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“If they ask, I will tell them the truth—that I gave it to my daughter.” His mouth stretches into a small smile, almost a sad one. “This is the first time you’ve ever asked me for anything, Yining. How could I refuse?”

I hug him fiercely, the last of the unease between us gone, my heart swollen with unfamiliar tenderness. Though the world is falling apart, here—now—it feels right.

Once Father leaves, I dress quickly. The mask covers most of my face; I’m unused to wearing one, feeling suffocated. My hair is coiled up with my magnolia pin, a black cloak covering my white dress, similar to what the others are wearing; no one can discern our identities from our clothes alone. With the porcelain masks, we look like beautiful, eerie statues. I’m carrying two daggers: one strapped to my calf, the other tucked into my waistband, along with Father’s ornament and the starfire from Jin.

It is almost nightfall. Along the path, lanterns hang from the trees, the flowers and fruit glowing, yet dimmer than before. Many people are walking to where the festival is held, fewer carriages on the pathways, another sign of the waning magic of our island? One rolls to a halt before us, Shenming descending from the carriage, his tall figure draped in a black robe like the other men, his mask painted with inky streaks across his eyes and cheeks.

“Where is your father?” he asks.

“He will join us later,” Dian replies. “He doesn’t like to stay long at such events.”

Father stands by the door watching Dian and me. A weight grips my heart. If tonight goes as intended, I’ll have to leave home at once without knowing when I’ll return… or if I’ll be welcomed back. Casting aside doubt, I turn away, taking the path I’ve chosen—though it is rocky, steep, and solitary.

The festival is held in a large clearing in the woods. The Radiant Sky Trees tower around, their fragrance intoxicating, the ground strewn with tiny blossoms as soft as stepping upon a carpet. Lanterns are strung between the branches, voluminous pieces of silk slung upon the trees, billowing with the wind. Along the side, tables heave with bowls of fruit, skewers of meat and vegetables, an assortment of pastries and cakes—but I don’t reach for anything, studying the crowd. Seeking my prey.

The mood tonight is subdued, many speaking in hushed tones, none laughing. Even the music is somber, the melodies of the zither player and flutist entwined in a haunting song. Only a few guests are dancing, their robes swirling in white and black, their masks gleaming like ghostly reflections. Most remain at the fringes of the gathering, in groups or pairs among the trees, the fluttering silk offering a veil of privacy.

North in the forest, light emanates from where the Moon Dragon is said to dwell. Despite the Elders’ hopes, she remains in seclusion. After securing the elixir, I must seek her counsel, if the dragon is willing to see me.

I’m impatient to head to the Pavilion of Elders—unsure how long they will be away. Ruilin is whirled away by a portly masked man in black, Dian by a statuesque woman. Shenming remains by my side.

“Do you want to dance?” he asks without real interest.

“Why?”

“To prevent anyone else from asking us,” he replies as a brown-haired woman stalks toward him purposefully.

“You can’t run now,” I tell him. “It would embarrass her greatly if you refused.”

“What use is this false arrangement?” he asks with a sigh.

“Maybe you should get yourself a real one.”

I meant to tease him, but Shenming’s eyes cloud. Is he thinking of the general in the Pearl Ocean, or my sister? Before I can ask, the determined woman reaches us, engaging him in conversation while ignoring me. Good. The captain will be distracted, off my trail. I slip away, moving behind some trees, swiftly changing my mask to a plain one I bought in the market to avoid recognition.

In the clearing once more, I search for the Elders, combing through the gathering. To obtain all three keys would be a challenge, even for me. Fortunately, the people here have grown up in safety, their guard lowered—unlike in the villages of the Iron Mountains that are rife with pickpockets and thieves. I examine the guests, comparing them with the Elders’ eyes and forms. Most of all, the mannerisms that can’t be hidden behind a mask. A man in a hooded cloak catches my attention, his mask adorned with gold-tipped fangs. His stride is arrogant, moving through the crowd as if he expects it to part for him. Drawing closer, I catch a glimpse of the gold talisman fastened to his waist: Lord Hairong, from his height.

I shadow him as he approaches a tall woman, her hood pulled over her head, the fangs on her mask smaller than his. A white lock of hair peeks out, the same ornament at her waist marking her as Lady Shila.

The musicians are playing an upbeat song, the dancers whirling faster, their steps drowning my approach. As a pair moves in front of Lord Hairong, he catches Lady Shila’s arm, interrupting her conversation with a broad-shouldered man.

She swings to Lord Hairong—my hand flashes to cut the knot of her tassel, pulling it free. Neither of them glance my way, their senses dulled by the chaos. Banquets are the best hunting ground for thieves.

I tuck the ornament into a hidden pocket of my sleeve, darting between the trees. Just in time, as Lord Hairong tugs Lady Shila in the same direction, behind a fluttering curtain.

“What is it, Hairong?” Lady Shila’s coquettish tone is almost unrecognizable.

“Were you enjoying his company?” he asks.

“Jealous?”

“You know me better than that,” he drawls. “Even when masked.”

She leans forward to tap his chest. “I don’t need to see your face. I already know all your secrets.”

When a group of people heads toward them, I slip among them as they crowd the Elders. Lord Hairong shifts closer to Lady Shila, edging her against the tree. They are focused on each other as I set to work quickly, cutting his talisman away with my small knife. As the group passes, I drop my head, following their pace, leaving the two Elders to their games.

Urgency grips me as I seek Lord Zhu, afraid one of the others will discover their talisman is missing. Ahead, an imposing figure stops to berate an attendant, gold gleaming at his waist. The third key—my pulse racing. But Lord Zhu is more alert than the other Elders, winding through the crowd, his head high. A woman approaches him, yet he ignores her, uninterested in conversation. As I weigh whether to risk stealing the key now—someone catches my sleeve.