It was a bright night. The moon, near full, hung in the clear sky, its light enough to obscure the stars nearest it. More than that, its light, reflecting off the snow and ice floes, made it like a dim, hazy day.

It should have been day, anyway.

Sinitïa clutched at Meleng’s arm, huddling close to him in the bitter cold. “What time is it now?”

Meleng shrugged. “Getting close to noon, I think.” That was the best estimate he could manage, as he wasn’t sure how to tell time here. He was pretty certain that, in a couple more hours, the sun would creep over the southeast horizon, rise to a low height in the southern sky before disappearing again in the southwest just a couple hours later.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Sinitïa said.

“I’ve tried to explain.”

“And it still doesn’t make sense.”

He shrugged again. “It’s just the way it is.” He’d known about the odd days and nights here. He also knew why they happened the way they did, but trying to explain it to Sinitïa had been a mistake. She hadn’t even realised the days and nights in Arnor City didn’t stay the same length all year round. But knowing it happened and how had not been enough to prepare him to experience it.

His breath crystallised in the air in front of him and on the thick wool scarf wrapped around his face and mouth. He had to keep brushing bits of ice off it. His eyes stung in the bitterly cold air, provoking tears which froze on top of the scarf. He was worried they’d freeze on his skin or even in his eyes before they’d had a chance to drip down.

Another thing he’d known about, but hadn’t been prepared for.

He’d thought he knew cold. Arnorin winters could be harsh, but they were nothing like here. He’d known Sinitïa had not brought adequate clothing; he had not realised he hadn’t either. Luckily, Captain Gen had extra furs and blankets, and had been willing to give them to Meleng and Sinitïa.

“Jorvanultumn should have warned you,” Gen had said.

Jorvan, however, hadn’t realised, and Meleng couldn’t really blame him. Isyar didn’t experience cold the same way humans did. Jorvan just hadn’t known the clothes Meleng and Sinitïa had brought would be insufficient.

As the air had gotten colder and colder, and the nights longer and longer over the past couple weeks, Meleng and Sinitïa had stopped going up on deck much. Not that it was much warmer below deck, but at least they were shielded from the wind. He knew there were stories amongst the crew about what he and Sinitïa got up to alone in their cabin, since Jorvan was always on deck, helping keep the Lustrous Rose sailing. Meleng had seen the looks and smiles, and heard the whispered comments whenever he had come into the mess hall, especially if Sinitïa was with him. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more: that the rumours existed or that the looks he got were all approving.

Now they stood on the cold quay outside of Chithishtheny. With Sinitïa huddled against him, it must look like the rumours were true. But it was no matter. Let people think whatever they wanted.

But the cold, the rumours, the messed up day-night cycle—none of that could take away from something bigger and more amazing.

They were in Isyaria.

“It’s beautiful,” Sinitïa said. “I want to paint it.”

Ahead of them, the mountains rose up, dark shadows in the bright night. In the opposite direction, past the Lustrous Rose, were the dark arctic waters dotted with the brighter ice floes, and past them, the mountains of the northern tip of the Arnorin continent.

Technically, they’d entered Isyaria when they reached that northern tip and the tiny settlement there named Zorlo. The Isyar there maintained it as a place for Arnorin ships to resupply and pick up an escort—an Isyar ship that would guide them through the difficult-to-sail waters of the arctic. However, they had been there for only a few hours, and Meleng and Sinitïa had never left the ship, so Zorlo didn’t really count. Only now were they truly in Isyaria.

On board the Lustrous Rose, the deck was awash with activity—but not by the crew. Isyar enchanters were using magic to unload the cargo. Meleng looked away quickly. He would have liked to watch what they were doing, but they were too far away to study from here. Besides, Isyar did not share their secrets with humans—evident from the fact that, immediately upon coming aboard, they had requested that any human wizards on board should move to the quay.

That was why he was shivering here now with Sinitïa. They had kicked her off too—after staring in awe at her for a while—not believing that someone with so much magical talent couldn’t actually cast spells.

But that didn’t matter either.

The sight before him was too amazing, too beautiful, and he was too excited about being in Isyaria for all the other stuff to bother him much. Besides, he would have just felt inadequate watching the Isyar anyway.

