We talk it over and decide not to send harpies down to speak with the ship. We don’t know how they would react to a flock of strangers descending on them from a giant floating city, and none of us want to risk the safety of a few of our scouts when we’d have no way to help or retrieve them should something happen. Besides, if there’s one ship out here, there are bound to be more.

  And there are. The next day we spot two of them. Ollie and Meritis also discover a flock of gulls (which they disperse, to their extreme enjoyment and no doubt the birds’ abject terror). We must be close to land now.

  Mirzayael and I visit the Jorrians the following day, as much as she loathes seeing them. Now that they’re healed, Mirzayael is worried they’ll make an escape attempt. Even though they’re without weapons, they’re still capable of using magic, and there’s nothing we can do to stop them from wielding that.

  I’ve taken time to Check both of them already. Gardi is a level 24 floe mason felis, while Ragna is a level 27 frost hunter human. Gardi has a mana pool of 320, rivaling my own mana reserves of 500, but Ragna only has 20, a number that I’ve found consistent in people who don’t use much magic. While Ragna’s class sounds more dangerous than Gardi’s, the latter poses a larger threat for a potential break-out.

  “Good news,” I tell the Jorrians as Mirzayael ducks inside behind me. “We should be reaching land soon. Once we find a way to get you down, we both never have to see each other again.”

  Neither appear particularly thrilled by this.

  “You’re just going to dump us on the first scrap of rock you find?” Ragna scoffs.

  “Of course not,” I say. “We’ve passed several tiny stone islands already.” In fact, Mirzayael had been very tempted to put them down there, but I leave that part out. “Once we find a town or city, we’ll drop you off there.”

  “You could be leaving us with enemies,” Gardi remarks.

  Mirzayael barks out a laugh, and I raise an eyebrow. Of course the Jorrians have more enemies than just the Fyrethians. Why am I not surprised?

  “If you’d rather be dropped into the ocean, that can be arranged,” Mirzayael says.

  They both glare at her. But Mirzayael isn’t being antagonistic because of her distaste for the Jorrians (well, not just because of that,) but because she wants to provoke them. If they’re hiding some magic abilities that they might use to try to break out, it’s best if both of us are here to assess the danger they pose—and stop them.

  “The point is, you have vanishingly few options,” I say. “If you don’t want to be released near civilization, are you implying you’d rather stay here?”

  “Of course not.” Ragna’s glare returns to me. “We want to go home!”

  “Home?” Mirzayael scoffs. “You’re lucky you’re not being put to death. You’re in no position to be making demands.”

  “She’s right,” I add. “You know returning to Jorria is not an option. Even if we were capable of turning this city around, we have no incentive to. So if you don’t want to stay here, and you don’t want to be dropped off, you’re in quite the dilemma.”

  Reasoning with these two can make the Dungeon Core seem judicious.

  “You might as well be sentencing us to death,” Ragna continues to protest. “We won’t have any food or money. We won’t even know where we are. How do you expect us to get home?”

  Forgive me for not feeling overwhelmed with sympathy. (Maybe Mirzayael is rubbing off on me.)

  “I fail to see how any of that is our problem,” Mirzayael says.

  “And I have complete faith in your resourcefulness,” I add, managing to not sound sardonic. “You’ll be in a city, so I highly doubt you’ll starve. Perhaps you could put your skills to use to earn some extra coin.”

  “What, sword fighting?” Ragna asks. “And with no sword of our own? We’ll be next to useless.”

  Mirzayael snorts. “I imagine in the last few decades you two developed some productive skills outside of pillaging and killing before deciding to invade our home.”

  Ragna bares her teeth, but to Gardi’s merit, they lower their gaze.

  “No?” I ask. “Well, there will be no better time to learn.”

  The Jorrians remain silent and steaming.

  “If you decide you’d rather be imprisoned indefinitely, be sure to let us know,” Mirzayael says. “I’m sure we can find a way to make that work.”

