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Wise Father knew how Eshe arranged Isla's hair so beautifully. She had a forest of it; thick and long and heavy. It rarely held in one position, and when it did, it would pull her scalp hard enough to bring about those cursed headaches. Now, despite weeks of exposure to salt and wind, Eshe had managed to sweep it into a bun even Noi would envy.

The ship was alive when Isla stepped out, music playing from the lowest deck and floating to the upper levels where she made her entrance. The tiers were abuzz with conversation; passengers in colourful attires, officers in their formal liveries, and deckhands lulling about the sidelines. The entire vessel was swathed in lanterns. Rails radiated red and orange, sails twinkled yellow and gold ...

'Oh, I beg your pardon.'

The lady Isla had bumped into gave her a curt nod in response. Isla slipped away, more careful this time.

She searched the crowd for Eshe. Her mentor had promised to meet her on the decks. Isla had returned first to her own chamber to let the salamander rest, spent a good hour colouring her eyes and lips, drank the last drops of her jin, and then set off into the den of wolves.

Yet Eshe is still nowhere to be seen.

'Looking for someone?' The voice belonged to a balding man old enough to be her father. He smiled at her under a thick moustache.

Isla returned his smile and moved on.

'The entire ship is out.' The man was behind her, matching her steps. 'You'll spend hours finding your friend. Isn't it much wiser to make new ones?'

'It would be cruel if I left her to suffer flirtatious men over half her age.'

He laughed humourlessly. 'Your pronunciation is very odd. Have you lived abroad?'

No. Isla raised a brow. I take transaltum journeys for the fun of it. 'If you would excuse me, I must find my companion.'

'Not at all – I shall accompany you while you search.'

Isla twitched in irritation, but anything more forward and she would be crossing into the line of hostility. And she suspected the man was not one to be crossed.

She mustered her theurgy, this time with relative ease. Isla singled the man's presence from the horde of party-makers around them and sent out a probing wave in his direction.

'There really is no need,' she said as she tested the waters. 'I would hate to keep you from your own company.'

There was something soft there; a feeble sort of wall, like a panelled fence. All she needed to do was stretch her presence thin and slip under the cracks.

'They will be fine without me ...' His voice trailed away, losing its confidence as Isla snuck through his defences. She nudged at his will. The man furrowed his brows in response. 'I ... I'm not ...'

A cold sweat broke over the back of her neck. Was she not subtle enough? Did he sense something amiss?

He lifted a hand to his temples, all the while looking at Isla as though realising she had come to collect his long-due taxes. 'I feel ... rather unwell, actually. I must ...'

The man did not even try to complete his sentence. He turned, pushing roughly through a group deep in conversation. Isla watched his retreating back, conflicted between relief and dread. He definitely felt something amiss.

'You look like you set the marid loose.'

'Eshe!' Isla had never been more pleased to see her. She pulled her tutor close and, in an undertone, told her what she had just done.

'Of course you will not immediately become a master of stealth.' As always, Eshe was untroubled by what Isla considered a catalyst of doom. 'It is expected you would fail in the begin—'

'So he knows I was meddling in his head?'

'Not necessarily. It is a strange sensation, having someone clumsily impose theurgy upon you; but there is simply no way to ascertain whether these feelings are associated to theurgy, or whether one is genuinely coming down with a migraine.'

Isla bit her lip, still not entirely reassured. Eshe led her to the highest deck. There were less people, which Isla appreciated, but the view was no less spectacular. Lights floated all around them; bobbing below, sparkling from the sails above. The music carried and spread from where the troupe played on the main deck.

'You worry too much,' said Eshe once they had stopped. 'By the morrow, he would have forgotten everything that happened today.'

'I hope you're right.'

'What will you do once we arrive? You still have family in Surikhand?'

'I have ... arrangements.' Isla shifted her gaze at the dancers on the decks below. Let Eshe ask her questions. She was bound to, eventually. 'And you?'

'My patron has sent an escort to meet me at berth. Will you be all right?'

'You are the foreigner to Surikhand, not I.'

'When was the last time you saw home?' Isla turned a deaf ear to Eshe's question, taking a drink that a deckhand had come up to serve. The Ligueri took one of her own. 'Mine would have been six seasons ago. Right in the dark of autumn. I can still feel the desert wind against my back.' Eshe paused to sip from her beverage. 'Though that may be the ocean breeze.'

'Home is home, no matter how long you've been gone.'

'I will drink to that.'

'Not many of your people leave Liguer,' said Isla after she had downed her drink. 'It must be a pleasant realm, despite your harsh seasons.'

'A burnt land, with hardened men; but when the sun sets and the stars light the sky ...' Eshe smiled. 'We are not a kingdom without faults. No realm can boast that honour. But we make do with what we have. There are changes, too ... changes many of our elders oppose ...'

At least their elders are more vocal. When had Isla's own people opposed their Maha Rama? Not when the conscription came to effect. Certainly not with the eugeneic act.

