole the artifact and fled the continent, she didn't want to be informed.

It felt as if days slipped by in the swaying boat. After most of the vendors had built their stalls in the city's center, the port was left idle, with only the splashing of water and the woosh of the wind occupying the boy's ears. He could live in the stillness of the moment, grow in it, die in it. If the martyrdom he faced in the past weeks had taught him anything, it was that a simple life was everything anyone could ask for. He would like to stay in that boat forever, watching the waves gain momentum and crash sadly against it. Yet his concern for his mother and mostly his pride quickly chased that thought away.

Iona didn't particularly trust Salo after he lost their money, and since Nora stuck close to him for the company of another human being that wouldn't bombard her with questions, that distrust extended to her, as well. The only trustworthy part of this team seemed to be Ailyn, yet if she showed her mug in public for even a split second they would be doomed to failure. And thus, they were all stuck here, plagued by the beautiful irony of not being able to control the future they chose.

After what felt like an eternity, the familiar ring of Iona's voice bounced over to Salo's ears. He turned his head, glancing at the tall woman curiously. Colorful masks were piled in her hands, ranging from simple ones to ridiculous monstrosities with feathers, horns, ears sticking out of them. She shot him a slight smile as a shout blared from her mouth, towing the crew on deck.

"So it is a masquerade," Salo trailed off, cautiously approaching the general.

"Luckily or not," she said, letting the disguises down on the floorboards, "it is."

The boy took a blue mask in his hands. It seemed to cover three fourts of the wearer's face, leaving the lower right part of it naked. White swirls danced around the cheeks, framed by shimmering silver dust that stayed on Salo's fingers as he traced his hands across the porcelain mask.

Iona threw him a glance as she handed out masks to the drowsy rebels. "It suits your skin," she remarked.

"I'm glad I will march to my death fashionably, at least." He placed the mask on his face, tying the black ribbons around his skull. "And how do we know who's with us, again?"

"Well, we are all dressed in rugs, so that won't be a hard distinction to make."

"It won't be too subtle a contrast for the guards, either."

Nora appeared beside him, holding a purple mask in her palms. It was her favorite color, the color of death, and for the first time it seemed to be fitting. "What are you talking about? We'll look so swanky in these nobody will question us."

Salo snorted. "You don't honestly believe that."

"No, but I need something to believe in."

Within a few minutes, the deck was packed with shining facades gawking at each other, touching their new faces in awe and staring at their reflection in the black sea beneath them. It was amusing to them, the prospect of such a mission. A seasoned rebel would know most of the grinning Mushans weren't walking out of the palace tonight, and the chatter that had risen in the ship made Salo doubt the level of this team.

Yet no panic seemed to invade his chest. Most of them didn't have a major role in the inflitration; the hardest thing any of them would need to do was play an instrument or dance or run, in the worst case scenario. They were their eyes and ears, gathering information and alerting Iona if something was looking wrong.

Iona cleared her throat. Even a whisper from her could make the crowd go silent. "Are we ready to go?"

A chorus of hums echoed across the deck. The general's lips curved to a grin as she scanned the crowd. "I heard some of you always wanted to be musicians."

༺──────────────༻

The catena didn't look hard to fake.

Its polished wooden surface had an easy grip and its three single strings seemed rigid as the unsuspecting musican tried to tune them. His huffs and groans implied it was no easy feat, yet luckily Salo wouldn't need to do any of that work.

He stood in a dark alley with Iona and two other rebels, listening, waiting. The small carriage around the corner held four musicians, they had gathered; two catena players and two piastrata players. They were part of the large ensemble invited to accompany the dancing nobles with music of their own. Salo almost felt bad for decimating them.

They spoke Flouornan, a language only Iona understood. The occasional rolls of her eyes and her puckered lips betrayed the trivialty of their conversations. Salo didn't expect them to know anything of importance — that was the exact reason why they had made them their prey.

The boy breathed as quietly as possible. His heart was wild and his limbs trembled under the seeming weight on his shoulders, yet Iona's intense glare was enough to slightly stabilize him. The wait was always torturous, providing doubts their leisure to gnaw at his mind with no pity. 

The plan was based on loose assumptions, ones that could be contradicted any time soon. Iona deemed it a risk worth taking upon hearing what Ela could do; the part she didn't pay much attention to was what Ela would want to do. Any normal person would be swayed by something, whether that was money, power, revenge. Ela wasn't any normal person, yet coming this far not even Salo wanted to believe it was all for nothing.

Suddenly, Iona nudged his chest. He twisted his head, looking over the corner of the building they were pressed behind. The trunk of the carriage was open, and a man was already drawing out the cases.

It all happened in a blurry moment. The four dashed forward, grabbing the poor musicians and bashing their heads with whatever they held; hilts of knifes, butts of guns, even one's own elbow. There was barely any sound, simply a few groans and muffled screams. Salo had grown accostumed to crime; otherwise he might have felt bad to them as he helped load them in the back of the coach.

Iona nodded to a woman who had tagged along, pointing at the carriage and later dismissing her with a wave of her pale hand. Salo knew little Mushan, but the general had walked the crew through the plan so many times the words were burnt in his memory. Park the carriage out of town and come find us, she had repeated to the woman in Fryan countless times. Every time she gave a determined smile, just as she did now, climbing on the driver's seat and stirring the horses out of the empty road.

"Does anybody actually know how to play these things?" Salo questioned, clicking the catena case open. He carefully laid the instrument inside, but not before prying the cheap felt bottom open and placing a small revolver underneath. It would bulge, he was sure, yet nobody would care enough to look.

"No," Iona said. "One note is all you need to know."

The boy nodded somberly. Third fret of the second string. Even if he played the wrong note its volume would probably be enough to alert a deaf spy, let alone Nora.

They continued on foot. The rebel that had stayed was called Amal; a tall boy, even younger than Salo, with a rare smile and an intense stare and an actual talent for instruments. His family must have lived comfortably for him to have attained such mastery in the piastrata, yet Salo refrained from bringing it up. In fact, he tried not to bring anything up. Silence had prevailed over words as the small group walked down the paved path, and something in him told him silence would be a luxury from now on.

Nothing could have possibly prepared him for the palace. Its silver towers rose above them, like ants before a giant, casting an intimidating shadow on them against the bright candlelight. The Kingfisher seemed to be everywhere; on flags, on walls, even on the patterned curtains timidly peeking over the windows. It was a constant reminder of the power Kage could have, a power Flouorn had better fear. A power that could be in Arden's hands now.

A light breeze brought a shiver to Salo's skin. The smell of soaked soil and humidity was sobering to him, for an inexplainable reason, and for the hundredth time that night he felt insecurity poke at his mind. He looked over at Iona, who felt his gaze and spared him a single glance.

"We're doing this for freedom," she said quietly. "And the gods always favor the fight for freedom."

***

Okay yeah, the chapter lengths are going to be off from now on because I'm giving priority to the flow! It's going to get messy here so stay with me please haha

Upon more meticulous planning this is going to be exactly fourty chapters (if nothing changes in the process), and although this was kind of late rest assured that within two-three weeks every chapter will be up.

As always, thank you so much for reading! Please consider voting and commenting, it really helps me grow ♥