The festive atmosphere is sustained over the next several days, and by the time Mount Haze is in sight, the city seems more excited than nervous to meet with traders.

  We’ve caught sight of distant airships on the horizon for the last couple days, but now the sky is practically teeming with them.

  The mountain itself, which appears to be a dormant volcano, climbs about two thirds the way toward our Fortress from sea level. The city fills the caldera and spills over its sides, much like cooled lava, coloring the upper quarter of the mountain with tiered houses and farms. The airships all drift beneath us. I suppose they typically have no reason to fly higher than the mountaintop. But today, a train of ships is rising to meet us.

  Having learned from Captain Marlowe’s visit, I’ve adapted the wall around the front half of the city to accommodate airships. There are now pilings for them to anchor to, and stone boardwalks that stretch out into the sky for easier docking. Along with Mirzayael, the counselors, and a dozen guards and messengers, I eagerly await the ships’ arrivals. As they slow and slot between the boardwalks, I watch to make sure the alterations were done properly, and mentally take notes for how I can tweak things to make things smoother next time. Six ships pull in to dock, but it’s the nearest one with the bright red balloon I recognize.

  “Captain Marlowe,” I greet as the man strides off his ship with a wide grin. “I see you’ve been busy.”

  “Of course,” he says, coming forward to clasp my and Mirzayael’s hands in a firm grip. “Couldn’t let an opportunity like this slip through my fingers, could I? I hope I’m not too late, however. You two look smart. Haven’t been trading without me?”

  Mirzayael and I decided we should make a strong impression with the traders. If we appear poor, they might think we would accept less lucrative offers, while if we appear more prosperous, they are more likely to want to impress. We hadn’t planned our first meeting with Captain Marlowe, so there’s nothing we can do about his first impressions, but this encounter we have more control over.

  We’re both wearing less ornate versions of the gowns we had worn at the feast. The colors are the same, but the style is more practical; for Mirzayael, the shimmering cloth is looped about her arms, but cinched tight around her chest and abdomen, where she’s wearing a light version of her armor. The effect is quite stunning; she looks both warrior and queen.

  I myself am wearing a black vest of the same material, with billowing loose pants that almost appear like a skirt when I’m standing still, and a brightly colored sash tied at my waist. While I enjoyed all the tassels on the dress, it simply isn’t practical if I want to fly anywhere. This outfit at least doesn’t risk getting tangled in my wings or singed by my flames.

  “Not at all,” I say to the captain. “These outfits are of our own making. But I’ll be sure to pass on your compliments to Yequirael. Now, what can you tell us about our guests?”

  Captain Marlowe’s eyes glint with a hungry and eager look as he catches my drift. His voice drops, not quiet enough to seem suspicious, but enough that I doubt anyone from the other disembarking ships could hear. From a distance, it would appear a friendly and casual conversation.

  “The black ship belongs to Calaman, head of the local banking guild,” he says. “She’s interested in metals. She likes a good wine.” He inclines his head slightly to his right. “The ship with the white and blue balloon is carrying Lord Merit; they’re the head of a noble house that dabbles in artificing. The lamia, Korzo, is a prominent figure in the airship construction industry—he might be rich now, but he worked his way up from the scrap heap, so he likes a hands-on approach. The smallest ship at the end is a group of scholars who won’t have much to offer in terms of trade, but could be a valuable source of information. And the green ship has a couple pursers representing the agriculture guild; they’ll be interested in your textiles, if you can impress them with more similar to what you two are wearing. Got all that?”

  I’m not sure I do, but I have Echo to help remind me of everyone’s names, at least. “I appreciate the insight, and hope you’ll continue to facilitate the coming discussions as well.”

  Captain Marlowe winks. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  The airship crews set about securing their vessels as the important figures of each disembark and meet us on the wall. Many of them are species Echo had mentioned, but I haven’t met before today; at least the same can be said for Mirzayael and the other Fyrethians, so I’m not the only one who’s trying not to stare.

  “My friends,” Marlowe says, sweeping an introductory hand toward all the guests. Then he makes a curious gesture; I don’t understand what it’s for until he continues to gesture as he speaks.

  Echo pipes in with, [Foreign language detected. Activate translation?]

  I blink. It’s some form of sign language. I wonder if one of our nobles is deaf? Yes please, I say to Echo, and the motions abruptly take on new meaning within my mind.

