Fashion in Faeth is a strange thing, like most things in the city. When I watch people walking through the streets, their clothing is often simple, but the material is anything but. At first glance, I mistook it for cotton, very fine fibers woven together and dyed in a fabulous range of colors. Actually walking into a store, actually feeling the smoothness of the cloth beneath my fingers, I knew my first guess was woefully wrong. There are literally millions of people living in this city, and while the docks on the western side of the island are constantly busy with imports from more worldly lands, importing that much cotton just wouldn't be feasible. The Faethians make their own material through some artificial means. The cloth they produce is fine like silk, yet heavier and more durable. They seem to make everything from it: dresses, pants, blouses, suits, socks, and even their underwear, and the colors are incredible.

Any color you could possibly desire is available, from red to violet. The material that the Faethians call Nablis is so easy to dye that I have spotted more than one person wearing an entire ensemble arranged to look like a rainbow. However the textile is produced, it is done cheaply enough that every person in the city can afford an entire wardrobe, and the clothes last for a considerably long time without needing to be restitched or sewn. The Faethians think nothing of it; to them, having clothing that you don't need to scrub by hand every day, clothing that you don't need to worry about the stitches fraying, is as natural as air. These people live in an entirely different world; it is a world I want.

So, when Jasper invited me to what he called an "academy run dance club," I couldn't refuse. Dresses aren't the most common things in Faeth, but I managed to find a nice one made from nablis and dyed a glittering green. It reminds me of the wall around the city.

Dovik, escorting me down the street, outdoes me in almost every way. His clothing is fine and pressed, his accents are subtle pops of color, and the beard he has started to grow out is trimmed at an impossibly impressive angle. I only surpass him when it comes to the hair; the man is hopelessly useless in managing that. It likely comes from a lifetime of having someone else do it for him.

The city becomes darker as we leave the main thoroughfare, the sun having long since set. We leave the colorful lights and advertisements far behind, the bustling business of people quieting to the dull din of wind whispering through alleyways and shadowed streets. People watch our walk down the street, peering out from the stoops of apartment buildings or where they lounge around the stairs that lead into the transit below the city.

I catch myself feeling strange. Not scared–that emotion feels burnt out of me. The emotion is similar to anticipation, waiting for something special to fall into my lap. We make it through the darkened section of the city, and gradually, lights begin to return as we step into the academic district.

It is only then, as my foot crosses over a line of neon pink light, moving across the threshold of the dark district and the academic, that I realize what I had been feeling. Some part of me was hoping a terrible thing might happen, that some unseen criminal would come leering out of the dark to step in our way. It is so odd, recognizing the disappointment that wells shallowly in my soul at having made it through without trouble. It is almost like I wanted to hurt someone, but I need it to be justified. Almost.

The district we step into has a name, a right and proper one marked down on the maps that the city planners fuss over day and night, but the people of Faeth call the district arranged in a square around the academy, Booktown. At first blush, Booktown is difficult to discern from the true center of the city. The buildings shoot up like grass and climb hundreds of feet into the air, all made of that strange material so much of Faeth is constructed from. Advertisements of every nature blare from the facades of the buildings, offering even more amenities than those of the central city, but I catch the difference before we have passed a full block. The slant of these advertisements is more perverse. Dance clubs are in abundance, and bars from the high-class to the dives seem able to afford magical signage. More, generic products are advertised in the narrow free spaces between the establishment adverts: supplies, book rentals, tutoring, an abundance of alcoholic beverages, and, most surprisingly of all, directions to a few brothels just outside the bounds of Booktown. Every third person we pass on the street leans on someone, either from infatuation or inebriation; it is difficult to tell at a glance. Yet, what stands out most about Booktown is the academy itself.