Sinitïa sniffled. At first, Meleng assumed it was because of the cold, but then she started to sob. He turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were barely visible under all the shawls and hoods over her face. Her eyes were red. The rest of her face was completely obscured.

“What’s wrong?”

“I told you. I want to paint the mountains.”

“That’s fine. What’s the problem?”

“It’s too cold! I can’t use my hands when they’re all wrapped up like this.” She let go of him and held up her hand in front of his face. Then she put her arms back around him—or as best she could given their heavy furs—and hugged him tight. “It’s not fair.”

“I’m sure we can find a way for you to paint,” Meleng said.

“You think so?”

He nodded. “Even if it’s just from inside and looking out a window.”

Sinitïa sniffled again, but nodded.

Something rubbed past Meleng’s leg, then pushed between him and Sinitïa.

“Jeanne!” Sinitïa let go of Meleng and bent down to grab hold of the shaggy dog. “You must be so cold.” She hugged the dog against herself.

“Believe me, she’s doing better than we are.” Captain Gen strode up to them, the packed snow and ice crunching beneath his boots.

First Mate Ting was right behind him, obscured at first due to the Captain’s greater height and bulk of his clothing. Somehow, Ting was wearing half as many layers as anyone else. “That dog can survive any environment.”

Sinitïa heaved and lifted Jeanne off the ground. “She’s shivering, so she’s still cold, and we all feel warmer when we hug others. She just wants to be hugged.” She held Jeanne tight against her chest.

“Your body heat won’t help much through…”

Sinitïa hugged Jeanne tighter.

Ting sighed and shook their head. “Oh, never mind.”

Meleng glanced back at the ship. Amongst the various figures moving about on deck, he hoped to pick out Jorvan, but no luck.

“If you’re looking for Jorvanultumn,” Gen said, “he’s talking with a couple other Isyar. I couldn’t follow most of what they were saying—Isyarian is a...complex language; I’ve never been able to master it—however, I did pick up that it was something to do with his fomase. He might be a while.”

“What’s a fo...fo-what?” Sinitïa said.

“Fomase,” Meleng said. “It’s kind of like a fiancée.”

Sinitïa’s eyes widened. “Jorvan has a fiancée?”

“Soulmate is a closer translation, as I understand it,” Gen said. “Isyar don’t have the same concept of marriage we have. It’s more...well, it’s complicated as is so much about Isyar.”

“Jorvan says human romantic customs are more confusing,” Meleng said.

“That does tend to be the response of all cultures to the different ways of other cultures,” Gen said. “It comes from growing up in the culture. You never find your own culture confusing. However, I can assure you, theirs is the more complex. Has Jorvanultumn told you about the fomaze?”

Meleng took a moment. Had he said fomase or something else?

“You just told us,” Sinitïa said.

Gen shook his head. “Not fomase. Fomaze. It’s related, but different. Isyarian has some subtle pronunciation differences. Trust me, it’s very embarrassing to mix up fomase and fomaze.” He chuckled. “At any rate, a fomaze—” he pronounced the word slowly, emphasising the difference in the last syllable— “is...well…” He sighed. “No, Jorvanultumn can explain it if you want to know.”

“Will we get to meet her?” Sinitïa was hopping about on her feet, and almost dropped Jeanne.

“Who?” Gen asked.

“Jorvan’s fiancée.”

“Fomase,” Gen corrected.

“Whatever. His fomahsa then. Will we get to meet her?”

“Probably,” Meleng said. “Eventually. We should let him see her first though. They haven’t seen each other in a couple years now.”

“Let’s let Jorvanultumn be,” Gen said. “Come. I’ll show you into town. I’ve been here a few times before and can give you a little tour if you like. It might not be as in-depth as Jorvanultumn himself could give you, but he can always fill in any blanks I leave later. This way.” He strode towards the path at the end of the quay.

Jeanne squirmed in Sinitïa’s arms. After a moment, Sinitïa released her grip and the dog leapt from her arms, running after Captain Gen.

“What about our supplies?” Meleng asked.

“I’ll see that they’re delivered to you soon,” Ting said.

Meleng nodded and offered Sinitïa his hand, but she took his entire arm again. She looked back at Ting. “Coming too, Miana?”