  “I’m pleased to introduce you all to Lord Mirzayael and Lord Fyre,” Marlowe continues. I stare at him in fascination, wondering how my mind can make sense of a language I’ve previously never encountered. Magic is the answer, obviously, but it still captivates me.

  Marlowe repeats a round of introductions, as if he’d not just told me who each group was, and everyone steps forward to clasp hands as they’re mentioned. As the lamia, Korzo, greets me, I notice his gaze linger on Marlowe’s signs. He must be who the sign language is for, then. But as two more lamia from the scholar and agriculture group also are introduced, I notice a similar pattern. In fact, as I examine them, I realize I can’t see any ears on their otherwise human-esque heads. I’m unsurprised I hadn’t noticed right away, as my gaze had initially been drawn to the lower half of their body, which is that of a snake’s tail in place of legs. Just like the Greek figure of legend. Curious.

  Are lamia deaf? I ask Echo.

  [Lamia have reduced hearing as compared to most sentient species on Lusio,] Echo replies. [Due to their lack of vocal chords, Common Signs are their primary language.]

  Fascinating! Can I learn it too? I ask her. Is there a way you can teach me the movements, similar to how you’re translating them?

  [Negative,] Echo says. [Translation may only occur to the user’s language, not from.]

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Unfortunate, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Echo seems to be acting as a filter in my mind, interpreting what I see and hear into something I can understand, but that doesn’t mean she can give me the muscle memory to speak a language I don’t already know. Ah well, it was worth a try.

  “Welcome,” I say once the introductions are complete. Captain Marlowe, I notice, interprets my speech into sign language. “And thank you for agreeing to meet with us. I’d like to give you a tour of the city first, and then we can break for lunch and discuss business from there, if it suits you.”

  “If it suits us?” one of the scholars, an elf, repeats. “We’d be delighted! It isn’t every day a city floats over your home.”

  “Though anything indoors would be appreciated,” one of the agriculture pursers adds. She has grey skin and pointed fangs, is wearing a cowl that casts her face in shadows, and has a strange narrow band fixed over her eyes. Echo calls her a dhampyr, informing me that they have trouble seeing in bright light, and their skin is particularly sensitive to the sun. I’ll be honest: they very much look like a vampire. Another species with features similar to Earth mythology! I have so many questions I wish to ask. But I suppose that can wait until we’re all more familiar with each other, first.

  “Of course, we’d be happy to accommodate,” I say. “Let’s get off this wall and make our way to the palace.”

  As we walk, Dizzi immediately inserts herself into the scholar group—yes, I am vaguely envious—and strikes up a conversation about rune research and theory. I’m sure she’s interested to get her hands on any symbols that might have been lost to time for Fyrethians. Lord Merit, the noble whose house is involved with artificing, also drifts over to listen. Nek engages the agriculture group, who we’re likely to do the most trade with, while Captain Marlowe continues to chat up me and anyone else who makes eye contact. He really is rather good at breaking the ice.

  Mirzayael, for her part, remains largely silent except to answer any questions directly asked of her, which does an excellent job of retaining her imposing atmosphere. Our guests quickly recognize this and field any questions they have toward me, with glances toward Mirzayael that indicate they suspect she’s the one actually in charge.

  The assumption amuses me, but it also works out in our favor. Mirzayael, who is also entertained by the developing dynamic, will mentally reply to me any time she wants to add something, and I’ll voice it as if it’s my own thought.

  “They view you as an accessory to me,” Mirzayael remarks, feeling a mix of flattered and offended on my behalf.

  “It’s because you’re acting so mysterious,” I tell her, still nodding along to Lord Calaman, who is explaining the local economic structure.

  “I’m not acting.”

  “You’re right, you’re just naturally mysterious,” I tease. “But this presents us with an interesting opportunity. They probably believe I have your ear, and they might try to curry favor with me as a means to negotiating advantageous deals with you. We could use this to try to gain insight into what they really want from working with us.”

  Mirzayael glances down at me with a side-eye and faint smile. “That’s rather devious of you. Though for it to work, you’ll need to play dumb, and I’m unsure if you’re capable of that.”

  “I could!” I insist, though honestly I think Mirzayael may be right. I’m already itching to join in on the artificing conversation. “Who knows? It could be fun.”

  She chuckles. “Don’t let me stop you. But I give it two hours before they realize you’re more clever than you’re letting on.”

