THE NEXT MORNING, SOMA WENT TO TIGRIS' SHOP AGAIN. She pushed the door open breezily, and smiled at the jingling that met her. 

"Good morning, Tigris," she said, gliding to the countertop, where Tigris leaned lazily. Even without her eyes in cat's slits, Soma could see the feline prowl in Tigris' shape, the way she held herself. She was lithe and scrappy, sleek and rough, all at once. Just like a cat. 

"Good morning," Tigris purred. "What can I help you with, Soma?" 

Soma smiled. When she was younger, she had adored Tigris, even for the very brief moment of knowing her. She had stopped by to pick something up for Coryo, and played with Soma while waiting for a maid to fetch the bag. 

"Coriolanus and I are hosting a party," she said simply. "I'd like you to help." 

Tigris stiffened, and Soma could practically see the hackles of her fur rising where her soft sweater sat. 

"I know how you feel about him," Soma said quietly. "I feel twice as conflicted. But I need you with me on this. You understand, we're playing a larger game. A puppet show. And if I don't have the proper puppet costumes, this story will never unfold." 

Tigris looked simultaneously confused and furious, which was what Soma felt most of the time. But she nodded, and Soma imagined the flicking of her tail. "How much will you pay?" 

This made Soma grin. "A lot." 

Tigris finally gave in, smiling back. "Fine. What's first?" 

"I've decided a theme already. Oceanic Maelstrom," Soma said. "It's as pretentious as it sounds, but high society likes their fluff and feathers. Do you have a dress and a suit that will match?" 

Tigris lifted the countertop hinge and wove her way between the racks, perusing carefully. "You and Coriolanus, matching." 

"Yes. You'll understand why in a moment," Soma said, and pretended not to see the flash of pale white horror that had sprung on Coriolanus' face last night. In a way, she was wounded, but in another, she was grateful. His disgust of her would make it much easier to hurt him back. 

"You have different skin tones, different palettes," Tigris mused in her throaty rumble, her voice hoarse from what Soma assumed to be disuse. "Oh. Just the thing." 

She withdrew a dress that made Soma's breath catch. 

It was long, flowy, almost tulle in skirt, but with silken layers that mimicked a flowing stream or an incoming wave. The bottom exploded into a crush of white foam, sea waves breaking onto the shore, and the skirt moved in such a way that it looked as if the dress was breathing, rushing, a living body of water. The bodice was much darker, like the bottom of the sea, and tight and stiff, corseted. A foamy thing draped across the top like a shawl. 

"You wonder," Soma breathed, barely daring to run her hands across the dress. "You ought to be studied." 

Tigris' nose and cheeks flushed red. "Let me find one for Coryo." 

She vanished behind the racks again, and Soma twirled, pressing the dress to her front. The skirt rushed out around her, and the fabrics rustling sounded just like the roar of the ocean. It remined her of District Four so strongly her heat pulsed in her throat. 

On a rack to her left, Soma's eye caught on a knotted shawl. She stepped over and picked it up. It was a round-shaped poncho made from thin rope, tied like a net. In District Four, the little girls and boys tied bits of fishnets into their clothes like this. They learned how to make the nets with scraps, and proudly showed off their works like ornaments. 

"Tigris," Soma called. 

"Yes?"

"I've got just the thing for you to wear." 

Tigris emerged, holding a nearly black-blue suit with a faintly embroidered pattern of water on it. "You're making me come?" 

"You don't want to?" Soma smiled, holding out the fishnet. "I've got something in my closet perfect for you." 

"I'd rather wear this," she said, hugging her worn sweater. 

Soma smiled. "It's all the same to me, but I think you will advertise your shop better in finery. You know what these people like to see and hear." 

Tigris glanced at her hole-riddled shoes. "What did you have in mind?" 

"Have you ever heard of a lionfish?" 

MAGS FLANAGAN STOOD WITH HER TOES IN THE SAND, letting the warm morning waves crash over her feet, swallowing up to her ankles. She stared out into the rising sun, letting the sting of its light make her eyes water and run. It was better than crying outright. She would not let them see her cry. 

"Mags," Caspian Odair's voice followed her out on the surf, and the rest of him followed shortly. "What are you doing out here?" 

His big hand wrapped over her toughened one, and she pulled him to her side. "Thinking." 

"You're not seriously going to do it, are you?" he said roughly. "Mags, you can't." 

"I have to," she said, turning to him, her red hair in fierce curls around her face. "I can do it, Caspian." 

"I don't want you to do it," he argued back, his golden hair hit with the sun's light. The waves crashed around them, louder. "You can't kill a person and just walk away." 

"I will if I have to," she said sharply. "We all need this. The fish aren't coming this season, Caspian. I need to get that prize." 

"You're a literal fish out of water there, Mags," Caspian shouted. "You're going to die. There won't be any waves for you to rely on!" 

"I'll make my own," she said, stubbornly, curtly. "I know you're scared for me. I'm twice as terrified. But if I don't then we'll all die slow, uneventful deaths anyway. I might as well try." 

Caspian buried his face in his hands. "Goddamnit, Mags-" 

She turned away from him, back to the sea, drinking the sight in. "If I win or if I lose, just promise you'll move on. I don't think I'll come back from this the same." 

He let out a loud, angry shout. Kicked the waves, sprayed up the sand. Then he turned to her. "I love you." 

She smiled at the ocean. "I love you too. Now promise. You'll move on, you'll get married to someone else, and you'll have adorable children that I can come back and dote on." 

"I promise." 

"All of it?" 

"All of it." 

Mags smiled, even though she knew she would die. "Good." 

All of this was for him. She loved Caspian as much as she loved the ocean or the wind, but to love someone is to let them go. To let them live. And to take as many of their burdens down with you as you could. Mags loved Caspian, so she would die for him, and for all the other people in her town. 

"As the ocean lives and breathes, as she rages and never freezes over, so I will love you," Mags whispered. Lines of a song long lost to memory, just a sheet of words she had found in the cabinet they called a library. They stuck in her brain whenever she heard Caspian laugh, or saw him twirl a small child on his finger. Her heart ached. 

"So I will love you," she repeated to the roar of the waves.