Armando's stomach churned with nerves and excitement as he climbed down the narrow stairs that supposedly led to an underground nightclub. He'd never done anything this illegal in his life. He was a footman at the palace, for pity's sake. If the Guards caught him, he'd be in more trouble than he cared to imagine.

Please, please don't let me get caught.

"Password?" asked a gruff voice through the keyhole of a very shabby basement door when he knocked.

"Uh … "Butterflies"?" He waited in suspense, hardly daring to breathe. It was Higgins who had given him the password. It would be just like that good-natured, scatterbrained man to give him the wrong one by accident.

"C'mon."

The door cracked open just wide enough for him to squeeze through the hallway, down another set of stairs and into the basement. A person in a sparkly orange-and-pink jaquin costume looked at him critically, but let him pass. Armando blushed. He knew his overalls and collared shirt were boring, but at least he'd had the sense not to wear his palace livery.

Soon enough, though, he realized he didn't need to worry about how he looked. The people clustered together in this dark, slightly stuffy basement were as diverse as Avalor itself, some dressed in outrageous costumes, some in street clothes like himself, and everything in between. The room buzzed with energy. Armando had to stand on tiptoe to get a look at the row of upturned crates in front of a shabby curtain that served as a stage.

The curtain parted. A tall auburn-haired woman carrying a guitar stepped out. She wore a spring-green dress and matching Carnaval mask, to disguise herself.

"Are you ready, Avalor City?" she called, in a bright clear voice that somehow carried all the way to him at the back of the hall.

The audience roared. Armando cringed, expecting the Guards to come running toward the noise then and there, but perhaps the basement was soundproof? At least he hoped that was the case.

"Everyone who's here for the first time, welcome," she said. "Everyone who's back, welcome back." Cheers. "And thank you to the one who fixed this guitar, so it sounds better than new." She played a few chords with a flourish, to more cheers. "I understand it takes a lot of courage to be here, especially after … after last week … " She faltered, but smiled bravely and went on: "But I want you to know that you are heroes, every one of you, just for walking through that door tonight. It's people like you who keep this kingdom's spirit alive."

Cheers interrupted her. Armando did not feel like a hero. He might not know what had happened last week, but he could make an educated guess - and he wished he couldn't. There had been a trial for political prisoners at the palace last week. He'd pulled strings to make sure he was assigned to work in the opposite part of the building.

"This concert is dedicated to one of my best friends, who was also among the bravest, most brilliant people I ever knew. Make sure you sing along extra loud tonight, so he can hear it all the way to the Spirit World, okay?" The musician wiped her eyes, re-settled her mask, cleared her throat and raised her beautiful voice until it rang from the rafters. "This one's for you, Tulio de Alva!"

Her song began softly, but little by little, it built up into a cry of heartbreak and hope at once. She danced and twirled along with her guitar, red hair flickering like flames. Someone jumped up onstage with a pair of castanets to accompany her. Couples formed all over the floor to dance in pairs, even though it was really rather crowded for that. Armando squeezed back to give everyone else room, without taking his eyes or ears off her.

Then he began listening to the lyrics, and it was all over with his self-control.

"Ay, oruguitas

Don't you hold on too tight

Both of you know

It's your time to grow

To fall apart, to reunite

Wonders await you

Just on the other side

Trust they'll be there

And start to prepare

The way for tomorrow … "

Beside the stage stood a woman in a black dress and bonnet, with pale skin and an empty expression. She stood so motionless among these wildly expressive people that Armando couldn't help noticing her. The more she listened, though, the more the song seemed to bring her to life; nodding to the beat, singing along, tapping her foot. By the end of the last verse, she was crying.

The musician finished the song, jumped down from the stage, and gave that one listener a hug, guitar and all. The listener sobbed into the musician's shoulder, letting out untold amounts of suppressed grief. Armando looked away awkwardly, feeling that this was none of his business, but there was more than one outburst of emotion going on in this room.

The auburn-haired guitarist was so much more than a musician, he realized. She was the heart and soul of Avalor City. He simply had to come back here and listen to her again, no matter what the consequence might be.

One of these days, he swore to himself, he would find out who she was.

/

Marlena's head pounded with exhaustion as she hauled her flower cart along the Via Mercado. It was Sunday, but she couldn't afford to take the day off. Sundays were when everyone else had time to buy flowers. Florist by day, singer by night; she'd been burning the candle at both ends lately, and she didn't know how much longer she could go on. The warmth of her audience had supported her through last night's concert, but this morning she felt very much alone.

