Captain Marlowe departs the next morning, sailing ahead to inform the cities of our approach and peaceful intentions—and no doubt to establish himself as our emissary and ensure he’s owed a cut of the profits. His advanced warning should make me feel better about the impending contact with nearby cities, but the previous night’s conflict still weighs heavily on me.

  There’s no sort of community service we can put Salvia on—the city pretty much already operates communally—so we decide to temporarily remove them from guard duties and training. The harpy’s anger has simmered down overnight, and now at least a hint of regret tinges their scowl. I’m not sure if the regret is for attacking the Jorrians, or for not succeeding in killing them.

  Since the arachnoid guard was the only other individual aware of Salvia’s failed assassination attempt, we keep knowledge of the event contained. It would be in our best interest not to draw more negative attention to the Jorrians, but we also don’t want Salvia’s image to be tarnished by the event. They’re young and still have a promising future, if this is something they can move past.

  But the event has me unsettled. I couldn’t see Salvia on the Dungeon Core’s Map Interface because I still don’t have harpies added to the catalog. It highlights how exposed we could be to other types of sabotage once we start letting large numbers of strangers within the walls. Mirzayael is right; I need to prioritize completing that list.

  “Have you started working on the spell circles in the other towers?” I ask Dizzi during our daily leadership meeting.

  We’re in the red room once more, along with all the council members. I’ve wearily collapsed into one of the room’s chairs, while Mirzayael paces behind me in clear agitation.

  “I’ve started working on all of them,” Dizzi says. “But I’ve only brought the research team to two of the other towers. The third is definitely designed to be some sort of weapon. I’ve started a list of names who I think are trustworthy enough to work on it.”

  “Is Salvia on it?” Mirzayael asks, pausing.

  “They’re on my maybe-list,” Dizzi says.

  “Remove them for now,” I say. “We can reevaluate them later.”

  Dizzi cocks an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

  I look at Mirzayael. Salvia is under her command. It’s her call.

  She grimaces. “There was an altercation last night…”

  I watch Nek, Dizzi, and Torim’s expressions as Mirzayael gives them the rundown of what happened. They vary between surprised, angry, and skeptical.

  “I’ll be doubling the guard shifts to avoid a repeat of the incident,” Mirzayael says in closing.

  “Wow.” Dizzi leans back, interlocking her fingers behind her head. “I didn’t think they had it in them.”

  “Hetlanir was an important figure in our community,” Torim says, frowning. “Our colony has not forgotten his sacrifice. If this gets out, they will likely take Salvia’s side.”

  I was afraid of that. “They won’t say anything. But Salvia isn’t the only one who’s lost family to the Jorrians.”

  “We need to get rid of them,” Nek says with a rumbling sigh. “Their presence here will only continue to increase tensions.”

  He’s right. But I think about Gardi and the empty tone in their voice when they said they no longer had a home.

  “I’d like to drop off Ragna at one of the nearest cities,” I say. “I told both of them we’d try to get them home—I was hoping for some change of heart—but after last night, I believe whatever progress we made has been irreparably damaged. Ragna won’t consider trusting us again. The sooner we release her, the sooner we reduce the likelihood of another conflict.”

  Everyone seems relieved by this suggestion.

  “What about the other one?” Torim asks.

  I hesitate, knowing people are going to like this suggestion significantly less. “I think they should be given the opportunity for rehabilitation.”

  “Absolutely not,” Torim says.

  “They’re a danger,” Nek agrees.

  Even Dizzi looks skeptical. “Are you sure?”

  Mirzayael just waits for me to explain my reasoning.

  “I don’t think they are a danger,” I say, addressing Nek’s concern. “First, they’re not even a soldier; they were an ice worker conscripted into helping to create a hole in the surface of the ice when the assault first began. An ability they’ve clearly been hiding before now. They could have broken out any moment after they were healed, but they haven’t.

  “Second, Gardi spared Salvia’s life. They were going to kill the Jorrians; Gardi had every reason to take their life, and given the magic they were capable of…” I meet Mirzayael’s gaze. “You saw it. They easily could have killed the person they were targeting with those ice shards. But they didn’t.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “And finally, they not only saved Salvia’s life, but stopped their ally from doing what they could not. It could have been easy for them to only use the spell in their own self-defense and allowed Ragna to dispatch of the indefensible Salvia. But they didn’t. They stopped Ragna, too.”

  I blow out a breath. “They don’t want any more death. That much is clear. And Ragna certainly won’t see them as an ally anymore. So our options are release them, whereupon they’ll be executed or exiled, or give them the opportunity for a second chance.”

  Nek is shaking his head.

  Mirzayael also doesn’t like this. “Even if they are able to reform, how could we ever trust them? They’re an outsider.”

  “So was I,” I counter. “So was Ollie.”

  “So were our ancestors,” Torim adds with a sigh. “Were they not all strangers from different lands, carrying with them different values, come together beneath Fyreneth’s banner?”

  I wasn’t expecting to receive support from Torim. The dracid can be difficult to pin down.

  This quiets Nek and Mirzayael’s objections.

  She shakes her head. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Occasional supervised outings,” I say. “Allow them to stretch their legs a little. See the sun. Witness what sort of people we really are. We can see what happens from there.”

  “Their presence will upset many Fyrethains,” Nek points out. “Especially ones who have lost family members.”