Right in the center of the square district, in the middle of nine towers that climb into the sky around it, stands a castle I might have expected to find back in the empire. At first glance, the castle is an imposing thing, but as we continue to follow Jasper's directions down the street and get a closer look at it, the facade falls away. No, this castle and the buildings that constitute it are a far cry from what I might expect to find in the empire. The walls are dull and overgrown with lichen, the rooftiles dark with age and the constant pelting of rain. Yet, the windows are clean, the grounds are trimmed and free of litter, and a rotation of guards patrol the perimeter of the academy. At this point, the oddities of Faeth have begun to dim in my eyes. I have long since stopped trying to anticipate this place, opting to take it as it is. Why shouldn't the academy, the grand repository for the greatest minds in the pursuit of the magical arts, not be in an old castle? It makes just about as much sense as everything else.

Traffic on the street picks up once more. More and more people stroll past as we approach the address I was given. The building stands by itself, not so close to the center of Booktown that it might be in one of the multi-purpose towers that soar overhead. In a park planted with far out of place trees, a square building of brick and mortar stands by itself just past a stream and an arcing bridge. The sound of music pulses through the walls of the building as we approach, distorted by the brick into a faint buzzing sound. A large man, the first human I have seen in the city other than myself and Dovik, stands in a fine suit of solid teal in front of a green, metal door, a single orange lamp illuminating him from above. Next to the man, a line of people stands impatiently. Those in line wear all sorts of outfits, from the high-class cuts that could not be complete without a thousand gold worth of jewelry to those that have simple shirts and pants with dirtied boots. They are of all kinds of people, more different kinds of people than I have seen in one place before, but there is a single similarity.

For the most part, they all appear to be around Dovik's age, early twenties, or whatever that means for dwarves and elves. For an instant, the line of people older than me, all dressed up and ready to head into the dance club, strikes me as a little intimidating. Then, the absurdity of being intimidated by this bored lot strikes me as so absurd that I can't do anything other than laugh. A few heads turn in my direction, only one lingering as the others turn back to their conversations or lounging. I notice Jasper as he gets to his feet from where he sits on the curb. The smile that was beginning to emerge on his lips dies halfway born, a fake one replacing it as he jogs over.

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"I didn't know you were bringing a friend," Jasper says. Then he blinks, seeming to remember himself. "I'm so sorry, where are my manners. You look lovely, Miss Devardem. Stunning."

"Doesn't she?" Dovik adds.

"Go on as long as you like," I say, faking a bit of embarrassment at the compliments. Really, it is nice to be appreciated. I look to the line stretching to the corner of the building. "It looks like we are going to be waiting a while."

"Not at all," Jasper rushes. "I can get us past this line."

My eyebrows raise at that. "I didn't know you had such pull." I clap myself on the forehead with a hand. "Where are my manners. Jasper, I would like to introduce you to my friend, Dovik. Dovik, Jasper."

Dovik smiles at the man, offering a hand. "Dovik Willian, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

It is only after shaking Dovik's hand do I see recognition register on Jasper's face. "Willian. As in the Willian guild?"

Dovik sighs, looking away. "Yes. Charlene told me that you were in the trial with us. That was a sorry exhibition of what my family does, if I have ever seen one. I know the guild itself has already tried to make amends, but allow me to offer my apologies for everything that happened as well." Dovik bows toward Jasper, flustering the stonespeaker man. "I am truly sorry."

"No," Jasper tries to protest, stepping back. "No. Not your fault. Surely not. There was a monster attack. That kind of thing happens…I'm told. Doesn't happen here, but the rest of the world is dangerous."

"That it is," Dovik confirms.

The two men stand there awkwardly, grasping each other's hands for a long moment. I put on a shiver and rub my arms. "It is cold out here," I complain. "If you can get us inside, that would be nice."

Jasper blinks, looking over at me. "Of course. Follow me."