The First Mate shook their head. “I need to stay and watch the ship. You two lovebirds go ahead. I’ll be along later.”

“We’re not lovebirds,” Sinitïa said, but Ting was already walking back to the ship. Sinitïa sighed.

Gen was some distance ahead of them, Jeanne bouncing along at his side. He wasn’t looking back to see if they were following, so Meleng and Sinitïa hurried to catch up. The path from the quay was ice and had an upward slope into the foothills. Surprisingly, it wasn’t very slippery—Meleng guessed it was due to the extreme cold—but it still made catching up to Gen difficult.

After a while, they gave up. The man walked too fast. He would disappear over the top of a hill and then they’d see him again when they reached that same summit, by which time he’d gained more ground on them. There was only one road, so they’d catch up to him once they reached Chithishtheny.

The small quay was out of sight quickly, and so was the sea, so only mountains were visible in every direction. The wind came and went, whipping at them one moment, then vanishing the next. Moving helped a little against the cold, but Meleng soon felt like he was about to freeze solid.

“There’s another one,” Sinitïa said.

Periodically along the side of the path grew small grey...plants. Meleng wasn’t sure they were strictly plants, but he didn’t have another word for them, and Jorvan had once spoken of the “plants” of Isyaria, commenting at the time that he was only using the word because there wasn’t a better one in Arnorgue. Meleng couldn’t remember the Isyarian word.

The plants were long and spindly, but stretched along the ground instead of growing up. They could almost be mistaken for roots sticking above the ground if it weren’t for the flat, circular...leaves? fruit?...sticking out at intervals along the body of the plant. For the most part, the plants grew to the side of the road, though this latest one stretched across it.

“I wonder if you can pick them,” Sinitïa said.

“Probably best if we don’t,” Meleng said. “Not until we know it’s safe.”

Sinitïa stepped carefully over the plant. “I didn’t say I was going to. I was just wondering.”

Meleng stepped over to join her. “Let me guess, you want to paint one.”

Her eyes brightened and he imagined her smiling under her scarves. She linked arms with him again. “Of course. You’re sure it will be possible and not too cold?”

He shrugged. “Maybe not out here, but I’m sure we can figure something out.”

With a light squeal, she pulled him along faster.

They had been walking for maybe half an hour when the road brought them around the bottom of a rocky, icy hill. Up ahead rose a pair of large objects like giant cubes with rounded corners and edges. At first, Meleng took them to be stone, but they glinted in the moonlight, like they were made of, or coated in, ice. As they got closer, it became apparent the glinting was not just reflected moonlight and starlight, but also light shining through windows from the inside. They were buildings.

The road continued between the buildings. Captain Gen stood waiting for them, Jeanne lying at his feet. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was noticeably shivering. He spread his arms as they approached. “Welcome to Chithishtheny!”

Sinitïa looked about. “It’s just two big blocks?”

Gen chuckled. “Oh no. These are just the visitors’ lodges. The rest of the town is up ahead, round the next bend and literally up. We’ll stop here to get our lodgings settled and then I’ll show you the town. Miana and the crew will be along shortly.” He looked at Sinitïa. “How should I introduce you?”

After the incident in Beldrum, Meleng, Sinitïa, and Jorvan had told Gen and Ting the truth about Sinitïa’s identity. They’d pretty much figured it out anyway, and Meleng running around on deck screaming, “Sinitïa!” had confirmed it. That had been an embarrassing moment in retrospect.

In the meantime, he, Sinitïa, and Jorvan had decided they would be honest about Sinitïa’s identity in Isyaria. While most Isyar wouldn’t care whether she was a princess—they would be far more interested in her magical talent—there could be problems if they discovered a deception. The Isyar might not appreciate being lied to. No Isyar was likely to try to turn them over to Arnor otherwise.

“Tell them the truth,” Sinitïa said.”

Gen nodded. “Follow me.” He set off along the road between the two buildings. Jeanne jumped to her feet and bounded along at his side. When he reached the other side, at a point where two smaller paths branched off, each going to one of the buildings, he stopped and crossed his arms again. With his right hand, he pointed to the left, and with his left, he pointed to the right. “Left or right? I can never remember which.”