  Ragna spits at the ground, but neither seem like they’re provoked enough to try anything. Honestly, I’m a bit relieved. But as Mirzayael and I turn to leave, Gardi speaks up.

  “I’m an architect,” they say. I stop, looking back at them. Their tail twitches in agitation. “Or, I was studying to be one, anyway. Apprenticing to fix houses with my ice affinity. I was brought to the battle to ensure the ice on the surface remained stable.” Their gaze lingers on an empty corner of the room. “Ylva was an ice weaver, too.”

  “Excellent,” Mirzayael says, her voice brittle. “Perhaps you can find work in town cooling people’s drinks.”

  But I hesitate. “What do you mean you were brought? Were you not a soldier?”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Gardi shrugs. “Technically. Everyone serves for two years when they reach adulthood. I’d delayed mine for the apprenticeship but was drafted for the Fyrethian incursion.”

  Ragna hisses at them. “What are you doing? Providing intel to the enemy—”

  Gardi looks at her flatly. “I hardly see how any of that could be used against us. Besides, you heard them.” They settle back against the wall, closing their eyes. “We’re not going home.”

  Neither respond to us after that, so Mirzayael and I depart.

  “What do you make of that?” I ask as we head back up to the main palace.

  Mirzayael shrugs. “I wasn’t expecting them to fall over themselves thanking us for our mercifulness.”

  “I meant about Gardi,” I say. “They seem to have been bothered by the idea of being lumped in with the other soldiers.”

  “Pity,” she says dryly. Mirzayael glances down at me. “Where are you going with this?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “Just reflecting, I guess. It seemed Gardi might be willing to talk.”

  Mirzayael groans. “Please don’t tell me you think you can rehabilitate them.”

  “No,” I object. Mirzayael snorts, because she knows that’s exactly what I was thinking. “But what do you think about something like a learning exchange? This could be a good opportunity to learn from each other. Not out of the goodness of my heart!” I quickly add when I can feel Mirzayael’s already forming objection. “But as a way to learn more about Jorria. How they operate. What they might know about us, the gods, and the rest of the world. Fyreneth’s library was lost to time. This could be a way to fill in some gaps.”

  “I know your real intentions,” Mirzayael teases. “Despite how much you’re trying to make this sound reasonable.” Even so, she considers it. “I do like the sound of interrogating them. If you can get them to talk, there’s valuable information we could stand to gain. They mentioned having other enemies—those have the potential to be allies for us.”

  “Will you allow me to try, then?” I ask.

  Mirzayael faintly smiles. “I doubt I could stop you, even if I wanted to. Just, be careful,” she adds. “I know you believe these individuals deserve a chance at redemption. You may be right, but that doesn’t mean they’re willing to change. Don’t stake too much hope on them. They’ll hurt you, if you let them.”

  “I can protect myself,” I object. “And with the Dungeon Core, I won’t be in any danger.”

  Mirzayael stops, and I pause as well, turning to her questioningly.

  She taps my chest, just above my heart. “They’ll hurt you, if you let them.”

  Ah. “I’ll be careful,” I promise.

  I can feel Mirzayael’s doubt at these words, but it’s also accompanied by a fondness. She views my misguided trust in others as a weakness and a strength.

  “It’s not misguided,” I object.

  Mirzayael chuckles as she turns away.

  A guard opens the cell door for me as I squeeze through with an armful of blankets. The Jorrians look up at me in surprise.

  “Hello!” I greet them, dropping the blankets to the floor. “I’ve returned with bribery.”

  Gardi gives me a disbelieving look. “You’re openly acknowledging that?”

  “I figured it would expedite the conversation,” I say, sitting across from them as I shrug off my bag and begin unpacking its supplies. “You would have accused me of it regardless. This way we can cut to the chase.” I spread the leather over the ground between us; it’s a very rough map of the world. “I can make your lives more comfortable while you are here. You can provide me information about the areas we’ll be flying over. We all benefit.”

