After sleeping another long while, perhaps into the next day, Zvan roused himself with the smell that came from below in the house. They were trying to cook, but someone had burnt the food and Jlean was yelling at Jharn about it. Zvan reserved a chuckle about that. It was pitch black in this room, but he figured there had to be a candle somewhere. He moved his hands to the side of the couch, where he encountered a small table, and on it sure enough was a candle and a tinderbox.
The light blinded him for a moment, but his blue eyes got used to it soon enough.
And very rapidly he wished he had never lit the candle. Zvan almost doused it, but then he also almost threw up. On every wall, lit eerily as it was from this one single flickering flame, were eyes.
In heads.
Women's heads. There had to be a dozen of them, different breeds of 'thrope, from a small mouse-like rodent girl to a moose ... Zvan remembered the moose woman, a prostitute certainly but one that had complimented him when she came into the house. He never saw her leave: of course. Parts of her had landed in the midden pit below the house, to decompose like the rest of the waste. Her head, preserved somehow - was it with magic or with plain old chemicals? - rested on a plaque beside others like it. Some of them looked... a bit worn. Some had their mouths slightly open, while others had been sewn shut. Their hair fell limply and unadorned on some, while others had a ribbon or braid still pulling it away from their face.
Zvan clutched his eyes shut. He knew, with a certain pounding dread, what he would find if he turned around and looked at the other wall. But by now he had no choice. He was here, this was his life, this was his lot. He would have to deal with it.
So when he turned, and saw the brownish-black topknot and yellow-orange with black tear-markings... His mother's head, he did vomit, hard and with so much pain - he had nothing to void, not for two days at least. He cried, until he had no tears left in him. Perhaps he'd bled from his wounds again, too, for his back felt wet. He could make no sounds beyond faint mewling, as he lay curled up next to the couch.
He glanced at the candle which had landed on another table and dripped on it. It was a shame, he thought, that the house was made entirely of stone. He couldn't burn it down from in here.
It was more than an hour before he moved again, stiffly. The candle was almost out, halfway burnt on the side and with a puddle of wax on the table. Zvan reached into a table's drawer and found another candle, though why he would want to light it even he wasn't quite sure. But he did, and found it in himself to sit down on the couch. He stared at the candles, twin flickers hypnotising him.
It was night again, somehow he could tell now. How long had he been here? A full day? More? This was worse by far than any beating he'd ever had. Sitting here, alone, in this smelly room with dead eyes staring at him. Judging him.
There was no sign of Jlean, and he hadn't heard any footsteps or shutting of the bedroom door up the hall. Maybe he had gone somewhere, who knew. The brothers were apparently not in the house either. Maybe they went to an inn.
Jlean would never allow him out of the house again, if he ever let him away from this very room. Zvan realized that. He now knew more than he ought - it was obviously the secret which Jlean needed to keep even from his own sons. Had they known abou the contents of this room, perhaps they might have come to Zvan's aid a little earlier.
"Where is my aid now," Zvan said quietly. "Where is my little masked friend, when I need help? I cannot escape from here, I am not strong enough to open the door, and where would I go? I don't even know anyone."
He sobbed into his hands, hands hardened by years of work. How could the princess have held those hands? How could she have looked at his broken body and thought he was anything less than disgusting?
"You know where you can go," said the flitter, shining in the candle light, and sitting on the table. "You only need but ask, Zvan, as I said."
His ears twitched back, angrily. "Well... I'm not used to asking. I'm used to getting beaten when I ask anything." Zvan said. He said it a bit harshly too, but he made no apology. "He said I used magic - how would he know? What was he doing?"
The creature tilted its head, and asked, "what was he doing?"
Zvan described Jlean as he had walked around the house, and the flitter nodded. "The candle he held possibly showed him remnants of our magic, visible only to his eyes - he had probably cast a spell to see things unseen."
"Why didn't you tell me he could do that?" Zvan demanded.
"I neither knew, nor did you ask me to find out. He does not seem the type to use magic." The creature walked forward, stepped in a cool portion of the still sticky candle wax, lifted its paw and gazed at it curiously. He made Zvan give off a desperate chuckle at that. "I am sorry you were beaten again, Zvan. We did not mean for that to happen."
