"Alright. Let's do it," Isla said, the words leaving her lips with a conviction she didn't entirely feel. Her heart thundered in her chest, and her stomach churned at the thought of what they were about to undertake. But there was no turning back now. Not after everything that had happened. Not after Alaric.
Clara grinned, a spark of mischief lighting up her features. "That's what I like to hear. Now, let's figure out a way to not get ourselves killed—or worse, caught."
"Great start," Isla muttered, dragging a hand through her hair as she paced the length of their small room. "So, how exactly do we sneak into a noble's private party without invitations, noble titles, or, you know, the ability to blend in?"
"That's the fun part," Clara said, plopping herself down on the bed as if she hadn't just proposed something incredibly reckless. "We're going to need disguises."
Isla stopped pacing and turned to her, arms crossed. "Disguises?"
"Yes. Disguises," Clara said, leaning back on her elbows. "Think about it: a party like this is exclusive. It's not just for nobles, but for people who can *act* the part—merchants, investors, even the occasional artist or performer. If we can pass ourselves off as someone important, no one will bat an eye. Nobles love showing off how important they are by pretending everyone around them is important too."
"That's… not the worst idea," Isla admitted reluctantly. "But where are we supposed to get disguises? We can't exactly waltz into a tailor and say, 'Hello, we'd like some gowns fit for aristocrats, please.'"
Clara waved a hand dismissively. "Leave that part to me. I know a guy."
Isla groaned. "Of course you do."
---
The next day, Clara led Isla through the winding streets of the capital, weaving through the bustling crowds with the ease of someone who had spent far too much time in places most people avoided. Isla, on the other hand, struggled to keep up, her nerves fraying with every step they took.
"Where exactly are we going?" Isla whispered, glancing over her shoulder as if Alaric himself might appear out of nowhere.
"Relax," Clara said, throwing her a grin over her shoulder. "We're going to see an old friend of mine. He's an expert at making people look like they belong somewhere they don't."
"That's... oddly specific," Isla said suspiciously. "What kind of 'friend' are we talking about here?"
"The kind who doesn't ask questions," Clara replied cryptically, turning down a narrow alleyway.
Isla followed, her apprehension growing with each step. The alley was dark and damp, the walls on either side covered in peeling paint and faded posters. At the end of the alley stood a small, unassuming shop with a faded sign that read *Bastian's Wares*.
"Bastian's Wares?" Isla repeated, raising an eyebrow. "This doesn't exactly scream 'high society.'"
"Trust me," Clara said, pushing open the door. "Bastian knows what he's doing."
The interior of the shop was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of dust and old fabric. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with bolts of cloth, jars of buttons, and an assortment of trinkets Isla couldn't begin to identify. Behind a cluttered counter stood a lanky man with disheveled hair and a pair of spectacles perched precariously on his nose.
"Clara," the man said, his voice tinged with surprise. "What brings you here? Looking for another disappearing act?"
"Not this time, Bastian," Clara said with a grin. "We're here for something a bit more elegant. My friend and I need to look like we belong at a noble's party."
Bastian raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting to Isla. "A noble's party, huh? That's ambitious, even for you."
"I know you can do it," Clara said, leaning on the counter. "You're the best."
Bastian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright, fine. But this is going to cost you."
Clara smirked. "Since when have I ever let you down?"
Bastian muttered something under his breath but gestured for them to follow him to the back of the shop. Isla hesitated briefly before trailing after Clara, her unease growing with every passing moment.
---
Several hours later, Isla stood in front of a cracked mirror, staring at her reflection in disbelief. The woman staring back at her looked nothing like the disheveled traveler who had stumbled into the capital's gates. Her dress was a deep emerald green, the fabric shimmering faintly in the dim light. It fit her perfectly, hugging her waist before flaring out into a cascade of flowing fabric. Her hair, usually a mess of loose waves, had been pinned into an elegant updo, and her face had been subtly enhanced with just enough makeup to highlight her features without drawing too much attention.
"Wow," Clara said, standing behind her in a dark purple gown that was just as stunning as Isla's. "You clean up nicely."
"I barely recognize myself," Isla said, turning slightly to examine the dress from different angles. "Are you sure this will work?"
"Trust me," Clara said, adjusting her own hair in the mirror. "No one's going to question us. Not when we look like this."
Isla bit her lip, her nerves threatening to overwhelm her. "And what happens if someone does question us?"
"We improvise," Clara said with a shrug. "That's the fun part."
"Fun," Isla echoed, her voice flat. "Right. Because sneaking into a party full of nobles—and potentially dangerous ones—is *so* much fun."
Clara smirked. "You'll see. Just follow my lead."
---
The party was being held at a grand estate on the outskirts of the capital, its sprawling gardens illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns. Isla and Clara approached the main gates in a rented carriage, their nerves carefully hidden beneath masks of confidence.
As the carriage rolled to a stop, Isla's heart pounded in her chest. She glanced at Clara, who gave her a reassuring nod before stepping out onto the cobblestone path. Isla followed, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the folds of her dress.
The guards at the gate barely glanced at them as Clara handed over the invitations Bastian had miraculously procured. Isla held her breath as the guards inspected the documents, but after a moment, they waved them through.
"See?" Clara whispered as they entered the estate. "Piece of cake."
Isla didn't respond, too busy taking in their surroundings. The estate was breathtaking, its gardens filled with blooming flowers and fountains that sparkled in the moonlight. The main building loomed ahead, its grand façade lit by the warm glow of dozens of windows.
Inside, the party was even more overwhelming. The ballroom was a sea of finely dressed guests, their laughter and conversation filling the air. Chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a golden light over the room.
Isla stayed close to Clara, her nerves threatening to get the better of her. She felt out of place, like an imposter among the glittering crowd. But Clara's confidence was infectious, and Isla forced herself to stand tall, to play the part she had been thrust into.
"Alright," Clara said, scanning the room. "Let's split up. I'll mingle and see if I can pick up any gossip about Alaric. You—"
"Blend in," Isla finished, her voice tight. "Got it."
Clara gave her a wink. "Exactly. Don't worry. You've got this."
Before Isla could protest, Clara disappeared into the crowd, leaving her alone.