“Does it matter?” Sinitïa asked.

“Oh yes. It matters a great deal. The Isyar won’t mind if you get it wrong out of ignorance, of course, but knowing will impress them. And if, like me, you should already know…” He sighed. “I should have double-checked with Miana. They’re better at remembering these kinds of details.”

Meleng peered to each side to compare the buildings. They looked identical. Each had a single archway providing entrance in the exact middle, and various windows in the exact same positions on both.

Gen clapped his hands together. He turned to the left and began walking again. “This way!” After a moment, he spun round again and nearly stepped on Jeanne, who leapt to the side. “No, sorry, this way.” He strode down the path to the right.

Sinitïa looked at Meleng, who shrugged. She followed Gen, and Meleng followed behind her.

Ahead, two Isyar came out of the archway, followed by a third. The first two were dressed in the typical loose robes worn by Jorvan and most other Isyar. One was taller than the other by several inches, though still short by most human standards. She had a thin, almost oval face. The third Isyar, the shortest of the three, was not dressed like the others, but instead wore a skin-tight white suit with yellow trim. She also had a sheathed sword belted at her waist. There had been Isyar like her on Scovese. Soldiers. “Élite,” Jorvan had called them when Meleng had told him about them.

Gen looked back at Meleng and Sinitïa. “When the tall one holds out her right hand to you, touch it with your left palm. Let me do the talking.”

The tall Isyar held out her left hand to Gen, but her eyes were on Sinitïa. “Captain Etiënne Gen.”

Gen clasped her wrist with his left hand, and she clasped his. “Lamdir Paydamat.” He turned his head to follow her gaze towards Sinitïa. “A...uh...pleasure to see you again.”

The Isyar turned her gaze and looked up at him—he was a good foot taller than her—and smiled. “And you. It has been too long.” Her gaze turned back to Sinitïa.

They let go of their wrists and Gen cleared his throat. “Ah yes.” He gestured at Sinitïa and Meleng. “These are passengers who travelled with me on my ship. Princess Sinitïa Alessia Deanna Folith and Meleng Drago.”

Paydamat stepped up to Sinitïa, eyes wide. The Isyar who had walked up beside her gaped at Sinitïa. Paydamat held up her right hand.

Sinitïa hurriedly fiddled with the mitten on her left hand, while Paydamat waited patiently. Sinitïa curtsied—clumsily in her heavy furs—and placed her palm against Paydamat’s.

The Isyar smiled at her. “Princess Sinitïa Alessia Deanna Folith, I am Lamdir Paydamat.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Sinitïa said.

“Is this a diplomatic visit?” Paydamat asked.

Sinitïa looked to Meleng, who shook his head. She looked back at Paydamat. “No, I...I just wanted to see Isyaria.”

Paydamat nodded. “Then I hope you enjoy your stay, Princess Sinitïa Alessia Deanna Folith.”

“Just Sinitïa’s fine.”

Paydamat lowered her head, her brow furled. “Of...course. Sinitïa. Welcome to Chithishtheny.”

“Thank you,” Sinitïa said.

Paydamat withdrew her hand and turned to Meleng, holding out her right hand.

Sinitïa grabbed for her mitten, mouthing to Meleng, “It’s cold.”

Meleng removed his own left mitten and touched his palm to Paydamat’s. The Isyar’s hand was warm in the cold air, but nevertheless, his fingers were already starting to numb.

“Meleng Drago, I am Lamdir Paydamat.”

“An honour, Lamdir,” Meleng said. He didn’t know what the title Lamdir represented. Even though she apparently spoke Arnorgue fluently—without even a hint of an accent—she wasn’t translating that word. It had to be a title of importance though. From what Jorvan had told him of Isyar society, it was probably related to magical power in some way. “I’m looking forward to my stay.”

“I hope it will be a pleasant one,” she said.

Meleng peered more closely at her. There was something off. A slight misalignment of her mouth with her words. She wasn’t speaking fluently! She was using magic to translate!

Paydamat’s smile widened. “Impressive, Meleng Drago! I clearly need to tighten the spell a little.” As she spoke, the spell did indeed tighten. By the last word, there was no longer any misalignment between her mouth and her words. “I would not have expected a human to notice that. Were you, by any chance, at Scovese?”