Zvan sighed, "it would have happened whether you finished my chores or not. If I'd done them, I'd have never finished and I'd be beaten. They were finished too well, I was beaten. That's how he is. And... this." Zvan waved his hand upwards, indicating the heads. "He's... a murderer, he's killed all these women."
It was the only moment that Zvan could say the life drained from the little creature before him. The mask's frills wilted a little, as though they were alive and part of it's neck. It kept looking around the room, each wall containing more evidence damning Jlean as a serial killer. People were known to do such things, barons and inbred kings for instance. Normally people might accidentally kill someone in a fight, or a duel, or even purposefully murder someone for a goal. But this... was just sickening. This was a goal in and of itself, Zvan was sure.
Jlean's words came back to him: she's a catch worth having. He meant to have the princess? Or her head on the wall? Or even the Queen's?
"Little friend," Zvan said, urgently, "I will have to get out of here. He'll starve me to death in here. I know you can open the door for me... But I must not ... um, I can't leave. You've made a double of me twice now, and they've believed it was me. Can you make another, to stay here? They don't... I mean... It's not a real person, is it?"
"It is merely a shadow," the creature explained. "And that is an excellent idea. I will make one, while you escape. But though I will send you to a place you won't expect, you must speak to the Queen first. And," the flitter glimmered again, "you will be expected at the third ball and there you must most likely confront your worst fears as well as your greatest desires."
Zvan nodded. He realized Jlean would crash the party without an invitation, he'd be angry anyway. Would he have come there after killing Zvan here?
The flitter nosed at something, "here is your invitation to the ball... And another to a different event. Go on. Open it."
While the flitter caused some sparks on the outside of the door, opening it, Zvan opened his invitation to the ball - it was eerie, because it was his. He'd never had anything delivered to him, before. He wanted to ask, but wasn't sure he'd understand the answer, about why the Queen's crest was the same as its little mask, or what this other 'event' was.
It was another masked ball, apparently, and Zvan pursed his lips.
"Little friend," he said, and the creature peeked in from around the now-open door. It was probably dangling from the wood itself. "What am I going to wear for this? Either of these?" He held up both invitations, and shrugged. "I have no clothing, let alone a fancy dress. And the Queen told me to do my best."
"She did indeed. What are your ideas? Have you ever seen a masked ball?"
"Only in the fairy tale books," Zvan admitted. "But they aren't like the dances I've been to, are they? Everyone is supposed to pretend they don't know who's behind each mask, and that way they can ask questions or say things they wouldn't normally say."
"That is true. What could you go as?" The flitter asked, as its little paws worked on something. It was using the spare wax on the table to assemble its third doppleganger. It appeared briefly on Zvan's shoulder and plucked a hair, one which was covered in blood. "This will give more life to your double, but you should not worry about that. It's life is only as long as is needed, and like the others will dissolve into parts when you ask it to."
"I remember, the first one fell apart - I still have the dust and fur in a bucket downstairs."
"Oh do you?" The creature brightened up, "I'll need that, come on out of here. This room," it shivvered, "is creepy."
"That is my mother," Zvan said - oddly though. He was not crying when he said it, it simply came out. He stared at his mothers head - it had been there for almost eight years. Right here. When Zvan thought he'd cry - instead he steeled himself. There were no more tears in his eyes, no more breaking down. There was nothing he could do about that now. But he could prevent anyone else from meeting a similar fate. The flitter creature clung to the banister in the hall, scampering down and meeting Zvan under the kitchen. The barrell with his dusty fur doppleganger vanished when he looked at it and then the flit urged him to rest up.
"Sit there on the couch, we'll clean it up. Your double will act just fine, and you will be far from here. Now," it asked again, "what would you go to a masked ball as?"
"Well - I've been thinking," Zvan said with a chuckle, "I might just go exactly the way I am now. Dirty, bloody, covered in grime. No one would recognize me."
The flit chirped in surprise with a little laugh. "That... well, that's one option, but I think you'll be better recieved if you do have a costume of some kind..."
"Wait, wait," Zvan closed his eyes. When he did, the disembodied face of his dead mother hung in his mind, but he purposefully replaced it with a memory of her. The one from his dream several weeks before. When she was happy, round-cheeked, holding him in her arms safe and sound. His father: he wore something incredible, a mask and a robe.
"I have a picture in my mind," Zvan said, "but I do not know if I can describe it in words."
