“Well! This has been an exciting adventure,” Noli signs over breakfast the next morning. “I suppose that means we’ll be making our descent today?”

  “We will.” Zyneth flips the skewers of meat over to grill against the fire.

  “Praise the gods,” Rezira mumbles.

  “So what is the plan to get down?” I ask Zyneth. “Last I recalled, even the base of the Drifting Isles is a fatal distance above the ground.”

  “The Locate spell wasn’t the only single-use circle I purchased back in Harrowood,” Zyneth says. “I also acquired several copies of a Drift spell. Enough for all of us.”

  Rezira pales. “No. No way.”

  Noli chuckles. “Don’t worry, dear, I’ll hold onto you.”

  “What’s a Drift spell?” I ask, already getting an inkling from Rezira’s reaction.

  “It’s a wind arcana spell,” Attiru says, looking up from one of their books. “It slows the fall of objects.” It seems to take them that long to draw the connection. “Wait. Oh, no, Zyneth, you can’t really mean that’s how we’ll be getting down.”

  “It’s completely safe,” Zyneth insists. “I’ve used them on occasion before.”

  “Well that’s great for you,” Rezira grumbles. “But excuse the rest of us for not being thrilled with the idea of falling two hundred feet.”

  “It’s more like gliding,” Zyneth says, looking slightly embarrassed.

  “Did you forget that not everyone in the world are thrill-seekers?” I tease. I’m not terribly bothered by the idea, actually. I’ve semi-floated a couple of times now, with Ink’s help. But not everyone has a guardian demon on their shoulder, and I can understand Rezira and Attiru’s reluctance.

  Zyneth ducks his head, prodding at the breakfast meat. “I’m used to doing these missions alone. I typically don’t have to worry about the preferences of others.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” Noli assures him, patting Rezira’s arm.

  “Although the way we get down is really only half the equation,” Attiru adds, setting some pages aside. They’ve been busy pouring over their papers, adding new details to their map of the Drifting Isles. The previous night, they’d double checked their tracking spell had worked and finalized the magic on their Ruins map. “Where we get down is just as important. We don’t want to end up in the middle of the wilderness. Or out over the ocean.”

  Zyneth looks up at them with a blank face. “That didn’t even occur to me.”

  I laugh.

  “I don’t typically go on missions to Ruins that move,” he objects, distraught. Zyneth knuckles his forehead. “Ahhh, gods. I feel like such a fool for not thinking of that. This was ill-conceived.”

  “Happens to the best of us,” I say, amused.

  He just shakes his head in disappointment. Probably the fact that I was responsible for all previously ill-conceived missions doesn’t make him feel any better.

  “Pity,” Attiru says. “If only you had a cartographer who could tell you exactly where we were, where we’re headed, and the best place to disembark.”

  Rezira snickers.

  “Oh!” Noli signs. “You’re a cartographer!”

  Attiru flourishes a hand in a mock bow.

  Zyneth looks relieved, and shifts to sit next to Attiru. “What have we got?”

  Too lazy to reposition myself, I float some glass over to watch as Attiru points out where we are on their map. They flick a hand over the page, and the inked lines stretch, as if zooming in.

  “We’re still over Valenia North,” they say. “About a third of the way across the continent. Over the next week we’ll be in this region.” A projection of possible paths appears on the map. They zoom in further until that range takes up their entire map.

  “What about this city?” Zyneth points to a dot on the map not far from where we are.

  “It’s more of a town,” Attiru says. “Small. Might not have a telepad, based on the population. Also, it’s only a day away, and given how long it took us to hike up here, I doubt we will be able to descend in time.”

  “Heading down should go much faster.” Zyneth rubs his chin. “What about this city, over here? It’s not in a direct path.”

  “That would give us about four days to descend,” Attiru says. “And then when we do make it off, we’ll still be miles from the city.”

  “Half a day’s walk, maybe,” Zyneth estimates. “That should be sufficient. What do you think?”

