“I don’t like this,” Mirzayael thinks. “We know nothing about them.”

  “GUESTS?” Ollie repeats excitedly. “ARE THEY BRINGING ANY TOYS?”

  The Dungeon Core notices new matter enter its range. Oh, it has not eaten these things, before! Can it have a little taste? Just a nibble.

  “No!” I cry.

  Captain Marlowe raises an eyebrow at me. “Something the matter?”

  “No,” I repeat. I try to smooth out my expression, which undoubtedly was in some state of alarm. “Just thinking of something. I’m glad you accepted our invitation.”

  “Please, give me a few minutes,” I tell my mental ensemble. “I need a clear head.”

  I tune out Mirzayael and Ollie’s mental connections. I’d do the same with the Dungeon Core if I could, but it seems to be a special case. Perhaps because of the Pact we made. Regardless, I need to keep tabs on it to make sure it doesn’t try to eat any parts of the airship that has just sailed into its range.

  We ended up staying longer than planned, and by the time we were ready to depart, the sun was hanging low on the horizon. I asked if they’d prefer to dock at our city and spend the night, and after talking it over with his crew, Marlowe had accepted.

  It was only after I offered that I realized I hadn’t asked Mirzayael if it would be alright. I do feel a bit guilty about that; we’re supposed to be a team. But what’s done is done, and Mirzayael had said I don’t need to check with her on everything.

  “The air’s growing warmer,” Marlowe remarks as we ascend.

  “Oh. Yes, that would be the atmospheric spell we have in effect around the Fortress,” I say.

  He raises his brows. “The entire city?”

  “It helps with the altitude sickness, and keeps the city heated.”

  “It thickens the air,” the captain surmises, adjusting some of the spells on his control panel.

  “It does,” I admit, a bit impressed. “I’m surprised you could tell.”

  “I know my ship,” he says. Dizzi’s new spell circles are sketched out in chalk on a blank portion of the panel, but they’re currently inactive. Everyone agreed it would be best to switch flight controls over to the new spell circuit after the ship was safely grounded. “It’s handling here how it usually handles at sea level.”

  “The spell gradually dissipates the further it gets from the Fortress, so there’s no abrupt change in pressure,” I explain.

  Captain Marlowe chuckles, the sound rumbling and low. “Kind of you to be so considerate for us airships.”

  “It was designed for our harpies, admittedly,” I say. “Though now I’m glad we have it.”

  As we come level with the city walls, Marlowe’s crew gasps and murmurs. Much of the city was obscured from below. But up here, lit with the fiery colors of the sunset, it truly is a breathtaking sight.

  I gradually tune myself back into Ollie and Mirzayael’s mental frequencies.

  Mirzayael is grumbling something to Ollie. “...half a mind to let you do exactly that.”

  “Do what?” I ask, suspicious.

  “FYRE! MIRZAYAEL SAID I COULD COME GREET THE SHIP!”

  “I did not,” she objects.

  “Hold on, Ollie,” I tell him, but the dragon has already taken flight from where he had been perched on a balcony high outside the palace, and I can see him coasting down toward us.

  “We have a dragon and he’s friendly,” I quickly blurt out before anyone can panic. No one seems to have noticed the approaching—

  Someone gives a startled shout. Okay, now they’ve noticed.

  Ollie flaps his wings as he lands on the nearby city wall, his wind buffeting the ship. More people cry out in alarm.

  Ollie giggles. “IT LOOKS LIKE A TOY. LOOK, THE BALLOON IS JUST MY SIZE!” He lets out an amused huff, and a cold puff of air rolls over us. Several of the crew draw weapons, but their captain stays them.

  “Hold!” He gives me a sharp look.

  For a moment, I catch a dangerous flicker in his eyes—something I’d feared to find when we first boarded his ship. Then it’s gone, and he lets out an annoyed sigh.

  “Anyone else, and I’d think this was some kind of set up,” he says, risking a look back toward the dragon. “But you seem far too earnest for that. Mind telling me why you didn’t inform me of your pet?”