  “Only the guards know what they look like,” I say. “And even then, they’ve probably just caught glimpses. But we can wait until we make contact with the next city. Get people used to the idea of any outsiders walking through our streets first.”

  “Waiting’s probably a good idea,” Dizzi agrees. “It’s still kind of weird seeing all these species I’ve never met before. Marlowe’s crew seemed nice, though.”

  That’s an approval from Dizzi and Torim, then. “Nek?” I ask.

  He folds his arms with a huff. “It makes me uneasy. I have not had much interaction with Gardi, outside the brief conversation we shared on maps and trade. They seemed more agreeable than Ragna, but if they kept their ice magic so close to their chest, they surely are capable of concealing other things.” He shakes his head. “I am undecided. As I wasn’t there to witness the altercation you described, I will defer to you and Mirzayael’s decision on the matter.”

  Just Mirzayael then. I can sense her conflicted thoughts on the issue already.

  “This crusade of yours to prove a single heart can be changed seems a waste of energy and time,” she remarks.

  “Then consider it a hobby,” I say. “It won’t impact the time I spend on my responsibilities to the city.”

  She drums her fingers on one of her legs. “I’ll conditionally accept,” she says. “The condition being, you offer them a choice: they can be dropped off at Mount Haze with Ragna, or they can remain here in custody with us.”

  A fair choice. One I’m sure everyone in this room would assume is an easy choice. Why wouldn’t Gardi want to go free?

  But I have a hunch about them. “I accept these conditions. Thank you,” I add. “I have to at least try.”

  Mirzayael waves her hand dismissively, as if clearing a bad odor out of the room. “Enough talk on the Jorrians. The sooner we never have to mention their country again, the better. We have more immediate concerns to worry about.”

  “Like the festival?” Dizzi asks.

  “And organizing trade with the city,” Nek says.

  Torim frowns. “Will these two events be concurrent?”

  “No,” I say. “At least, not as it’s currently planned. The Festival is scheduled for three days from now, while we’ll be passing over Deltablue tomorrow, and we will arrive at Mount Haze in six.”

  “That’s going to be busy,” Dizzi remarks. “Should we put the festival off?”

  “Or move it to coincide with the arrival at Haze,” I suggest. “Perhaps it would be good to present a celebratory atmosphere when traders arrive.”

  “No,” Mirzayael says sharply. “We will have it as scheduled.”

  I look up at her in surprise, given her firm tone. Not that I particularly had strong feelings on when the festival occurred, one way or another, but it’s clear Mirzayael does.

  “We need a break,” she says in answer to my look. Her tone softens. “All of us. Soon our lives will be entwined with these other cities. We’re not used to this. To so many people, and so much change. The festival should be just for Fyrethians. A celebration of what we have accomplished. One last day to relax among what is familiar and comforting before we are thrust into a much larger world.”

  I smile softly, and reach over to squeeze her hand. “No, you’re perfectly right. My suggestion was misguided. A day just for us is what we all need. We’ll have it as planned.”

  Mirzayael’s hand twitches, but doesn’t move. “Good. It’s decided then.” In our minds, though, her fingers entwine with mine.

  The remainder of the meeting turns toward logistics and agriculture, and soon after that it ends. I stretch my arms and wings above my head as I stand. It’s only morning and it already feels like I’ve run a marathon.

  Trade tomorrow. The festival after that. Visitors two days later. And dealing with Gardi, somewhere in the mix.

  Not to mention keeping an eye on Salvia, checking back in on the watchtower’s spell circles, and figuring out a way to get more species into my Map Interface without death or murder.

  The last one, though, I think I might have an idea on.

  I rake my talons through my wings as Mirzayael also stretches herself out, briefly stretching up to an imposing height of almost ten feet. I find a loose feather and comb it out of my wings. Rolling the bright red and orange plumage between my fingers, I offer it to the Dungeon Core as a snack.

  Oh yes, it very much would like a snack! The feather blinks from my fingers as the Core sucks it up like a piece of spaghetti. Hm. Soft and squishy, but not much flavor.

  I check the Map’s catalog next; Harpy has not appeared in the list of tracked species.

  Echo, I prompt. Why did Mirzayael’s leg work to populate Arachnoid in the Dungeon Core’s Map catalog, but this feather wasn’t enough for Harpy to be listed?

  [The minimum mass threshold has not been met,] Echo says.

  How much would be enough? I ask.

  [For the desired species, a minimum of 1.2 kilograms would be required.]

  That’s a lot of feathers. But we have a lot of harpies.

  What mass do we need for dracid? I ask.

  [2.4 kilograms.]

  I wonder if that’s because dracid weigh more than the light-weight harpies.

  But I’ve got an idea for the dracid, too.

  “Uh oh,” Mirzayael says, looking over at me.

  My stomach lurches. “What is it now?”

  “You.” She smiles slyly. “You felt excited about something. Something weird.”

  I relax with a laugh. “It is weird. But I think you’ll like the results. Dracid shed their skin, don’t they?”

  Mirzayael raises an eyebrow. “They do. Young dracid especially.”

  “What is generally done with the shed skin?”

  She shrugs. “It’s often disposed of. Probably some ends up with the waste, while more might be mixed in with the fertilizer.”

  “How much do you think we could gather up?” I ask.

  Mirzayael wrinkles her nose in distaste. “These results better be as enticing as promised.”

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