  Attiru gestures, and the map shifts to something that looks three dimensional. A topographical map, maybe. “Hm, yes. That would be ideal, actually. See here? We could descend while we’re over this peak; it’s probably the closest we’ll be to the ground.”

  “That’s decided, then.” Zyneth sits back, looking much more confident than he did a few moments ago. “We’ll need to make it to the base in half the time it took for us to climb it. I think we’ll be able to manage that without too much trouble, now that we’ve established a direct route. Attiru, if you could please keep an eye on our destination and make sure our path doesn’t diverge from what we’re expecting, that would be greatly appreciated.”

  They bow their head. “Of course, my lord.” Both cambions freeze. “Sorry,” Attiru adds with a guilty smile. “Old habits.”

  “Right. It’s fine.” Zyneth moves back over to me and starts tending to the breakfast once more, fiddling with the fire. I pat his knee, and he smiles tightly.

  “Breakfast smells good,” I remark, hoping to change the topic.

  Zyneth gives me a perplexed look. “You can smell this?”

  “Oh.” Ink had been focused on the meat, grumbling over the injustice of Noli being allowed to go hunting while it was supposed to stay near camp. I guess it had picked up a whiff of the cooking meal along the way.

  “Sort of,” I admit. “Through Ink. It can smell and taste a little through its void, when it wants to. It’s very faint, though. I usually don’t notice unless it’s a strong sensation.” Sometimes at night, when it’s dark and the wind hisses through the grass like the spray of the ocean, it’s like we’re back in Emrox, and we can almost smell the salt water.

  “What!” Noli cries. “Kanin! I can’t believe you didn’t mention this before now. You could have been sharing every meal with us!”

  “That’s really not necessary,” I object. “And you’re assuming Ink would even play along.”

  “You did just mention the smell,” Zyneth points out. “So it must be at least a little interested.”

  “You should try it!” Noli agrees. She grabs one of the meat skewers and waves it in my direction.

  Wow this change of topic was way more effective than I was anticipating.

  Rezira looks skeptical. “I don’t know, will it be edible after he gets those goopy shadows all over it?”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  I baulk. “Our void is not goopy! It’s barely even tangible.”

  “Sure seems tangible when you’re grabbing things with those creepy tentacles,” she says, suppressing an obvious smile.

  “Okay, first, they’re not tentacles,” I say. “Second, it’s the glass that gives them strength. And channeling mana into it. Third, void can’t digest things. I don’t even know how it would taste food. But it’s not going to get them goopy or whatever.”

  Zyneth chuckles, but Rezira hardly seems convinced. “Well I’m not going to be the one to eat it after your void pet has slobbered all over it.”

  “I’ll take it,” Zyneth says, chuckling. “Not to worry.”

  He leans over to grab the stick Noli is waving around, then hands it to me. “Go ahead and try it, then. I must admit I’m curious.”

  I take the skewer, eying it dubiously. Alright Ink, did you get all of that?

  It has no idea what’s going on.

  I remind it of the times it’s tasted a few of the things it’s eaten—namely, souls and magic sources—and ask if it can try to do the same to this meat.

  Ink is skeptical. This meat is already dead. What is there to taste?

  Give it a shot anyway, I say.

  Ink doesn’t particularly see the point in doing this, since there is no tasty mana to absorb, but it complies anyway, coiling a loop of void out from our sleeve, up my hand, and around the meat skewer.

  Everyone leans forward expectantly.

  Ink waits a moment, then gives the mental equivalent of a shrug. See? It told me there was nothing here to taste. No life left in this meat at all.

  But I can sense something that Ink doesn’t recognize. Not because it doesn’t understand the sensation, but because it’s so faint and inconsequential that it doesn’t even register it as something of interest.

  Rich, tangy, smokey; it’s the taste of grilled meat.

  Well, more like tasting a speck of grilled meat. The sensation is incredibly faint. But it’s there.

  “Huh. What do you know,” I say. I let an underwhelmed Ink pull the void back down into our sleeve once more, and pass the stick back to Zyneth. “It kind of works.”