"Hold out your hands," said the flitter. "Ah - no, wait a moment... Let us get you clean first. We cannot have this costume ruined by your wounds."
It took another ten minutes of spritely cleaning, and a liberal amount of stinging pain when his wounds were cleaned and apparently healed up. Zvan hadn't opened his eyes, he actually liked the feeling of something happening that felt good, he didn't want to ruin it by seeing it. That would take away the magic. It could have been half a dozen beautiful women, or slave boys, or an old crone, or wild cats licking him dry, for all he cared. It was warm magic, it felt good. He was clean, and felt healthy again. His shoulder still twinged him, that second great blow to it would harm him worse than a few glowing sprites could fix in a few minutes.
"Now," the flitter said with confidence, "hold out your hands."
Zvan felt a weight descend onto his outstretched hands, but it was light. Cloth, and something else?
He opened his eyes, and saw a glittering silver and diamond mask, framed with feathers that were long and white, tipped in grey. Under it was a cloak of some kind, feathery in layers and with some odd mesh added. On looking at the mask he said, "this is my father's mask, in my dream. And the robe he was wearing?"
"Yes, indeed," said the flit. "Try it on. And this time, you may want to look at yourself, you know there is a reason the Queen appreciated your presence. Royalty always enjoys company."
"I'm not royal," Zvan said, while putting the robe on. It was open in the front, having a small feathered loincloth, and on the sides it was all white feathers. The back was a black mesh, see through, woven of some fabric he'd never felt. It rested on his shoulders like wings, this robe. It had long sleeves, and the ends of them were tipped in the same grey ended feathers as the mask.
The mask itself, though merely an outline around the eyes and a frame of silver around ivory on the beak, was of a predatory bird's head. A hooked beak, wide oval eyes, and a crown of splayed feathers. A harpy eagle, though Zvan didn't know it. It had a slender cord which would keep it on his head - though it was reasonably heavy it was also well balanced. And covered in diamonds. At first, Zvan refused to believe it. But they looked so pure, white, with rainbows that dazzled his eyes.
"Is this real? Or will it dissolve to dust in the morning too?" He asked. He almost dreaded the answer, he felt it must be magic and therefore only temporary.
"You said yourself, this is your father's mask and robe."
"But that was from a dream, it wasn't real."
"Of course it was, your dreams and memories are one in the same. Perhaps it was a distant memory. Perhaps you made up whatever else was in your dream, but this, Zvan, this is real. Your inheritance, I believe. Hidden, even Jlean did not know where your mother kept it. We had to look hard for it, actually," the flitter muttered.
Zvan was going to say something, but then couldn't find words. "But how ... why would you call me royalty? I mean... I'm just a cheetah!"
"You are a king cheetah," the flitter said. Then it tilted its head, "didn't you know that?" It bounced into the air, hopping and scattering silver glitter everywhere. "Go look! Go look at yourself in that mirror! Go on! And this time, turn around and look at your back!"
Zvan did as he was told, with burning curiosity. The robes swished around his ankles, but it felt good on his arms. He went to Jlean's bedroom and found the mirror - this time he was not afraid to enter, why should he be? Jlean wasn't in the house. And even if he found out - by then he couldn't care less.
Zvan's face was bright with wonder, the whiteness of the robe was very pretty. It made him look... regal. Like his father? In the dream? Then he turned his head a little, moving around the mirror and craning his neck around. "How odd," he said. "I've got stripes."
"Cheetah have spots," the flitter said, appearing on top of the mirror frame. "But only king cheetahs have those markings. They're quite rare. But it means you are of royal blood. We do not know why your father did not keep his title, though he must have been royal as well. Those are his robes, his treasure."
"Then... maybe..." Zvan said, growing a strange hotness in his gut. "Maybe I do deserve the Princess."
The flitter merely laughed in a high musical tittering.
***
For three days, Zvan would have to find a place to stay, the ball wasn't until then, and he had no way of presenting himself toward the Queen or her retainers without the invitation - and it was clear that during the times between balls, no one was given much of an audience. It was a bit of an emergency, but Zvan felt he could survive out and about in town without anyone knowing. He could claim he was a visitor from a neighboring village or town, from across the kingdom, and he'd been at the ball - now he was a tourist. Zvan really was a bit of a tourist as well, as he walked around town.