The man takes us toward the front. The large human man standing just outside the door turns his head, his eyebrows climbing as he sees Dovik and me. Jasper exchanges a few words with him, something about a team or something. I can hardly hear him; the music blaring through the metal door is already so loud that I have a difficult time concentrating on their voices. Nothing can prepare me for the sheer wall of sound that hits me in the face as the big man opens the door. Strobing lights of all colors decorate the inside of the dance club while the air itself vibrates. Jasper leads us in, pushing past shadowed people standing at chest-high tables or crowding around a wide square in the middle of the club where they gyrate in an uncoordinated, chaotic, and hypnotising mass. A naked stage stands at the head of the dance floor, left empty. The music comes from the ceiling above us; I don't know what makes it. Somehow, despite the beams of light cutting across the interior of the club, the room is gloomy and dark. If it weren't for my preternatural eyes, I doubt I could even see my hand in front of my face.

A pool of light shines ahead of us, Jasper's destination. A circular bar made of glass and lit by pools of white light set into the floor stands in the dead center of the club, manned by three people in smart-looking outfits. Jasper waves his hand, catching the attention of a man before he can reach the bar itself. Just three steps away from an open space, he stumbles forward, almost falling straight on his face if Dovik didn't deftly catch him by the arm. To the side of us, two men snicker while the third in their small group rolls their eyes. It was one of these, a faethian dwarf, that stuck their leg out to trip Jasper.

Jasper brushes himself off, stilling when he sees just who it was that tripped him. His eyes turn hard, harder than I have seen them turn before. The dwarven man yells up at him, his voice mostly caught up by the pounding music. Jasper tries to ignore him, the group laughing as he turns away back toward the bar, but someone has moved into the empty spot where we were going.

I take Jasper's arm, nodding over to the other side of the round bar where it looks like there might be an opening. "Let's leave this prick and head over there."

"What did you call me!" Now that I'm closer, I can actually make out the man's words. The dwarven man has a deep voice that makes him sound older than he looks. He scowls up at me.

Without even an ounce of regard, I put my hands on my knees and lean down toward him like I would a child. "I said you're a prick!" I yell to be heard over the music. "And you likely have a tiny one in your trousers!"

His fist shakes at his side, and for a second, I feel a sense of giddiness. One of the others in his group catches his shoulder, pulling him back, before he can make a terrible mistake.

"Vulture bitch!" he yells at me as he is hauled away by one of his friends. "Don't you even…" The rest of what he says is lost to the noise.

"You know that asshole?" Dovik asks, Jasper.

Jasper sighs, shaking his head. "Unfortunately. Forget them, let's get something to drink."

Somehow, the music is even louder on the other side of the bar. Jasper takes the liberty of ordering a round of drinks for us, a fizzy blue liquid served in a carved-out fruit. I take some time to relax against the bar as Dovik begins launching into a friendly interrogation of Jasper. Every time I see him do it, just start a conversation with a near stranger and have them laughing like an old friend in less than five minutes, I am amazed. He told me once that learning to meet people had been a part of his tutoring growing up. It's a life I can't really picture. Somewhere along the way, my envy for it disappeared. I wonder briefly when that might have been.

Soon, the fizzy drink is gone, the alcohol within not even enough to gift me the barest of a buzz. Jasper and Dovik are still talking when I have a short exchange with the bartender, relaying my condition, bribing them into pulling out the really good stuff. They make the fizzy blue drink for me again, but this time, it kicks like a mule going down.

Eventually, I enter the conversation as well. Dovik keeps prodding Jasper about what his side of things was like in the trial, and surprisingly, Jasper obliges without any hint of bearing a grudge. He is in the middle of relaying one of the matches we had to play halfway up the tower when a waving hand catches his eye. I have to squint to see the woman he notices without a problem. A stonespeaker woman stands, propping a door in the back open with her foot, waving for Jasper to come over.

"Looks like we can finally go in," Jasper says, downing the rest of his drink and waving back to the woman at the door. "Want to see something interesting?"

"Always," I reply.

The man leads us away from the main bar and the dancing toward the back room. As soon as we enter, we step into a well-lit and large interior. The sound of music is replaced by shouting, celebration, the clash of metal on flesh, and the roar of beasts. I can't keep the smile off my face.

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