Meleng nodded. “Yes.”

“I thought so. You must have experienced an effect like this before to notice it now.”

“It’s very good,” Meleng said.

“Thank you. The spell I am using is similar to the one on Scovese, though not identical. That one was clearly very sophisticated once, but it has clearly degenerated over time. It also has some very strange censorship properties.”

“I found it fascinating,” Meleng said. “I wish I could have studied it more. Unfortunately, there were...uh...other things to worry about, and well...uh…” He looked at his hand against hers, which he had just realised he could barely feel anymore. “Do you think...uh…?”

Paydamat gave a small nod. “Of course. My apologies. Welcome to Chithishtheny.” She withdrew her hand.

Meleng buried his hand in the folds of his furs, not wanting to take the time to put his mitten back on. He rubbed it gently, letting the sensation idle back.

“We will speak more of this later, I am sure.” Paydamat stepped back and addressed all three of them. “We will show you to lodgings where you may warm yourselves and be comfortable.”

Gen bowed his head, and Meleng copied. Sinitïa was a bit slower, but did the same.

“If I might make a request, Lamdir?” Gen said. When Paydamat nodded, he continued, “Could our three rooms be adjacent? I know I normally request to be in the middle of my crew, but I promised to look after these two and show them around while they’re here. It would be easier if we were close.”

Paydamat tilted her head and stared at him. Her companion also looked aghast.

“That is, if it isn’t too much trouble,” Gen added.

After a few moments of staring and Gen shuffling his feet, Paydamat gave a small smile while lowering her head. “I understand. How foolish of me. This is the first time you have been here with wizards, Captain Etiënne Gen.” She gestured to Meleng and Sinitïa. “These two will stay in the wizards’ lodgings across the road.”

Gen bowed his head. “Of course. My apologies.”

“But I’m not a wizard,” Sinitïa said.

Paydamat raised her head, her eyes widening. The second Isyar gaped again. Even the third Isyar, who had remained stoic, unmoving, and silent the whole time, dropped her jaw slightly before quickly returning to her stoic stance. The second Isyar started to say something, but Paydamat held up her hand to stop him.

“My apologies, Prin...Sinitïa. I was aware humans do not train all who have potential, but I assumed your title of princess would have provided you access to such training. I apologise if I have caused offence.”

Sinitïa shook her head. “No, no offence. It’s just weird the way you all stare at me. I mean, Jorvan told me this would happen, but I don’t really understand why, but no, I haven’t been trained.” Her eyes widened. “But I want to learn.”

“I apologise again, Sinitïa. I will admit, I am unsure of the decorum in this circumstance. However, I think I will lodge you in the wizards’ lodges. You have remarkable talent—more than I thought possible in a human. It will also allow us to honour your royal status.” She turned to Gen. “Captain Etiënne Gen, I am sorry we cannot fulfil your request.”

Gen held up his hand. “No apology necessary, Lamdir. I was thinking too much like a human when I made the request.”

Paydamat motioned to the second Isyar. “This is my associate, Reszidbovroh. He will show you to your room. I will take Sinitïa and Meleng Drago to theirs. We will see each other again soon, Captain Etiënne Gen, I’m sure.” She bowed her head to Gen.

Gen bowed his head in return. “I look forward to it, Lamdir. Meleng, Sinitïa, if you’d still like me to show you around, I’ll meet you back here in half an hour. It will be dawn by then. We’ll have a couple hours of light.”

Sinitïa nodded several times quickly. “Sure!”

Paydamat started back towards the main road and the other building. “Sinitïa, Meleng Drago, please follow me.”

Sinitïa took Meleng’s hand and they followed. Sinitïa glanced back several times.

“Everything okay?” Meleng asked, glancing back to see what she was looking at. The third Isyar was following behind them. “I don’t think she’s going to hurt us.”

“No, it’s just Paydamat never introduced her,” Sinitïa said.

Meleng started to respond, but Paydamat beat him to it. She spoke without looking back at them. “She is Élite. She is here for security, nothing else.”

Sinitïa frowned. “Oh. They never tell us the guards’ names at home either.” She looked back again and waved. The guard gave a little smile in return, then went straight back to her stoic look.