He'd taken some material from his brothers' closets and the flitter and its attendant shiny helpers had made him a decent set of travel clothes. However, they did insist he wear a hat with his hair bundled up in it - he might be recognized too easily with it, and one didn't really want word getting out that a cheetah was in town when another might have gone missing.
The flitter could not accompany Zvan but could arrive at times of need and when asked for. Only once, Zvan realized he'd had no money and needed something for a stay at the in on the other side of the hills. He carried his costume in a simple leather bag along with (he chuckled) the deer meat and the bread he'd baked a few days before.
Jlean would blame Jharn for having eaten the meat - probably in a drunken daze, as that was how the boy was spending a lot more of his time after the balls. Zvan wondered though, what about Ohrn? He feared for the more brave brother's life, now. For even if Jlean didn't strike his born son when he was enraged and in a fury at Zvan, what about when he was calm, sensible and completely insane?
Zvan steeled himself and bought some writing paper and a quill, and sat in the tavern of the next town over - he'd walked but his walking was so fast that some folks exclaimed about that huge bird that just passed them. Was that his own magic? He didn't know. He didn't ask, if it was magic, indeed it was his own.
Sitting at a well-lit table, with a fresh glass of water and a bowl of stew (he'd eaten so well in the last day he was sure he'd be too fat to fit in the costume later!) Zvan carefully penned an explanation of what he'd seen in the house, what had been done to him over the years. People he had seen, body parts that he thought once he'd imagined. He knew where they had been reburied, too, and detailed that carefully. Jlean didn't know where the other midden pits were, once the stuff was out of his basement he didn't seem to care at all. Carting that stuff from one hole to another hurt Zvan's back as a child but now he realized it was one of the most important moments of his life. He remembered: fifteen child-sized paces away from the stone wall on the west side of the house, below a rock which had a tree growing over it. It would be more overgrown now, in fact he almost recalled as he hunted that he recognized the tree and stone from its twisty base.
There, officials would find remnants of people who had been murdered over the last ... decade? Longer? Who knew how long Jlean had been doing this?
Ohrn would probably have told Zvan if he'd known, and Zvan made it absolutely clear that the brothers were not obviously party to the crimes. Why blame them? They'd been raised as cruel masters, true, but they knew nothing more. Zvan knew nothing else as well - they all expected their rough behavior.
It occurred to Zvan that his handwriting could use some improvement.
It occurred to him about a moment later that he'd never penned anything other than grocery lists before. How did he even know how to spell some of these words? Well, he read perfectly well upstairs, didn't he? It was a mystery, it was magic. He was a bright young man.
Who planned on, however improbably, marrying Princess Dvrinne.
The day of the ball arrived, and Zvan had heard rumors come from his town that the crazy puma man was on a rampage - something had happened, and he was on a tear. Women chuckled, saying that perhaps one of the local whores had turned him down, or that perhaps he hadn't been invited to the final ball that the Queen was throwing.
That was far more likely - added to the fact that Zvan's double must surely have perished by now, either because of starvation or because Jlean willed it so. Zvan felt a pang of guilt - but he was wise to remind himself that the other dopplegangers just dropped into dust - they were nothing more than that. Zvan was almost wondering if he ought to start finding out about magic, if Jlean used it to detect that it'd been what fixed the house up, maybe his library held secret books?
Maybe he could go back to the house and find out, after this was all over.
For some reason, though he knew the flitter's words had been a warning and he would be confronting Jlean tonight, he was calm. It was as if all the bad times he'd been through had worn away and he was left with his own self again.
Where there had been fear, was now pride. Where there had been tears was now a strength that would grow as time went on. Where wounds danced across his back, his muscles were firm.
Zvan had to actually bathe, for whatever magic had cleaned him up the first day slowly wore off the farther he got from home. But he enjoyed sitting in a long tub filled with hot water, and he paid the inn's staff extra because he knew how hard it was to get fur out of drains. He would run the short distance to the castle in his costume - he knew it wouldn't get dirty now.
He paid for the room to be locked, safeguarding his few items, but he brought with him the invitations (both of them) and his deposition for the Queen's guard to read. When the sun began to set, he bolted from the inn when no one was looking. He ran just as swiftly as before, and somehow the costume of a bird lifted him over mud and stream without hint of a splash.