  “He’s not a pet. He’s…” What, a seven-year-old human child from another world transported into the body of a dragon? “...my familiar.” That’s how everyone sees Ollie, anyway, and it’s easier than trying to explain the truth.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I meant to ask him to stay back, but he’s too curious for his own good.”

  “Ollie, do not approach the ship,” I mentally add. “They’re all a bit spooked.”

  Mirzayael laughs ruefully. “At least now they’ll think twice about trying to pull something.”

  Not helping, Mir.

  “Familiar?” Captain Marlowe asks, watching Ollie in a mix of awe and caution. “You certainly picked a big one.”

  Ollie lays down, his tail draping over the wall like a lounging cat. Though he’s still watching us, head tipped curiously, he now at least appears a bit less threatening. The crew are all clearly still a bit on edge, but the few who drew weapons sheath them once more.

  It takes another ten minutes for the ship to maneuver into position and dock, anchoring to the city wall with dozens of ropes. As the crew prepares to disembark, I have all the harpies withdraw as well.

  “I will speak with you again momentarily, captain,” I say, respectfully bowing my head. “I wish to meet the welcome party and ensure all arrangements are in order.”

  “I’ll be seeing you shortly, then.” Captain Marlowe turns back to his crew, surveying their preparations.

  I hop over the ship’s rail and activate a brief Jet to slow my fall. It’s not far, but the crew is deploying a handful of ladders to close the gap.

  Mirzayael is there waiting for me, along with most of her guard and the other council leaders. At some point before the airship docked, she managed to retrieve her spear and adorn some of her favorite armor. She looks rather imposing, and not just because she’s scowling, as I head her way. I attempt an apologetic smile.

  “We’re not ready for this,” she says, even though I’m within earshot. She must not want the other guards to hear her voice such doubts.

  “We’ll need to be,” I reply. “If we’re going to be passing by a city full of airships in less than a week, hosting guests will become inevitable. Better to get practice with this small group than to be unprepared and overwhelmed with the next.”

  “Guests,” Mirzayael repeats with distaste. “Our city was never meant to host…”

  She trails off, her thoughts turning uncertain. But of course, Fyreneth’s kingdom was designed to host outsiders. It had been a city open to anyone—that’s what Beryl had said, anyway. Mirzayael, too, understands that Fyreneth would have wanted to see her vision fulfilled. Yet it’s antithetical to everything Mirzayael has ever believed. Things have changed since Fyreneth’s reign. I can feel her warring with these two opposing sets of values.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “One step at a time,” I tell her, stopping at her side and patting her nearest leg. Her torso is too high, or I would have executed a more comforting gesture. Like… rub her back, perhaps. Or squeeze her shoulder. Or pull her into a hug.

  Though it’s hard to envision Mirzayael finding any of these acts reassuring, and I’m not particularly good at physical expressions of affection, anyway.

  But to my surprise, she returns the gesture, resting a hand on my shoulder. The contact flushes me with warmth.

  I keep careful hold of my thoughts.

  Captain Marlowe and a portion of his crew descend from their ship to meet us on the wall. He looks between Mirzayael and I.

  “Captain Marlowe,” I say, “This is Lord Mirzayael, co-ruler of our Fortress.”

  His mouth twitches with a smile as he approaches and gives a respectful bow. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. My crew and I appreciate the spontaneous hospitality.” His gaze goes back to me, eyes dancing with mischievous amusement. “An overstated honorific, you said?”

  At the time, I hadn’t expected them all to come back to the Fortress with us. “I’m sure you can understand the need to exercise prudence among strangers.”

  “Aye,” he agrees. “Though I’d like to hope this will be the start of a fruitful relationship between us.”

  Mirzayael’s grip briefly tightens on my shoulder before she lets go, beckoning the captain and his crew to follow. “We will show you to where you may choose to room for the night, if it will not be on your ship. Then we can speak more over supper.”

  Marlowe tips his head. “Much obliged.”

  Most of the houses in Fyreneth’s Fortress are empty, so finding them a place to stay for the night is not difficult. The aviators look around the city in awe as we lead them up the winding streets of the city until we arrive at the palace entrance. To this day, we still have communal meals in the palace’s great hall. I’m unsure what the room had been dedicated to originally, but it will forever forth be our dining room.