  “Really?” Noli asks. “This changes everything! You have to try a bit of something whenever we eat from now on. I can’t believe I didn’t suggest this sooner. I’m a terrible friend!”

  “It’s not that big of a deal,” I say, amused. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Zyneth twirls the stick between his fingers, looking the meat over. No goop, as promised. “I would have thought this would be a more momentous occasion for you. You’ve lamented the loss of some of your organic functions before.”

  He’s right. Six months ago I might have been jumping for joy at the ability to smell and taste food again.

  “I guess it’s because it’s so faint, it doesn’t really feel like the same thing,” I tell him. But I’m not sure if that’s it, exactly. Maybe it’s because some subconscious part of me had already moved on from craving these things.

  I puzzle this over as the others eat. But by the time everyone has finished, I’m no closer to understanding what my reaction might mean. Once we finish packing up, it’s time to descend the Drifting Isles.

  Zyneth grabs his bag, which he’d left on the opposite side of camp for my benefit, and I shy away. Ink becomes agitated as well, so I hang back far enough for the null marble’s malignant presence to be reduced to a faint unease. Zyneth is clearly bothered by this, but there’s nothing either of us can do about it. I can’t get any more info out of Echo, and no one else is afflicted with the same sense of dread that Ink and I can so poignantly feel. The previous night, Attiru even experimentally touched the stone—against everyone’s advice—but nothing happened. They still can’t sense what I do.

  Zyneth surveys the plateau with the griffin nest and, despite Noli wanting to retrieve some of her arrows on the way back, decides it’s too dangerous to risk. Instead, we find a different lattice of vines and rubble to descend, skirting around the griffins’ territory.

  The rest of the climb down passes much the same way. We make it to a lower fractured chunk of land, scout potential avenues to the next nearest stone that seems to have the fewest hazards, and then get to climbing once more. Since Zyneth is leading the group, I keep to the back, both for distance from the relic and to keep an eye out for any potential threats. I do leave my translator with him, however, along with a handful of glass. The sense of “wrongness” that the null marble exudes doesn’t seem to affect my glass. It’s something I feel in my soul and through Ink’s void.

  “I was an only-child,” I tell him from across the distance as we walk. “Wasn’t too close to my parents. But I was popular at school, always goofing off and grabbing attention where I could. Making friends back then had been easy.” Somewhere along the way, however, I guess I’d just stopped. Had that been in college? When I started acting? I probably thought I just didn’t have time for non-work socializing like I used to. That version of me seems so far away.

  “You’ve told me this before,” Zyneth remarks, picking his way down a slope. “Why are you bringing it up again now?”

  “Well, if I was going to ask about your childhood, I figured it was only fair to talk about mine.”

  “Ah.” Zyneth hops down to level ground. “I see. And what is it you’d like to know?”

  “Whatever you feel comfortable sharing,” I admit.

  He walks silently for a time. Oh well. It had been worth a shot to ask. I don’t want to push things if it’s too uncomfortable for him.

  Then, to my surprise, he says, “I have nine older siblings. Five younger. Perhaps more, now. I haven’t been home in some time.”

  “Oh, wow.” I’m so caught off guard by his response, I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Your mom was busy.”

  Zyneth chuckles. “Mothers. And yes; large families were seen as a mark of prestige in the royal lineage. Conversely, a shrinking family is frowned upon.”

  “Like, say, if one of your kids runs away?”

  He grimaces. “Precisely.”

  He goes quiet again, but I can tell he’s thinking. I wait.

  “I already told you why I left, in broad strokes.” Zyneth’s gaze is distant. “Existence was a paradox of liberties. I would ask to learn sparing and knifework, and I’d receive tutelage from expert martial artists. I could express interest in artificing, and the most renowned artificer in Dunmora would be delivered to my door.

  “So long as I never left the palace,” he adds. “So long as I sat in the right chair, and said the right things, and, eventually, was married off to the right noble. My existence was just to play a part in my parents’ politics. Like we were all nothing more than marionettes. Every action fabricated for appearances. Opinions, interests, and aspirations were eccentricities one was free to express within the confines of their private chambers.”