“Please do not disturb her while she is on duty,” Paydamat said. “However, if you must know her name, it is Fevionawishtensen.”

Meleng looked back at the Élite again. Jorvan’s fomase? He hadn’t known she was Élite. In fact, he knew very little about her. Beyond her name and existence, Jorvan had never said much about her. Jorvan tended to be private about those sorts of things.

“May I ask you a personal question, Sinitïa?” Paydamat asked as they neared the building.

“Of course.”

“How is it your sister was trained in magic and not you?”

“You mean Felitïa?”

Paydamat lowered her head. “The one who started the war. The one the Volganths called the Will-Breaker, yes.”

“She ran away to become one,” Sinitïa said. “Royalty aren’t allowed to become wizards.”

Meleng couldn’t see Paydamat’s expression, but she fell silent several seconds before responding. “I see.”

“If I’d known I could use magic, I would have gone with her.” Sinitïa frowned. “Or I guess not because I was a baby at the time, and after that, I always did what I was told. But I know now and I’ve run away. Kind of. I’m not sure I should have told you that. But maybe now I can learn. I want to.”

Sinitïa looked ready to continue on, but Paydamat interrupted her. “May I ask why the two of you have come to Isyaria?”

“We came with a friend,” Meleng said. “An Isyar. Jorvanultumn. He’s at the ship at the moment.”

Paydamat looked back at them. “Jorvanultumn has come home? How interesting.”

“You know him?” Sinitïa asked.

Paydamat looked forward again. “Yes. His return is sooner than I would have expected.”

Meleng glanced back at Fevionawishtensen, but she showed no reaction to the news. Given her few and brief reactions so far, he must have missed any she had given. He leaned in closer to Sinitïa and whispered, “That’s Jorvan’s fomase.”

Sinitïa gasped and looked back. “You’re Jorvan’s fo-mah-say?”

Meleng sighed. He’d hoped she would take the cue to be quiet.

“Yes, she is,” Paydamat said. “But she is on duty. As I asked before, please do not disturb her.”

Sinitïa grimaced and bit her lower lip. “Sorry.” She took a glance back again and gave Fevionawishtensen a quick wave. Then she grinned at Meleng.

They continued the rest of the way to the lodge’s entrance in silence. The archway led into a large, square room. One of those grey plants grew out of the hard earth floor in the centre of the room and extended out in a spiral. Paydamat continued forward, sometimes stepping on the plant as she went. Fevionawishtensen remained standing in the entrance.

It was a relief to be inside, even if the walls and ceiling appeared to be ice. The lack of wind made it feel much warmer.

Paydamat stopped in the centre of the room and turned to face the two of them. “Conjuration or enchantment? Not mentalism I think, despite your recognising my spell.”

Meleng blinked. “What? Oh, yes, you’re right. Enchantment.”

Paydamat nodded. “We will put you both in the same section then.”

There were three doors—all of ice—in the room, one in the centre of each of the other three walls. Paydamat went to the one to the right of the entrance. She gave it a light push and it swung open. She stood to the side to let Meleng and Sinitïa pass.

Meleng motioned to Sinitïa to go ahead and then followed her. He stopped at the door to look at a symbol carved in it. It was like a narrow slice of pie, the upper straight edge running horizontal, with the point at the left. Inside the pie slice were two parallel vertical lines, the one on the right having a small hook at its top. The lines were like the symbols used in enchantment magic, though Meleng didn’t know the meaning of these ones.

“Enndir,” Paydamat said. “It means enchantment.”

“Thank you,” Meleng said.

Paydamat merely nodded, and Meleng followed Sinitïa into the hall beyond. Fevionawishtensen followed them and closed the door.

Paydamat led them down the corridor, up a flight of stairs, and down another corridor. The walls, ceiling, and even the floor of this storey were all ice, though the floor was not slippery. Meleng found himself wanting to run a finger along the walls to check to confirm they really were ice. There were occasional markings on the walls, all of them enchantment markings. It was unusual for such markings to be carved directly into a surface, since they only needed to be traced with a finger to a work. He wondered if they were carved in for a reason, or if they were just intended for decoration.