  Marlowe’s crew gawk as we lead them inside. The architecture really is stunning, especially now that most of the signs of age have been repaired. Spell circles light sconces in the walls, and a fire motif is apparent both in the color and design of arches that stretch far overhead. All the main chambers are large enough for harpies to comfortably fly in, and in fact many rooms are joined not only with doors at their base, but also with openings near the ceiling. Though it’s still before sunset, some have already filed into the mess hall and have started to eat.

  Fyrethians share communal meals, often in groups of five to ten, forming a circle around the shared food in the middle. Countless rings of cushions and furs are arranged around the hall for such purposes.

  The one at the head of the room is where Mirzayael, the other council members, and I often sit. We invite Captain Marlowe to join us, and show his crew to nearby circles, already partly populated with early eaters. I make sure to keep at least two Fyrethians and two of Marlowe’s crew together as I space them out, so no one feels threatened and alone, but also to encourage interactions between the two groups. When I sit down, I do so in a way so I face the rest of the hall and keep an eye on things. Mirzayael sits to my right and Marlowe to my left, both also facing the mess hall.

  “It’s extraordinary,” Marlowe says, his eyes wandering across the mosaics in the ceiling and walls. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I agree, admiring the art.

  “Did you have this done?” he wonders, likely drawing the connection between my plumage and the fiery harpy motifs throughout.

  “No, everything you see here long predates us,” I say, sharing a look with Mirzayael. “We just inherited it.”

  “I’m surprised I’ve never heard of this place before,” Marlowe says. “Where did you come from?”

  I hesitate. I wasn’t expecting him to dig down to our roots so quickly. Mirzayael and I had agreed to leave Fyreneth’s name out of any discussions with traders, but the more we interact with them, the more difficult that will become.

  Mirzayael speaks up before I’ve decided what would be appropriate to say. “The arctic.”

  “Is that alright to divulge?” I mentally ask her.

  “I wish to gauge his reaction and see what he knows about the place,” Mirzayael replies. “If he knows anything about us.”

  Captain Marlowe frowns thoughtfully. “Not much familiar with those parts. Airships don’t do well in such weather. Tough place to live, I imagine.” He raises an eyebrow at us. “Is that why you left?”

  “In part,” I allow. “We are searching for a more hospitable place to set our kingdom down for good.”

  “Are you? That’s a shame.” Marlowe looks up when a few plates of food are laid between us. They’re a few of the fish meals the chefs developed from the ship we traded with. The new dishes have been an amazing change of pace. “A floating city is so much more interesting than a stationary one.”

  I laugh at that. “I’d tend to agree. But our cloudstone won’t keep us aloft forever.”

  “Unfortunate,” Marlowe says as I serve him a plate of the meal. “I can’t imagine how much easier it would be to guard your borders. Not as many beasts to worry about up here, either.”

  “Not as many?” Mirzayael asks.

  “Oh, sure,” Captain Marlowe says. He gestures to one of his scars, a long gash that runs down his forearm. “A hippogriff gave me this one. The color of our ship is good to avoid air collisions at a port, but also good at attracting curious animals in the wild.”

  To my surprise, Mirzayael’s interest actually seems to be piqued. “What other sort of animals have you run into?”

  “In the air?” Marlowe asks. “Well, it depends on where you are. But we’ve had run-ins with griffins, lightning hawks, amphipteres…”

  I’m starting to deduce where all the captain’s scars have come from.

  I quietly remove myself from the conversation to allow for Marlowe and Mirzayael to talk. It’s rare she’s interested in something like this, so I better leave her to it for as long as it lasts.

  As the meal goes on, we each take turns fetching more dishes or drink from the kitchen. The Fyrethians and the aviators appear to be warming up to one another. Mirzayael’s mind feels at ease. Well, her version of at ease, which is still a good deal more tense and vigilant than anyone else I’ve ever known. Eventually, conversation turns back to trade.

  “I wish we had more to offer,” the captain says, “but as we were flying out to gather commodities, we didn’t bring much with us.”

  “Actually, I have a strange request you might be able to help me with,” I say to Captain Marlowe. “Please indulge me.”