  Abruptly, he gives a quiet laugh. “I’m sure all this sounds rather entitled.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say. “Maybe that’s selfish of me, but it sounds a lot like what I went through. Well, without all the private tutelage and being rich.”

  Zyneth snorts.

  “But I was also expected to fall in line,” I say. “Settle down. Date girls. Pick a stable career. Just be… normal.” The word feels sour. “When I moved out, I knew I wouldn’t be welcome back. But I never could have stayed.”

  Zyneth smiles faintly. “That does sound familiar.”

  “Do you miss them?” I ask.

  “Some of them, not at all,” he says. “And others, quite a bit.”

  Life’s messy like that.

  It takes three and a half days to wind our way down to the base of the Drifting Isles. We’re bumping up against Attiru’s deadline; we only have another few hours before we’ll be in the “drop zone.”

  We stop before the wall of clouds that runs around the perimeter of the Isles. It’s ominous how abrupt the wall of white is. Magic must be involved to keep it so dense. Somewhere on the other side is the cliff. For obvious reasons, none of us have yet ventured in.

  “I’ll go ahead,” I offer. “I can use an Elemental Radar spell to feel out my surroundings.”

  Attiru nervously peers into the clouds. “What if there’s something in there?”

  “You mean like a big flying snake creature that we decided to leave alive?” I ask.

  “It could have had babies!” Noli cries.

  “I don’t think serpents are the nurturing type,” Zyneth says.

  Rezira sighs, waving me on. “Too late now anyway. Let us know if it’s safe.”

  [Elemental Radar activated.]

  “Happy to be your canary in the coalmine,” I say, sweeping all my loose glass out before me as I step into the cloud.

  “Happy to be a what?” I hear Attiru ask, their voice fading behind me.

  The glass makes a series of small tinkling sounds, like dozens of windchimes, as the pieces skip over the surrounding stone and mentally map out the terrain ahead of me.

  It doesn’t even take half a minute of walking for my first pieces of glass to fall over the side of the cliff. I quickly catch them and pull them back before they pass out of range. Well that was easy. Unfortunately, the clouds are just as dense over here, so everyone will have to make their way through nearly blind. I start Chaining my pieces of glass into a long rope so we can all stay connected as we head through. Noli won’t be able to communicate very well with anyone else while we’re in here.

  Heading back out, I don’t even need my Elemental Radar to guide me; I can pinpoint Zyneth by the null marble he’s carrying. The closer we get, the more agitated Ink becomes. I might have to get Noli to hand me one of those Drift spells, because I don’t know if I’ll even be able to make it close enough to Zyneth to grab it from him personally.

  “Just about thirty feet in,” I report back as I finish Chaining my makeshift glass rope together. “Attiru?”

  They’re already in the process of digging out their maps. Zyneth is doing the same, sorting through his bag to grab the Drift spells. Rezira had stitched up the rips in his satchel two nights prior; her surgical stitches impressively made the bag look almost as good as new.

  “Looks like we’re just about right on time,” Attiru reports, consulting their map. “If we drop off anytime in the next hour, we should be close enough to hike to the city before nightfall.”

  Rezira grimaces. “I wish you wouldn’t say we’re ‘dropping off.’”

  “Sorry,” Attiru says, face scrunching in sympathy. “At least it will be over with soon enough.” They turn to Zyneth. “How long will the fall last?”

  “Don’t call it a ‘fall’ either!” Rezira groans.

  But Zyneth doesn’t respond. He’s riffling through his bag with increasingly obvious agitation.

  “Zyneth?” I also prompt.

  “Shit,” he hisses under his breath.

  Well this can’t be good.

  “What is it?” Rezira demands. “Just rip the bandage off, already, I can’t take this!”

  Noli attempts to settle Rezira down, but when Zyneth turns back to us, his face is grim.

  “We have a problem,” he says, withdrawing the leather-bound stack of spells from his bag. Three large gashes are torn through the cover, and when he opens the bindings, bits of torn paper flutter to the ground.

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