  We keep to the shade of buildings as we take the main road up to the palace entrance, and the handful of dhampyrs who have accompanied us gratefully drop their cowls and remove their eye pieces when we step inside. I don’t lead them on a complete tour, of course; these are still strangers in our home, and it can’t hurt to be cautious, but I take them to all the most impressive rooms available to the public. We stop by the great hall, where we’ll be returning for lunch, and visit Yequirael and the textile group, who are operating out of an adapted ballroom. Our guests, and especially the scholars, marvel over the intricate tile work that decorates most rooms, and everyone seems delighted by the bathhouse (though it’s still only half filled).

  By early afternoon everyone is ready to break for a meal, and the group seems sufficiently loosened up and talkative. Nek sets about getting everyone situated in various meal circles as I step away to speak with the kitchen crew and make a few special requests.

  The main kitchen is an impressively large room, though it’s clear it wasn’t originally intended to serve the main hall, but rather the smaller dining rooms immediately adjacent. Even so, I’ve shifted some doors around to cut a direct path between the kitchen and main hall, so you only have to pass down one hallway and cut through one dining room to get there.

  It’s as I’m heading through this corridor that something snags my attention. I’m not sure if it was a flicker of motion or faint rustle of sound, but it makes me stop. I’d just passed by an open doorframe, which leads into one of the palace’s many unused rooms. I cock my head, and hear nothing. Even so, I’m drawn back.

  I pause in the doorway, blinking against the dark of the chamber. As my eyes adjust, my heart skips a beat as I’m alarmed to find there is someone there.

  I can’t make out any details, but since their attire is white, they show up readily in the room’s shadows. They’re standing at the opposite wall, about ten meters away. A shiver runs down my spine at the eeriness of it all. What are they doing, standing there alone in the dark? They still haven’t moved. Are they attempting to hide?

  With mounting unease, I decide to act first.

  [Blaze activated.]

  Fire bursts into my hand, light flaring through the room and chasing away all the shadows. The stranger whips around in surprise as my spell activates, and an unnatural breeze brushes past me.

  “Fyreneth?” she asks, her voice full of fascination.

  The name summons a lump in my throat. “You are mistaken,” I say, frowning at the young woman. We hadn’t told any of our guests that we were Fyrethians. I narrow my eyes. “What do you know of her?”

  The woman is dressed in white and black—I think I recognize her as one of the scholars—and is wearing a pair of round, black-tinted glasses.

  Her look of surprise melts into an easy smile. “My apologies. You bear an uncanny resemblance.” She gestures to the wall behind her.

  She’s standing at the base of a life-sized statue of Fyreneth. Her features have been weathered away, but her name is still carved into the pedestal at its base.

  The young woman appears relaxed, but this exchange has me on edge. “Why were you standing here in the dark?” I ask.

  “Was I?” She laughs. “Then my apologies again. I was unaware, though I can see how suspicious that might look.” She taps her glasses. “The wind helps me see many things, but light is not one of them.”

  The breeze I felt before stirs faintly around me, barely grazing my skin. I recognize it from all the times I’ve seen harpies do much the same: an air affinity.

  Oh. She’s blind. My unease fades into mild embarrassment. “No, I’m sorry. That was rather rude of me. You’re with the scholars, correct?”

  “That I am. Oh! But where are my manners?” She crosses the room, offering a hand. “I’m Lisari.”

  I clasp it. “Pleasure to—”

  Something prickles at my mind the moment our hands make contact. It’s a distant… pull. I can’t describe it. The Dungeon Core notices, too.

  What’s this? It’s making it hungry.

  I let go of Lisari’s hand, and the moment passes. The Dungeon Core looks around, confused. I’ve been knocked off balance, too.

  “...meet you,” I say faintly.

  I Check her.

  Echo pauses half a second before she replies. [Lisari: Level 21 Human Alchemist.]

  “Well, I suppose I should head back to the others,” Lisari says, oblivious to the odd sensation I just experienced. She steps around me. “Sorry for wandering off in the first place. It’s just such a fascinating city. I can’t wait to come back and explore it more thoroughly. I hope this will be the beginning of a rewarding relationship for the both of us.”

  She hums a pleasant tune as she strolls back down the passage toward the main hall, and I’m left staring at her back, baffled. Had I only imagined it? No—the Dungeon Core had noticed something, too. It wasn’t in my head. But Echo hadn’t reported anything strange. I’ll need to keep an eye on her.

  It isn’t until she steps back into the main hall that I realize she never answered my question about Fyreneth.

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