Night had fallen in the kingdom of SpiritLand. The skyboat sailed on without its captain at the helm, half-hidden by heavy clouds. Though Captain Makarov snored softly in his bed, dreaming of a bewitching, ruby-eyed Spaniard whom he had known when he was a much younger man, laughter could be heard behind the closed doors of his dressing room.

Lucas Throne stood in front of the tri-fold mirror, his hands on his hips. Atop his head, a messy blonde wig spilled curls down his forehead and around his shoulders, giving him the appearance of a young lion.

He looked at his companion expectantly. "What do you think? Dashing?"

"Quite." Leone smiled wryly, pressing her hand over her much-desired heart. "I fear I may swoon." She sat on a sturdy oak chest, her long flaxen hair tied into a braid that she draped over one shoulder.

Lucas chuckled and returned the wig to its striped hatbox. Captain Makarov's wardrobe had been the source of much fascination and delight for the star and her keeper. Lucas had never seen such extravagant or colorful clothing in his life. From her heavenly perch Leone had glimpsed beautiful garments on countesses, kings, and even bawdy actresses on stage, but she had never been close enough to admire the intricacies of lace or run her fingers over silk.

There was much for Leone and Lucas to play with: bright wigs and colorful stockings; boots that laced up to the knees; chemises scented with rosewater; beaver-fur top hats; feather boas that tickled their necks; embroidered petticoats; tailcoats and cravats; gowns with long skirts and necklines that plunged perilously low; and a kimono from the Orient that rippled like water when Leone wrapped it around her slim frame.

Lucas sat down beside Leone. At her feet were two cups and a brown jug; Lucas picked it up and poured warm cider into each cup. He handed one to Leone, and they sipped in silence together. It was a spicy brew that made Leone's toes curl. Heat spread across Lucas's face; the drink was much stronger than the champagne he had drunk on a picnic that seemed to have happened to a different Lucas in a different lifetime. His eye caught Leone's and she smiled at him, a feeling of safety and contentment enveloping both of them.

In addition to his extensive wardrobe, Makarov possessed an impressive array of powders and face paint, not to mention perfumes with the scent of every flower that ever bloomed in SpiritLand. Setting down her cup, Leone opened one of the Captain's makeup kits. She rubbed blackened fingers above Lucas's upper lip, giving him a dark greasepaint mustache. A shiver slid down his neck at her touch, though Leone's fingers were far from cold. Lucas glanced at the mirror and his trio of reflections, his face bright with amusement. He touched the greasepaint.

"It itches!"

Leone knit her brow. What does?"

Lucas turned around and Leone was taken by surprise. From the greasepaint sprouted hundreds of thick, black hairs; the lower half of Lucas's face was nearly lost under a bushy handlebar mustache.

Unable to hold back, Leone erupted into giggles. "Lucas!"

Lucas turned once more to the mirror. He pulled at the hairs on his face; they were firmly rooted. "I look like old Mr. Monday."

Leone regained her composure. "Who's Mr. Monday?"

"My boss at the shop. Well, not anymore. He's the father of a chap I went to school with." A shadow passed over Lucas's face as he babbled. "Juvio."

Leone frowned. "Juvio. What a dire name."

Lucas let out a sudden laugh. "Very right you are."

Leone dabbed her pinky finger in a white powder from the same makeup kit. She spread the powder across Lucas's mustache and within seconds the hairs had shed from his face. "Well, I'm glad you're talking about someone other than Grace."

Lucas gazed down at the floor, ashamed. He had been thinking of Grace. His thoughts about the shop or his "dire" schoolmate always led back to her.

Silence fell between them, as if Leone herself knew that saying Grace's name had invoked her specter to come between them. Lucas stood up and rummaged through Makarov's wardrobe, searching for something to relieve the tension in the air.

"A-ha!" Lucas pulled out a fur coat and draped it over his shoulders. The coat was massive; it looked as if it had been skinned from an enormous red beast. It dragged behind Lucas as he took steps forward. He wagged his eyebrows at the star, hoping for a response.

Leone blinked. "You look like you"ve been eaten by a bear."

"Shall we fly to Antarctica?" he asked with a roguish smile. A few days ago, perhaps, such a smile would have looked ridiculous on his boyish face, but he had lost all his coltish awkwardness. Standing tall and draped in fur, Lucas Throne looked like a captain; if he truly wanted to sail to the poles, she would follow him - even if he did look as though he had been swallowed by a bear.

"We'll find a polar bear and make you a coat to match," he continued.

Leone wrinkled her nose in distaste. There was an icy edge to her voice. "Comments like that suit you even worse than that ridiculous coat."

Lucas silently cursed himself. What an arse he was, talking about adventures. He had promises to fulfill, first to Grace, and then -

'Damn,' he thought. He was suddenly angry at himself for thinking of Grace. There had been a time when thoughts of her made him deliriously happy; now, remembering his affection for her-and his promise to bring her a star-stirred feelings of frustration.

He had meant to brighten Leone's spirits, but even his suggestion of flying to Antarctica had been an echo of his vow to venture to the South Pole and bring Grace a polar bear's head as a token of his love. After everything he had seen and experienced, obtaining such a trophy would seem hollow, meaningless. He had changed so much, but he knew he would still be a simple, hopeless shop boy if he hadn't seen a falling star. And that star was sitting in front of him at that very moment.

Lucas's cheeks flushed red , though it was due to embarrassment rather than alcoholic cider. He was no longer playing the part of Captain Lucas, rogue pirate and ravisher of wenches; he was simply Lucas. "You're right. I don't think I should like killing an animal, not even a bear. Still not much of a hero, am I?"

Leone removed the ribbon from her hair and unraveled her braid with her fingers. Her hair fell loose around her face. "If you've come this far and think that killing bears is what makes one a hero, you're not very bright, are you?"

Lucas leaned in and brushed a lock of Leone's hair behind her ear. She looked at him, surprised by his closeness, and the anger seemed to vanish from her face. Her eyes were shining.

There was a pause, and then a tiny glimmer of a smile on Lucas's lips. "Well, fortunately you're bright enough for both of us."