* * *

Mama woke both of us early the next morning. I startled out of a dream of wandering down a dark path through the upside-down trees. Woferl sat up in bed and rubbed sleep from his eyes. Through a crack in our window, I could already hear the bustling sounds of Vienna’s streets waking to greet the day.

“Hurry now, children,” she said, patting both our cheeks and giving us a wink. “You need to look the part you will play.”

We ate a quick breakfast of cold meats and poppy seed bread, and then I put on my white cap and left the inn with Mama, Papa, and Woferl. Compared with Salzburg, the streets looked wider here and paved with newer cobblestones. It was still early, and the wet air bit my cheeks with its chill. I could smell the honey and wheat from the bakeries. Ottoman merchants in layered coats and shining sashes gathered near the Fleischmarkt’s coffeehouse, conversing with one another in Turkish. Men hawked walnuts and colorful ribbons at intersections.

I held Woferl’s hand. Papa walked on my brother’s other side, distracted by the sights, and when he walked too fast, I picked up my skirts and hurried along behind him. To the Viennese, it must have been obvious that we did not live here. I looked nervously away from several curious passersby. It seemed like a long time before we finally arrived at the tailor and dressmaker shop, adorned with a sign that said DAS FEINE BENEHMEN.

“Welcome, welcome,” said the man that opened the door for us. He blinked blue eyes at my father. “May I ask your name, Herr?”

I glanced behind him at the shop. It was very tidy, lined with elaborate caps and leather shoes on models, stays and stomachers trimmed with braided silk, rolls and rolls of fabrics in all colors and patterns, petticoats and gowns with beautiful embroidery. In one corner stood a full mantua gown cut in the latest fashion, made out of an elaborately patterned yellow silk that sloped elegantly at the hips. I found myself admiring its repeating floral images, the way it bunched in and then straight at the back. It was the kind of dress one wore before royalty. What I would wear soon enough.

Papa shook the man’s hand. “Herr Leopold Mozart.” He bowed his head slightly. I caught a glimpse of my father’s eyes—and saw a hint of pleasure coiled within them. He was waiting for the tailor to recognize his name.

To Papa’s satisfaction, the man’s grin widened. “Ah, Herr Mozart of Salzburg!” he exclaimed, taking my father’s hand with both of his. “I’ve heard a great deal about your arrival to our city, friend. Your children are to perform at the palace soon, yes?”

When Papa nodded, the tailor’s eyes turned round. I watched him carefully. More and more, he reminded me of Hyacinth—a hint of blue in his skin whenever he turned; a slight slant of his eyes, a trick of the light; a flash of his bright teeth. I wondered if he had leapt into the body of a man in order to prepare us for our debut. His eyes darted between Woferl and me. “Rest assured, children, that you will leave here looking like royalty.” The man’s smile had grown so large by now that I thought it might fall from his face.

“Thank you, sir,” Papa replied. “Spare no expense. I want them at their best.”

I glanced quickly at our father. Mama would scold him for this later, if he ever revealed how much he was willing to spend on our clothes. Already, I could imagine her arms crossed and her lips tight.

The man bowed. “Let me fetch several others. We will begin straightaway.” With that, he hurried off. Woferl made a move to dart after him, but I grabbed my brother’s arm and spoke sharply. I did not want Papa to think I could not mind him.

The man soon returned with his help. Two dressmakers, one clothier, and one assistant. They approached me with a new garment and I held my arms up so that they could pull the stay tightly around my waist, the inner boning pressing against my ribs. The gown itself was made from deep blue satin, smooth and soft and cold to the touch, open in front to reveal the creamy layers of petticoats buried underneath. The collar was high, concealing the skin of my clavicle and throat. One of my hands stayed pressed against my blue pendant, deep in my petticoat’s pocket.

I stared at my reflection as the dressmakers and clothier worked, my eyes locked on the mirror standing before us. My cheeks looked flushed from the cold streets.

Nearby, I could see my brother wriggling throughout his own fitting. At one point, he hopped down from his dais and ran to our father to hold up his shining cuff links, forcing his clothier to hurry after him. I looked on in silence, unable to mind him. The rigid structure of my dress dug into me, holding me back. Even if I wanted, I could not move my arms as freely as Woferl could.

Would this be how I performed before royalty? Barely able to move?

When they finished, Papa guided me to the nearby wig shop and parlor. There, the wigmakers pulled my hair back and away from my face, fitting me with a curled wig that piled high on my head and then tumbled down my shoulders in a cascade. They patted the hair with white powder until the fine dust floated in the air around us. I wrinkled my nose at its stale scent. The weight of it made me keep my head and neck at a strict, straight angle. I tried to puzzle out how to lean into my music as I played while wearing such a thing.

Noon approached, and finally we finished our fittings. As we thanked the clothier and made our way out, I cast one final glance over my shoulder. The tailor smiled back, his tall figure cutting a long shadow on the floor. His teeth were very white, his eyes so blue they seemed to glow.

“I’ll see you soon, Nannerl,” he said. I looked at my father for his reaction, but he did not seem to notice. Only Woferl tightened his hand in mine. I tried to remind myself that this must be part of Hyacinth’s plan. In order for me to perform, I must first look the part.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of practice, as did the next.

I could not sleep the night before our performance. Instead, I stared at the ceiling in silence, drowning in thoughts. My glass pendant lay tucked underneath my pillow, so that I could feel its slight bump against the back of my head. I let myself take comfort in its presence. A reminder of my wish.

“Nannerl?”

I turned to look at my brother. His eyes blinked back at me in the darkness. I propped myself up on one elbow and smiled at him. “You should rest,” I whispered.

“So should you,” he protested, “but you’re not.” He glanced over to where our father slept, afraid that he would stir.

It had not occurred to me that Woferl might be nervous too. I reached over and took his hand in mine. I was small for my age, but his fingers were tiny even in my palm. “You have nothing to be afraid of,” I said gently. “All of Austria is excited to hear you. The emperor requested you personally. You will not disappoint.”

Woferl closed his little fingers around one of mine. “I’m not afraid,” he said.

I smiled again. “Then why are you awake?”