Tulio should be here, a lanky, curly-haired whirlwind of music and chaos, making her laugh with his terrible puns, flirting innocently with the customers and telling cute stories about his wife and son.

When the Guards had raided the club at its previous location, he'd been too busy making sure everyone else escaped. He'd pushed Marlena out the door ahead of him, but when she'd tried to to turn back, he'd been nowhere to be seen. The next morning, they'd found his guitar with a boot print through it. Their other bandmates had quit for their own safety, and she couldn't blame them; she'd been a solo act ever since.

Without him, everything seemed dull and colorless, even her flowers.

Trim the stems. Cut the thorns. Space evenly. Spray with water. Repeat.

When Rafa de Alva came up to the cart, one arm full of grocery bags and the other holding the hand of her little boy, Marlena already knew what her friend would order.

"Good morning, Rafa. Marigolds, is it?"

"Yes, please, if you have any left."

Marlena sold them the very last bunch that she had stashed away. She was selling more flowers for the dead lately than she cared to think about. Ay, Shuriki. If you had any idea of what's coming for you … But how much longer do we have to wait?

"How are you holding up?" Especially after last night, Marlena wanted to say, but Mateo was too young to know about the underground concerts, and Rafa intended to keep it that way..

"Alive, I suppose. That's something, isn't it?" Rafa smiled bravely. She was still red around the eyes, but she did seem to have a little more energy this morning than she had before. "Everyone takes such care of us. Especially Mamá. She's so strong, I don't know how she does it."

Rafa's mother was a brusque, taciturn old lady with fingers like claws from a lifetime of sewing, who looked after Mateo when Rafa was away. She was also one of Marlena's best customers. Orchids, sunflowers, roses; the bolder, the better. Marlena smiled. "Guess it runs in the family, eh?"

Rafa scoffed, but looked a tiny bit pleased nonetheless as she squeezed the flowers into her shopping bag.

"How about you, hombrecito?" Marlena smiled at Mateo. "How's school?"

He'd always been a shy child, but these days he seemed actively trying to disappear, walking with his shoulders hunched, growing his curly hair so long that it fell over his eyes. His hoarse little voice was so quiet, Marlena had to lean down to catch it.

"The other kids don't talk to me."

"Oh, well, you know … " She faltered. "Sometimes people don't know what to say to someone who's grieving."

"They didn't before."

Marlena felt helpless. She'd never had trouble talking to people; with her the only trouble was that it was all surface-level. There were few individuals she trusted with her real self, and the de Alvas were among them. She would do almost anything to make Mateo smile again.

"Come along now, mijo," said Rafa, tugging the child away by the hand. "Let's go home. Thank you again, Marlena."

"Anytime," Marlena called after them, though she felt she didn't quite deserve it.

As mother and son walked away across the square, a sudden burst of movement caught Marlena's eye, and apparently theirs as well. Someone was unfolding an indigo-painted cart into a miniature stage, red curtain and all. Goodness, was that a puppet theater?

Mateo tugged his mother to a stop, and he wasn't the only one. Children arrived from all directions, some with parents or siblings, some by themselves. Even the Nuñez boy from the bakery on the corner yanked off his floury apron and came running, his father's exasperated shout trailing off behind him.

The puppeteer was a round, rosy-cheeked, black-eyed young man around Marlena's age. The children clustered around him like bees to a honeycomb. The story he performed was an old one, which Marlena's own mother used to tell her as a bedtime story, but the way he told it somehow made the characters come alive. Legend had it that the wizards of the past could cast illusions, but this ordinary man could do the same with just the way he changed his voice or moved his hands. The puppets were lovingly handmade, detailed down to the spots on the jaguar-woman's fur and the stars on the wizard's robe. The children were spellbound.

The man had some nerve, Marlena thought admiringly, telling a story with magic in it in broad daylight, right under the noses of the Royal Guard. A pair of them walked by on patrol and didn't even glance his way. Maybe they considered children's stories beneath their attention.

Marlena made sure her eye-catching hair was hidden under her kerchief when the Guards passed her cart. She bent her head over a bucket of fluffy peonies, trying to look as nondescript as possible. If they knew what her second job was, there was no way they'd ignore it as they were ignoring that puppet show.

When the puppeteer finished his play with the wizard breaking the jaguar lady's curse and helping her take back her family's estate, most of the children went away still buzzing with excitement, while the parents tossed coins into a floppy upturned hat. The baker's son brandished an imaginary sword all the way back to the bakery. Mateo, however, stayed put until all the others had left. He caught the edge of the puppeteer's jacket and looked up at him with eyes that were much too big for his little face.