'We have ever been a community of wanderers,' continued Eshe. 'Led by chieftains – our equivalent of nobleborn, the legends say. Only the Sao and his kanda live in our settled capital of K'mal. Every chieftain must send one daughter of age to the Sao to be wedded into his family. But over the centuries, our true lineage have grown obscure.'

'To the cost of the kingdom.' Seems Surikhand is not the only realm with troubled waters.

'All our chieftains and their family have been called to K'mal. Their lineage will be traced. Only those of true noble descent may retain their position as chieftain ... and then every daughter they beget must be sent to the Sao. Until, he says, his kanda restores their number of first-ranking children.'

So they have their own version of the Act. 'The chieftains haven't risen up against him?'

'The kanda's Grace may be diminished, but they are still stronger than all chieftains combined. The Sao has armies and first-ranking sons. What do we have? Tired men, hungry children. Some of the younger tribes even speak of joining K'mal ... settling ... but if all the tribes settled ... the city could never support such a large population. We are rain-chasers for a reason.'

'I take it you're one of the opposing elders.'

Eshe laughed freely. 'I suppose I am. Liguer is at a precipice. I know the Sao only looks to restore balance ...'

Restore power, more like.

'... but change is a frightful thing.'

'Our monarch's Grace, too, is declining,' said Isla. 'And Elingar's. They say it's because they've broken the Fourth Law for too long, but if all the realms are facing the same problem –'

'All realms have broken the Fourth Law. It is impossible not to, this far down the years. Much of the kanda is barren because of it. They have tried many things to fix it. This is their last resort.'

Isla smirked. Prince Dariel's younger brother even made it his business to test the canon – or so was his public excuse – bedding every second baseborn woman he saw, hoping to sire a child of some degree of theurgy, and to no avail. 'If Grace is declining everywhere, then it may be time to set aside the monarchy.'

Eshe looked around. Even if anyone was close enough to hear, the music surely drowned Isla's blasphemy. 'Mayhap one day, when the realms no longer have need for divine protectors. As it is now ... Liguer has too much friction with its neighbouring kingdoms. We still have need for the Graced and their first-ranks. Now. What a depressing mood we have talked ourselves into.'

'It's the drink.'

'And the music—oh! I almost forgot! I must go now, but you – you must stay here while I perform.'

'Perform?'

'The Ligueri Song of Seedwights. I have promised a rendition; and just in time for spring, too! I am usually a summer vocalist, but—ah! I must prepare.'

Isla had no time to ask what a summer vocalist was. Eshe had slipped away, descending into the main deck and leaving her to watch from the gallery.

It was not long before her mentor's tall, dark frame settled onto a stool beside the reedist. The music lulled into a high, gentle melody, and Eshe begun to sing. Isla was immediately taken aback. She knew now what Eshe had meant by summer vocalist – hers was a powerful, resonating voice that echoed far into the sea.

Isla found herself longing for home – not the place she was sailing to, but the one she had left far behind. She missed the sounds and smells of Noi's cooking, the fields outside Beltaer, sneaking off with Aldir for their riding lessons ...

'Will you dance with me?'

She jumped at the voice, so close to her ear, but she was grateful for the interruption. Her eyes had started misting over, and she certainly did not have time for that. 'I'm afraid I'll make a terrible partner.'

'Let me be the judge of that.' Kithrel looked much more presentable. His light blue pea coat contrasted nicely against his hair – which was still a mess, admittedly – but at least all his buttons were fastened this time.

'I've never danced in my life.'

Kithrel let his arm drop. 'What do they teach highborn ladies in Elingar?'

It was time to let him know the truth. Part of it, anyway. 'I'm not highborn. My father was a fisherman and my mother a teacher.'

He flinched at her confession, but she was in no mood to care. If that gets rid of him, then all the better.

'Then you have certainly gotten far.' Kithrel leaned against the rails. 'How does a fisherman's daughter end up on Tempestorm?'

'The same way a sailor ends up fluent in Ancient Pertheist.'

'Allow me a guess. Your parents were the best theurgists in their district, and –'

'Neither of my parents were theurgic at all.'

'Hmm ... most curious ...' Kithrel rubbed his chin in mock contemplation. 'Ah. Your mother. She was governess to the daughter of an incredibly powerful and wealth—'

'She taught at a village school.' Isla folded her arms over her chest. 'Is it so difficult to believe that someone can rise above their station in life? Not everyone's successes are hereditary; although most people aboard this ship would never know.'

There was a pause as Kithrel took in her outburst, and then he laughed. 'I'm only making light, Isla. You really must not be so serious all the time. This is a party.'

'Are you going to tell me to smile?'

'I would not dare! No, I'm only going to ask you to dance.'

She let him take her arm and grudgingly followed his instructions. He must have had plenty of dances, she decided. He was a patient mentor and led the dance elegantly.

'Look,' he said, interrupting her thoughts.

Isla pried her eyes from him and took in their surroundings. Someone had let the lanterns loose; now they were swimming in a sea of lights. Orbs bobbed and shimmered in the water; some took flight from the main deck and gently glided into the air, leaving a trail of yellow and red petals as they flew.

The scent of blossoms filled the air, and for a moment, Isla was content.
        

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