The Grand Palace of the Petalcrests had been transformed into a twilight dream. The theme for the evening was Ether, and the great ballroom was bathed in a hundred shades of purple. Silks and velvets in hues of lilac, lavender, and deep, royal amethyst adorned every surface. The air was heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine from the gardens and the rich, decadent aroma of roasted meats and spiced wine. Crystal flutes chimed, laughter cascaded like music, and in the center of it all, a silver harp shimmered under the light of a dozen chandeliers, its notes a gentle stream beneath the passionate, soaring cry of a violin.

  The guests of honor, the Tanzanight sisters, were a vision. Nia, the most athletic of them, was putting on a subtle but breathtaking display. Clutching a large, raw Ether crystal, she levitated a few inches off the polished floor, a soft hum emanating from her as a halo of purple energy pulsed gently around her. It was a statement of power, a declaration of their family's newfound dominance. Yet, for all their splendor, a noticeable absence pricked at the city’s gossips. Aziza Tanzanight was missing, and it was strange as she was the one looking forward to this night the most.

  From the shadows of the service corridors, Sofia watched the spectacle. She felt a million miles away from the girls who shared her family name, Snowdrift. Sofia Snowdrift, as far as society was concerned, had died in the Great Calamity, a tragic footnote in the history of a Noble Family. It was a lie Sofia herself had carefully cultivated. It was the only way to be free.

  She had watched her sisters navigate the treacherous waters of wealth and status, and she had wanted no part of it. The rich believed they had a good life, but how could you ever know if a friend’s smile was genuine or an investment? How could you enjoy a simple pleasure without wondering if you were being used, played, or taken for granted? The Great Calamity had been an opportunity, a horrifying, brutal reset, and she had seized it. She had shed her family name and her fortune like a heavy coat and walked out into the cold, exhilarating air of an authentic life.

  Her new life was a mosaic of humble joys. Some days she pruned exotic plants in the Mossbrook greenhouse, feeling the life of the earth under her fingernails. Some nights she scrubbed the sticky floors of Hilda's Tavern, listening to the unfiltered stories of the city. Sometimes she polished the cold, deadly steel of the Reddington firearms, a silent participant in the city’s war against the wastelands. On the nights when there was no work, when hunger gnawed, she would simply say a prayer to a god she wasn't sure she believed in, and almost miraculously, a raven would appear, dropping a crust of bread into her hands. She had read nearly every book in the library, knew the secret underground tunnels that crisscrossed beneath the city, and had even survived a close encounter down there with a horrifying zombie, thanks to the quick thinking of her friend Nyxie. Her life was small, but it was real. And it was filled with friends who loved her, not her name.

  Tonight, she was with two of them. Annie, who normally begged on the streets, had been baking in the palace kitchens all week, her magnificent cakes now the centerpiece of the dessert table. Bridget, strong and steady, had been hauling crates and now stood guard by the main entrance, her reassuring presence a part of the palace security. And Sofia, with her delicate, forgettable good looks, was a waitress.

  "You! Girl!"

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  The voice, slurred and imperious, cut through her thoughts. Vinalia Petalcrest stumbled into the staff area, already drunk though the night was still young. Even though she was more than tipsy, with her face flushed and her balance unsteady, she was breathtakingly beautiful in a flowing gown of rose-pink silk that seemed to defy the evening's purple theme. Sofia remembered working on her farm once, her fingers stained from picking the very grapes that had likely gone into the wine Vinalia was now spilling on the floor.

  "Get out there," Vinalia slurred, gesturing with a full wine glass. "Serve."

  Sofia nodded, taking a heavy silver tray laden with a fresh bottle, and stepped out into the glittering maelstrom.

  Elodie Petalcrest was holding court near the fountain, a diamond tiara glittering in her hair like captured starlight, looking every bit the queen she believed she was. The Mossbrook sisters, all but the reclusive Viper and Shade, were a unified front in matching green satin gowns, adorned with emeralds that flashed like green fire. The Vicinage sisters, a vibrant splash of yellow, were gathered around Nikola, who was making sparks dance between her fingers to the delight of a small crowd. Sofia felt a pang of relief seeing Honeya among them, safe and sound after the rumors of her being lost in the mountain caves. All the Torqueburns were present, even Robina, who looked strangely diminished without her giant fighting robot by her side. Sofia still couldn't tell Techa and Mecha apart, though one of them had a shadow of oil and grime under her fingernails that required more soap to wash away.

  On the main stage, the sole Reddington present, Viola, drew a mournful, beautiful cry from her violin. Her music was a river of pure emotion in an ocean of political maneuvering. In the crowd, a sisterless named Danny wore a daring red dress, looking more like a Reddington than some of their actual kin.

  Sofia moved through the throng, her tray growing lighter. The Tanzanights, minus the absent Aziza and now, she noticed, Sable too was missing, were dazzling in purple and amethysts. She spotted the only Skylars in attendance: Marina, looking as lost as a fish on dry land, and Cerra, who looked profoundly uncomfortable in a dress, her blue hair a chaotic mess. Then she saw them, a knot of elegant darkness in the sea of color. The Veilstorm sisters, all in low-cut black velvet and glittering onyx. The Chief of Police, Justine, snapped her fingers.

  Sofia approached obediently. As she poured the deep red wine, she saw the ugly, purple-black bruise swelling around Justine’s eye. She wondered what kind of person had the audacity to punch the unmerciful lawkeeper of the city.

  Finally, she drifted towards the corner where her own family held court. The Snowdrifts. All in pristine white silk, dripping with so many diamonds they seemed to radiate their own cold light. Elysia and Valery were bickering, their hushed, angry words a stark contrast to their serene appearance. Then Ravonna, the sister who always seemed the calmest, called her over.

  "Wine, please."

  Sofia raised the bottle from her tray to pour, but it was empty. "My apologies, my lady. I will fetch another."

  "Don't worry about it," Ravonna said, her voice surprisingly gentle. She pressed a couple of heavy coins into Sofia's hand. "For your trouble."

  Sofia looked down at the generous tip, then up at her sister. And that’s when she saw it. Perched silently on Ravonna’s shoulder, its feathers the colour of a starless midnight, was a raven. Its eye, a bead of polished jet, seemed to look right through her, not as a stranger, but with a gaze of ancient, knowing familiarity. It was the same bird. The impossible, miraculous raven that had saved her from hunger on her loneliest nights.