Zvan arrived as he had twice before, to the bottom of the wide curving steps of the castle. In the light cast by the almost-set sun, the highest towers glowed brightly orange-yellow, the same color as his fur. Below in the courtyard there were fancy coaches and large carriages pulled by finer steeds than he'd seen before. No hay carts here, nothing like the simple family carriages that had been present in droves from the first ball. But that truly had been a party that none in the land could ever forget.
This time, there was a guard and his attendant standing in the center of the steps, and a carpet which was draped down from the entrance of the castle to there. It was framed by ropes, no one was going to get in without an invitation, it seemed. A number of the people attending seemed to be parents and family of those who had been at prior balls - they were older and dressed not in ridiculous current day fashions, but in a parade of feathers, masks and ruffles that all but hid their personages.
An elk man and his slender wife entered, both wearing what looked like bat wings. Their son came up behind - Zvan recognized his elegant shoulder and neck line, but otherwise he was pretending to be a fish of some kind. A ferret lad and his accompanying family all went inside, having a fantastic array of reptile scales dancing over their fur and painted masks on their short faces.
Zvan's turn came, and he stood alone. The guard looked him up and down, as he took the invitation, nodded once, and as Zvan passed he asked where his family was.
"That ... is kind of hard to explain," Zvan said simply, and nodded as he entered. Before he could do so, though, he heard a commotion in the courtyard behind him.
Jlean had arrived. But it wasn't just that the puma was here - it was that Jharn and Ohrn were there trying to stop him from trying to enter. Zvan continued, everyone turned to look so he was hardly alone in that. But he did not want to see this embarrassment. To have to admit that those were the people who'd raised him?
They apparently didn't even have masks - Jlean might have had one, but it'd come loose and was dangling around his neck facing backwards. In the sunset light, Zvan could still make out that Jlean was attempting to put on his best 'king cheetah' appearance: he'd doused his back in pitch or soot, with rough lines dripping down his back and fingerpainted-spots everywhere else. It was unmistakable, to Zvan, that he was trying to ... be him.
The horrible realization that it might have been a real person's face Jlean was wearing caused Zvan to almost lose interest in the food that he smelled. He continued inside, and sought out a place to sit. The ballroom was segmented out now with a place for dancing that was much smaller than before and a contingent of tables set up for family members and invited guests that was clearly set up for fine dining. There was no huge banquet table, for this time it was a smaller affair. Perhaps twenty men had been officially invited, and their families were allowed to come along. For a kingdom which had a rich forest and a good supply route between other lands, a true banquet was easy. This was a drop in that bucket.
Zvan knew that Dvrinne would have to come out sometime, but everyone was in costume. He could be sitting beside her... No, he would recognize her scent. Something about her smell was so distinct and beautiful, he could never possibly be mistaken. But what would she be wearing? How could anything possibly disguise her fine shape and delicate face?
Now, it was true that if she'd been a solid color she might be that much more attractive - but mottled markings were so much fun to look at! Zvan even told her that on the night they spoke alone. Her hair was a light brown color and cut fairly short for a woman's. Her mother's hair was clearly long and full, and a darker brown shade. Zvan wondered what Dvrinne's father had looked like, then.
The costume on Zvan's shoulders and face made him feel more comfortable than he'd been before, he understood that it was easier to be anonymous this way. He did still see the interest on people's eyes as they looked at him. Was it just the sparkly appearance? Or the way the feathers gleamed? Or just that they felt they knew who was wearing it and thought it looked good?
The food that was served was delicious - fish that Zvan had never tasted (the sea was a long way off), and breads that were dark and rich. Creams topped the soup, dollops of it just cold enough to float and warming up spreading a thin sheen of grease over the broccoli or potatoes in the bowls. Each course was followed by a pleasant glass of water and a dipping bowl which got passed around the table. Zvan was sitting at the table with the ostrich woman he'd danced with the first time, she must have been a resident of the castle, as well as a trio of strangers who had costumes of technological items (one was a spyglass and Zvan thought that very clever indeed).
Finally the Queen and her daughter arrived in full view. They had been there all along, but it was clear now who they were. The Queen had a mask that looked just like the one on the flitter, with rings and loops that soared above her head. Her dress was similarly looped, spiralling down to the floor in wide circlets. Her daughter on the other hand had an odd arrangement of red and orange ornate gauze which rose from her head and shoulders - she was fire?