"Señor? Is it true there used to be magic?"

A dangerous question. Marlena held her breath as she waited for the puppeteer's response.

"There still is," the young man said. "If you know where to look for it."

He had a distinctive voice, thought Marlena. Thin and scratchy and unmusical, but full of genuine kindness. A voice to be trusted. She would know that voice if she heard it again.

"Good magic?" Mateo persisted. "Like in your story? Not like … "

"All right, mijo, that's enough," Rafa broke in rapidly before the puppeteer could answer. "We've taken enough of this good man's time. Abuela's waiting. Time to go."

She hustled her son away in a state of barely controlled panic, but when Mateo looked over his shoulder one last time, the puppeteer was wearing one of his puppets on one hand. It was the wizard in the star-spangled robe with the tiny tamborita. It clapped. The puppeteer winked.

The boy's face burst out into a sudden, radiant smile.

Marlena's heart turned a somersault. Her double life was so busy and so dangerous, she couldn't afford to get close to anyone - but if she did, she would want a man who could bring joy to a child's day like that.

One of these days, she swore to herself, she would find out who he was.

/

Thirteen years later …

"Marlena! Hi! I was just thinking about you," said Armando, putting down his needle and thread and making his way through the piles of fabrics and papers in his office.

"Lucky for me," said Marlena, leaning down to kiss him hello. "So … I have the song. A first draft, anyway."

"Can I hear it?"

"Sure."

He swept a stack of party supply bills off his desk so she could perch there, sling her guitar off her shoulders and play. It had been Princess Elena's idea to commission him for a puppet show celebrating her coronation, but his own idea to ask his sweetheart (his sweetheart!) to write music to accompany it.

"What do you think?" she asked after finishing the song.

"Beautiful."

"Armando!" She swatted his shoulder playfully. "You say that every time. Not that it doesn't make me happy, but I'm looking for constructive feedback here."

"Oh! Uh … okay. In that case, maybe it could be a little more upbeat? It's for the Princess's coronation, after all. Do Ash and Shuriki and Chance … Esteban have to be in there?"

He gathered up his Elena puppet and smoothed its ruffled red skirt, wishing he could protect the real Princess from anything and anyone that threatened her.

"Mmm. I know what you mean. First and foremost, it has to be about hope." Marlena strummed a few thoughtful minor notes. "But I think we should tell the truth, don't you? People need to know what a strong queen she'll be, and for that we need to show them what she's gone through - what she's still going through," she corrected, rummaging out a maroon fabric swatch in the exact color of Esteban Flores' jacket. "Besides, I've had enough of hiding things."

She spoke those last words quietly, more to herself than to him, but they struck a chord in him anyway. Shuriki's era had been one long lifetime of hiding for them both.

"You're right." He pulled some wax paper out of an overstuffed desk drawer and began sketching outlines for an Esteban puppet. "Let's not hide. After all, can you imagine if our past selves could see this? Like, how is this even happening?"

"I know!" Marlena tossed back her wine-dark waves of hair and grinned. "Writing a song to play in broad daylight? For the Lost Princess? On her Coronation Day?"

The sound of a small explosion distracted them both, making them look out of the window. Armando's office overlooked the rose garden, where the former Lost Princess herself and her Royal Wizard were having a lively magical target practice session. Fireballs flew, enemies appeared and disappeared, and Master de Alva won the final round with a well-placed freezing spell that allowed the Princess to slip away from an illusory Ash.

"He's grown up so well," said Marlena. "Rafa won't stop talking about him, she's so proud. And to think he was such a lonely kid."

"Yeah, I remember. He used to watch my shows. You know he asked me once if magic was real?"

That cracked them both up, looking at the confident young wizard who wielded his tamborita as if born with it. He said something they couldn't hear, but it must have been funny, because the Princess laughed so hard, she had to grab his arm for balance. They sheathed their weapons and went back indoors, still bantering. There was a time Armando would have envied them, but today he wouldn't change places with anyone in the world.

"I know there's still trouble out there," Marlena said thoughtfully. "Probably always will be, in one form or another … but sometimes I still can't believe how lucky we are."

She looked so beautiful, smiling at their good fortune, that he simply had to get up and kiss her.

"Honestly? If I can believe you're here, I can believe anything,"

/

Author's Note:

"Two Oruguitas" or "Dos Oruguitas" by Sebastian Yatra is borrowed from the soundtrack of the Disney film Encanto.

Tulio de Alva's name and backstory are borrowed from the EoA Discord server.