  He crooks an eyebrow. “I’m indulging.”

  “I wonder if I could take shavings of material off your ship,” I say. “It contains several alloys of metal that isn’t yet in… ah, our archives. It wouldn’t be much, or anywhere you’d miss it.”

  Marlowe blinks. “Can’t say I was expecting that,” he admits. “How would these shavings help your archives?”

  The Dungeon Core’s presence is one thing Mirzayael and I agreed should not be disseminated to any outside forces. The legends around Fyreneth indicate it was somehow entangled in the motives for the original fall of her empire, so the only thing we gain from revealing its presence is unwanted attention.

  Luckily, Dizzi jumps in before I can come up with a good response. “We’ve got some material analysis spells,” she says. “I use them in my artificing lab. There’s still holes in my catalog of matter, and the more I fill in, the more complex inventions I can construct.”

  That’s not even a complete lie, either. We’ve filled out quite a bit of the Periodic Table, which Dizzi eats up like… well I guess like the Dungeon Core eats up rocks.

  Marlowe looks thoughtfully amused, but nods along to Dizzi’s explanation. “How could I say no after you designed those new flight spells for us?” He looks back to Mirzayael and I. “Knowledge. That’s the commodity you should be focused on trading.”

  We’d already spoken with him about how little we have to trade, and our concern about arriving at Mount Haze with little to offer.

  “Most merchants might not see the value,” he adds, “but if you could get some mages and scholars up here, they’d pay a pretty penny just to examine this atmospheric spell you have.”

  “People would pay for such knowledge?” Mirzayael asks skeptically.

  I’m skeptical for a different reason. “Knowledge should be freely shared.”

  “That sort of reasoning will leave you poor,” Captain Marlowe says to me. “But there’s many ways you could do it. Trade some of your knowledge for some of theirs. Sell some of these flight spell circle designs—or even just the theory behind them. Sounds like you’ve got some kind of archives in the works; those don’t fly over your city every day. Knowledge-share between the continents can take some time. Your city has the potential to be an imposing learning hub—possibly more so than the Athenaeum of Miasmere, given your mobility.”

  A flying Library of Alexandria? Now that is a dream I would love to manifest! If only we could stay aloft indefinitely to make that happen.

  “And what do you stand to gain from all this?” Mirzayael asks. “As you said, you’ve little to offer in way of trade.”

  There’s a mischievous curl to his smile. “Nothing but your good favor, I should hope.”

  Mirzayael gives him a hard look. “And I imagine this good favor would include certain trade privileges?”

  He grins. “I wouldn’t want to presume. But if you were to offer my crew priority in the trading of any commodities we procure, I certainly wouldn’t object.”

  Mirzayael walked into that one. “I think we can work something out,” I say before Mirzayael can respond with something prickly. “Of course, we could also benefit from a knowledgeable advisor who could help oversee initial trade opportunities while dealing with Mount Haze.”

  Marlowe’s grin broadens. “I think that can be arranged.”

  Mirzayael is skeptical. “You don’t think he’ll try to take advantage of us?”

  “He might,” I admit. “But we won’t know until we try. It can’t hurt to start making allies now; and if he is looking to swindle us, I’ve only established him as our go-between for Mount Haze, not anywhere else.”

  Mirzayael chews on this, then sends her approval. “That’s an acceptable plan. We’ll see how he handles the first few trade discussions, and can reevaluate from there.”

  I try to imagine the Mirzayael I first met agreeing to give a stranger a chance to prove their trustworthiness. A human stranger, no less. She’s changed since then, even if the change is subtle. I wonder if I’ve changed in ways I might not be aware of, too?

  I’m standing up to grab more water when I notice one of Mirzayael’s small silk spiders scurry up to her. She pauses, then sweeps up the spell construct and pushes herself to her feet. Alarm swells within her mind.

  “If you would excuse me,” she says casually, betraying none of her inner turmoil. “I need to attend to something. I should be back before long.”

  She takes up her spear, calmly strolling toward the nearest doorway.

  Without looking at me, she mentally says, “The Jorrians’ cell is open. The prisoners have escaped.”

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