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ON THE EVE OF THE SUMMER SOLSTICE, A WARM breeze blew the heavy scent of lilacs across the grand terrace at Casa Caligine, the greatest of all the pleasure houses of Corlivo. The air was thin there, high in the Kotol mountain range, and the stars were close, bright pinpricks in the inky sky. Golden light from the torches shone on the mossy flagstones. The place was packed with people: guests of the house, visitors from less exclusive pleasure houses farther down the mountain, serious bidders, the merely curious, servants holding platters of food and lingering near doorways. And all of them were eager to see the famous Demonstratio Tirae.

I hoped Kyra would be able to remember the choreography; she had drunk nearly a bottle of wine to calm her nerves. I understood the urge to dull the senses; I had gulped a hasty cup too, and I could already feel the warmth in my cheeks and nose. Even so, I was distracted by everything: the clamor of the crowd, the feeling that I was wading into a rushing river. Everyone else was in a boat, but I was just dipping my toes in the shallows. I fidgeted again with the gauzy white silk of my dress, identical to those worn by the five other tirae. I rubbed the inside of my wrist, raw from where a small blue crescent had been inked just under my skin: a letter C.

I tried to settle my nervous energy by scanning the crowd. That morning, a whisper had passed among us apprentices that two famous explorers were staying at Casa Caligine for the season. Ever since I was a child, I’d been fascinated by anything to do with adventures and faraway lands. Could I pick out the explorers based on their clothing?

Apparently not. All the men seemed to be dressed alike: dark togas and white linen trousers, the occasional colored sash or cloak. It was impossible to see anything distinct in a gathering of so many people. Although an endless war raged on the Empire’s eastern border, and new trouble had started on the northern roads, neither seemed to have kept the wealthy guests away from our mountain city. We were a two-week ride from the capital, and a world away from the lives of ordinary working people.

Suddenly, it was time. The six of us filed onto the platform set up at the end of the terrace. Kyra stumbled once but recovered. She held herself so rigidly that I knew she was compensating for the wine. But then the music began, and we were all swept up into the familiar steps of the dance. We linked arms, turned, pointed our toes gracefully. We picked up our thin rods with their ends wrapped in oil-soaked cloth and lit them, passing the flame from one to another. We spun them overhead, six whirls of fire against the dark night. As the melody rose and our bodies made shadows against the stone, we were untouchable, trained to perfection: beyond the reach of the curious, the judgmental, the eager. For one last moment, we were priceless.

And then it was over. We bowed and doused the flames, and the crowd roared with applause. The ancient ritual was finished for another year.

The matron walked slowly onto the stage, tall and elegant, with her white hair pinned into elaborate coils by jeweled combs.

She stretched out her hands in a gesture of welcome. “A marvelous display of our traditional demonstration! Honored guests, I am delighted to present the tirae of Casa Caligine, the freshest flowers of this great city. I hope you enjoy meeting them this evening. Please remember that unlike the other beautiful and accomplished women who reside here in our house, they are not yet available for your personal entertainment. If you are interested in placing a bid for the company of one of our tirae, please speak directly to me. Winning offers will be decided in one week’s time.”

We filed off behind her as the kithara players resumed their music. Conversation rose, and the guests began to mingle. Smoke from the torch oil hung in the air.

I grabbed Kyra’s arm. “I could use another cup of wine.”

She wiped beads of sweat from her shiny dark curls. “Me too. My mouth is dry as dust. I thought I was going to forget the steps.”

Hundreds of eyes seemed to follow us as we walked slowly through the crowd.

“Prettier than last year’s crop, I think.” A tall man in a deep red toga stared as he took a sweet from a passing waiter’s silver tray.

“I wouldn’t bid on any of them.” His companion squinted at us over a goblet of dark fruit wine. “I’d rather have the experienced ones. And have you seen the girls at Casa Aeris? Spectacular. Well worth the journey here.”

A stout man approached me; the engraved medals pinned to his blue sash clinked as he gave a little bow. “What a lovely creature you are.”

I curtsied with a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

He straightened a gold badge. “And you’ve just come from the training school?”

“Only a few weeks ago.”

“You must be looking forward to the coming months, finishing your apprenticeship and polishing your skills.” He grabbed my hand in his large, heavy one. “I can imagine helping you learn.”

I stepped back quickly, dismayed by the sour smell of wine on his breath. “Another time, perhaps.”

I felt his eyes on us as we hurried away. I shouldn’t have done that. We were supposed to mingle with the guests, but surely some of them would be easier company than that man.

Kyra’s hand was tight on my forearm. “By the Goddess, are they all going to be like that?”

“Hopefully not.” I glanced back over my shoulder. “Or maybe we’ll just get used to it.”

Kyra exhaled shakily and adjusted a jeweled hairpin.

“You’re not supposed to run away from them,” Valentina hissed from behind us.

Our mentor wore the makeup of a full courtesan: sparkling paint on her lips and an elaborate pattern of colorful swirls above her dark eyes. Her ginger hair was coiled high in braids, embellished here and there with gems, and her silver tunic clung to her slim frame.

The man beside her was tall, with narrow shoulders and a gloss of curly blond hair above a sharp nose and gray eyes. He leaned forward eagerly. “Won’t you introduce me to these pretty girls?”

She swept a hand in our direction. “These are the apprentices I’m supposed to mentor, if they would pay any attention to me at all. Anna and Kyra, inseparable friends. Girls, this is Clemens Fabius, Baro of Hierion.”

We curtsied deeply.