  “Information that can be used against us is not worth a few scraps of cloth,” Ragna scoffs.

  “How would we use this against you?” I ask. “You don’t want to be dropped off in enemy lands; now is your opportunity to tell us which lands those are.” I tap the continent at the bottom of the map. “This is where Jorria is, correct?” I trace my finger an inch to the north-east. “This is where we think we are now. We’re getting close to the southern tip of this other continent. Do you know what it’s called?”

  Neither Jorrian speaks.

  I sigh. “I am a scientist, not a leader. I never pursued this position. I have no skill in politics or public speaking. But I stumbled into a source of great power, and so it is my moral obligation to use that power to help people. I want you to believe me when I tell you this.”

  Gardi eyes me doubtfully. “Why does it matter to you what we believe?”

  “Belief is its own kind of power,” I say. “It can formulate and drive one’s actions. Belief has as much power to do good as to cause harm. If you trust me, we can find a solution that will do the most amount of good by all of us.”

  “Trust,” Ragna spits. “How could we trust anything that comes from the mouth of a Forsaken?”

  I look at her sadly and sigh. “Why do you hate us so much? What have any of us living done to draw such ire?”

  “You defy the will of the gods,” she says.

  I rub a temple. “That doesn’t answer my question. You hate us for the supposed actions of ancient predecessors. Explain to me why such hatred of them should extend to us?”

  “You impersonate their fallen leader,” Ragna says, leaning forward, eyes flashing with anger. “You carry her legacy forward. You continue to stand against everything the gods stand for!”

  I gesture to the empty room around us. “If what you say is true, then why are we still here? If the gods took issue with our existence, then where are they?”

  Ragna falters at this. “They will come,” she says a moment later. “They will deliver justice.”

  “Justice,” I sigh. Perhaps Mirzayael was right about the foolishness of this endeavor. “What justice exists in murder? Do you know how many kids we have in this city? If the gods come, as you say, and they deliver retribution onto all our children—is that just?” Even the thought stirs anger in me. “When we sailed over Jorria, weapons at the ready, distant horns blaring in warning, would raining down vengeance on your streets have been just?”

  Ragna pales, and Gardi stirs. “You didn’t.”

  I hold their looks for a moment. “No,” I say. “We didn’t. I suppose that makes us more just than those you worship.”

  I start to pack my map supplies away once more. “It is a shame. I had hoped we could find common ground. But rest assured, I won’t return to bother you further until we’ve found suitable land for your release.”

  As I’m reaching out to grab the map, however, Ragna places a hand on it as well, stopping me.

  “This is Valenia,” she says, pointing to one of the continents. She drags her finger over to another. “And this is Dunmora.” She taps at a spot on the south point of Dunmora. “It would be better to leave us in Dunmora than Valenia. There’s a string of islands that are used as a trade route and could take us back home.”

  I’m surprised Ragna was the one to speak up. I’d thought if anyone, it would have come from Gardi.

  “Thank you,” I say. “Though based on our current location, we may already be too far east of the island chain you use. It will take a while to come back around again.”

  “We can wait,” Gardi says, folding their arms as they regard the map. “We’ve nothing better to do.”

  I squint at them. An attempt at a joke, perhaps?

  “Your map is shit,” Ragna says, glaring at it. I suppose that’s an improvement over glaring at me. “You don’t even have Mount Shale.”

  I push the map her way, along with a piece of charcoal. “For a people who’s spent hundreds of years underground, I was actually impressed we were able to come up with a map at all. If you’d like to garnish it with more details, be my guest.”

  Ragna hesitates, looking at Gardi.

  “We are not cartographers,” they say. “We can make some guesses.”

  “Can I come back for it tomorrow?” I ask. I wonder if they’ll actually label things correctly, or if they’ll use this to try to mislead me.

  Ragna snorts. “Why are you asking us for permission?”

  “Trust,” I say with a smile.

  I leave the blankets along with the map.

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