Her mask was gauze but did make it almost impossible to see anything but her eyes. Her arms and body had drapes of jagged yellow, red, gold and white flame, and her dress trailed on the floor a bit in the same way. The girl's careful gaze looked at each and every man at every table, appraising them all. While she had indeed narrowed her choices, tonight was the night she was actually going to have to make a choice. It seemed a bit unfair, really, that such a thing was demanded of a girl who was so young. But then again, as he'd realized before, Zvan knew that it was far better and more entertaining this way, than to simply ship her off to some faroff land and hope she didn't mind whatever she had been given.
The Queen happily announced that once dinner was digested the dancing would begin. The orchestra played dinner music which was so sedate that Zvan wondered if it might put several tables to sleep. The big heavy meal would indeed need to be digested a little before any dancing was attempted.
Little did he know the dances were a bit different this time, too. They were lines, formal things which he had to merely keep up on. He placed himself somewhere at the end of each one, because that way he could see from the corner of his eye who did what. Hold arms together, arms apart, grab this partner, then that one, turn and clap, this was all so much more stuffy than the first dances!
He much preferred them to this!
Apparently, so did Dvrinne. Eventually as sisters or aunts paired up with the other boys from around the country, the music changed to a more festive romp and the formalities were dropped in favor of the dancing from the last balls. Dvrinne was involved with dancing beside one of the ferret-fish, and Zvan found himself beside ... the Queen.
"May I have the honor of this dance, masked one?" Zvan asked while bowing. He had his left arm behind his back, as he'd seen the other royals do, as he took her hand. She nodded and smiled faintly under the mask. As they danced, Zvan leaned in a little and said, "I have urgent news but I could not give it to anyone save you," and she nodded as they parted. Another dance was begining, and Dvrinne was somewhere across the floor.
"You will let me in this instant, I have an invitation!" Jlean yelled from the doorway, causing a number of people to gasp and look over. His voice was raised in the same angry way that he'd done a few days before when beating Zvan senseless. The commotion continued, he was quite strong, and had apparently knocked down the guard's assistant and lept over the rope barrier. His sons followed behind, but were shoved away as easily as he'd done to the guard.
The music fell to a halting silence, the piccolo player had to be shushed by the bass viol's. Jlean stomped into the room, panting and growling. He waved what appeared to be an invitation around, but it was Zvan's correct guess that he was trying to pass off one of the first two as the third.
Zvan turned to the Queen, his head high, and nodded a little at this event. "You clearly did not read the invitation," the Queen said in a strong voice. It was odd that she could project so well, she was such a slightly built thing. "For each and every one of these people has one with their name upon it."
Blustery, Jlean stammered and ground to an angry halt. Then abruptly, he started a strong run right toward the Queen! There were no people between them, a long stretch of open space where everyone saw him gain purchase on the wooden floor.
Zvan stepped in, so fast like he'd run. He held his hand up, blocking Jlean's attack and holding his hand in midair. Jlean shuddered into a full stop, brought up short by this event. But his other hand flailed around, also caught easily by Zvan's. The cheetah's burning blue eyes did not blink.
"Queen, this man is a multiple murderer. He has kept evidence in his home proving it, at least one dozen women lay dead because of him. I believe he meant to have your head as a trophy as well." Zvan said calmly and coldly.
Jlean looked angrily at Zvan, and suddenly realized who he was. His storm-green eyes went wide in fury, but as he gained strength to push the slender cheetah man off his feet, half a dozen more guards arrived and pushed him away at pole-arm length. Incoherently, screaming, Jlean was led away. It looked as though the guards were about to do the same to Jharn and Ohrn, but Zvan held up his hand.
"Stop, those... those are my brothers. I would have them here - even though they're not dressed for the occasion."
Another silence came from the room, and the Queen nodded after a time. It took a few minutes for everyone to get settled, for music sheets to be shuffled and arranged, and for Dvrinne to weave her way toward Zvan.
They danced, but everyone was still distracted. Such a thing was hardly ever done, even in fairy tales. Attacking the Queen? Madness. But everyone felt safe, everyone was talking about Zvan's bravery and speed. "Are they really?" Dvrinne asked.
"Not in blood, no, but they aren't madmen like their father." Zvan admitted softly that when he'd said he wasn't all he appeared, he had no idea what he really was all along. The rest of the night, Dvrinne danced with no other.