The celebrations intensified as the days passed. On one occasion, Woferl and Mama and I accompanied our father to see the opera Partenope, and on another we attended a ball to toast our happiness for the princess-bride. I sat in the balcony and spent most of the time distracted, my eyes darting frequently to the seats around us. That slender figure. Those glowing eyes. I searched and searched for him until I was exhausted.

We went out daily, perhaps so that Papa could distract himself from wondering when the court would call for us to perform. Woferl practiced religiously on the clavier and violin when we stayed in our rooms. He continued to compose, this time starting on a new symphony that kept him up late into the night and sometimes early into the morning.

I continued to compose too, but I always waited to begin my work until the house had fallen silent, lest my new work end up again in Papa’s hands. The noise from the festivities helped me to conceal my soft movements—my feet on the cold floor, the dipping of a quill into its inkwell, the faint scratching on paper. As I wrote, the composition I’d been developing grew louder, changing from its soft opening into something harsher, as if the noise from outside had agitated it. My hands shook now when I added to it, so that I had to stop at times to rest and steady myself.

The days passed by. Hyacinth did not appear. I slept poorly, always alert for some glimpse of his shadow moving through the house or his figure waiting in the city’s alleys.

Then, finally, in the second week of our stay, he came to me.

* * *

In the first days of October we attended another opera, Amore e Psiche, a romance of sorts between the love god Eros and a mortal beauty. We watched the princess Psyche hunger to see her lover’s face, only to be punished for her desire with death.

Papa leaned over and used Psyche’s mistake as a chance to warn me. “Do you see, Nannerl?” he said. “This is the danger of desire.”

He meant the danger of desire for Psyche, not for the god Eros, who had been the one who wanted her all to himself.

I stayed quiet while the young actress on the stage pressed a hand against her forehead and sank to the stage floor, her dress spilling all around her. My jaw tightened at my father’s words. It was not fair, I thought, for a god to tempt a maiden and then condemn her for her temptation.

I do not know if it was my thoughts, my silent disapproval, that conjured him. Perhaps it was the tightness that coiled in my chest at Papa’s reaction. As the opera entered its third act, a man in a dark suit stepped into our box. I looked instinctively at him, but my mother and father didn’t seem to notice his presence at all, as if he were merely a shadow that stretched from the curtains. Beside me, Woferl shifted, but he did not turn his head.

The man leaned down toward me until his breath, cold as fog, tickled my skin. I did not need to look up at his face to know that I would see Hyacinth’s familiar eyes.

“Fräulein,” came his whisper. “Come with me.” Then he disappeared, his form melting back into the silhouette of the curtains.

I trembled at his presence, at how no one else seemed capable of seeing what I’d seen. Down below, the goddess Venus handed Psyche a lamp, encouraging her to uncover the identity of her lover.

I rose from my seat without a sound. My parents did not stir. As I stepped out of our box and let the curtains fall behind me, I caught a glimpse of Woferl, turned halfway toward me in his seat. If he noticed my absence, he did not say anything.

Beyond the curtain, my slippers sank into the thickness of the rugs carpeting the marble hall. When I looked down, I realized that it was not carpet but moss, deep blue in the dim light, grown so thick that my feet nearly disappeared in it. The hall had become a path, and as I went, I began to recognize the gnarled trees in place of pillars, the deep pools of water their leaves formed.

The trees grew denser as I went, and the sounds of the opera faded behind me, until they sounded less like music and more like the call of crows that glided against the night. Up in the sky, the twin moons had started to overlap each other. Ahead of me, where the trees finally parted, the river that encircled the castle on the hill appeared, its dark waters churning steadily along.

The enormous fins of the river guardian no longer cut through the water. Instead, the wall of thorns that grew beyond the river had now twisted low, arching a gnarled bridge of sharp spikes across the water.

I hesitated at the sight of it, like standing before the gaping jaws of a great beast.

Fräulein.

Hyacinth’s whisper beckoned to me on the other side of the thorns. I looked up, seeing where the castle’s highest tower still loomed above the brambled wall. Then I moved one foot in front of the other, until my slippers scraped against the thorny floor of the bridge. Through the gaps in the bridge’s floor, I could see the dark waters foaming, eager to take me back. Angry with me for stealing their guardian. I walked faster.

I crossed to the other side and in through the thorns, until I finally had stepped out of it and into the clearing before the castle.

Great tables had been laid out along the sides of the castle’s courtyard, great golden apples and red pomegranates on porcelain plates. Vines curled around the table legs. There were no candles, reminding me again of Hyacinth’s fear of fire. Instead, thousands of lights flickered across the courtyard, the wayward paths of the faeries that always followed Hyacinth, giving the entire space an eerie blue glow. They giggled at my presence. Several flocked near me, cooing and tugging on my hair, their voices tiny and jealous, their nips vicious. I swatted them away, but they would only return, incensed and determined.

“Leave her.”

At Hyacinth’s voice, the lights immediately scattered, twinkling their protest as they swarmed across the rest of the courtyard. I looked up to see him approaching me.

He smiled at me. Tonight, he glittered with a sheen of silver, wearing thousands of skeleton leaves carefully sewn together into a splendid coat. His hair was pulled away from his face, flattering his high cheekbones. His eyes glowed in the night. He would be beautiful, except I remembered the way he had looked the last time I’d seen him, pupils slitted with hunger, right before he lunged at the princess.

Courage, I told myself, and reminded myself instead of what my father had done with my music.

“How lovely you are tonight,” he said, lifting a hand to touch my chin. He took my hand in his and gestured to the courtyard. “Dance with me. I have something to ask you.”

I could feel the scrape of his claws against my palm. A vision flashed before my eyes of them covered with the princess’s blood. But instead of cringing away, I followed him to the center of the courtyard and rested my hand gently against his shoulder. A sharp tug against my locks made me wince, and I recoiled from the faeries that now darted around my face, all of them eager to bite me.

“Away with you,” Hyacinth snapped at them. They scattered again, protesting, flitting about his face and planting affectionate kisses on his cheeks. Then they lingered around us, forming a sullen blue ring as Hyacinth pulled me into a dance.