“It’s getting warmer,” Sinitïa said, pulling away her scarves and shawls.

She was right. He had been too busy pondering the walls to notice, but it was much warmer now.

“Yes, it is,” Paydamat said.

Sinitïa scrunched her nose. “But it’s all ice.”

Meleng pulled his left hand out of his coat. The feeling had returned now. He ran a finger along the wall. It was either ice or something with the same properties.

“Ice is a good insulator,” Paydamat said. “Plus, spells are in place to both raise the temperature and keep the ice from melting. Your rooms will gradually adjust themselves to temperatures you each find most comfortable. Be patient though. It can take a few hours.”

Meleng gaped. “The magic here is unbelievable.” And he doubted anyone here would be willing to talk to him in detail about how it worked.

“So I have heard,” Paydamat said. She stopped in front of a door. “This will be your room, Sinitïa. Meleng Drago, yours is the next one.”

“I get my own, separate room?” Sinitïa said.

“Of course,” Paydamat said.

Sinitïa clapped her hands. “Finally!” She looked at Meleng and blushed. “Sorry. It’s not that I don’t like sharing a cabin, but…”

“It’s fine. You deserve your own space.” He’d be glad to have his own space too.

Paydamat bowed her head to Sinitïa. “I will take my leave of you, Sinitïa. I am sure we will speak again soon. Pleasant thoughts.” She placed a left hand over her chest.

Sinitïa curtsied. “Thank you, Lamdir Paydamat.”

“The correct custom is to place your left hand on your chest as I have done.”

Sinitïa grimaced. “Sorry.” She quickly placed her hand over her chest.

“No apology necessary. You will learn. Meleng Drago, I would ask to speak to you privately.”

Meleng nodded. “Sure.”

“We will go in your room.” Paydamat motioned to Fevionawishtensen. “Remain out here.”

“Is it okay if I talk to her?” Sinitïa asked.

A flash of annoyance passed over Paydamat’s face before she turned to Sinitïa with a smile. “You will not have the benefit of my translation spell. She will not understand you.”

Sinitïa frowned. “Oh, okay. I don’t get why people speak different languages. Everyone should speak the same one.”

“Alas, it is not the way of things.” Paydamat turned back to Meleng and motioned to the next door in the hallway. “Shall we?”

Meleng nodded. “I’ll see you soon, Sinitïa, okay?”

“See you soon,” Sinitïa said with a wave.

Paydamat loomed beside him, somehow looking down at him even though she was the shorter. Meleng nodded to her again and hurried over to his door. There was no door handle like the other doors in the building, so he tried giving it a push. It swung open without resistance. He stepped through and Paydamat followed.

“Hi! I’m Sinitïa!” was the last sound from the hall before Paydamat pushed the door closed again.

Meleng took a quick look at the rest of the room. It wasn’t large, but it was bigger than the cabin he’d been sharing for the past few weeks. There was a single window in the wall opposite the door and a mattress lay on the floor in a corner. There was also a stool and a small table, and not much else.

“It is clear Princess Sinitïa Alessia Deanna Folith does not understand the gravity of her situation,” Paydamat said, “but I am quite certain you do.”

Meleng groaned. “You mean the extent of her potential and how she could accidentally tap into it, and...um...cause a lot of damage?”

Paydamat glared at him. “What else would I mean?”

Meleng gulped.

“Why has she not been trained? And don’t give me some nonsense about royalty not being allowed. Such a ridiculous rule places people in jeopardy.”

“We didn’t know!” Meleng said. “Honestly. Humans can’t see magical potential the way Isyar can. We have to test people for it.”

Paydamat scowled. “I am aware of this.”

“I didn’t know until Jorvan saw her just before we started this trip. I—” Meleng dropped to his knees, his legs moving of their own accord. “I...what…” He had to gasp at the words, his mouth and throat unwilling to follow his instructions. He stared at Paydamat. What had she done to him?

Paydamat stepped up to him. “I am not interested in your protestations. You have put Isyar at risk, people I am responsible for. Does anyone else know she is untrained?”

Meleng coughed as control of his voice returned to him. “Just Jorvan, and it might have been mentioned to a couple of the Isyar who came to the ship to help unload it. But they didn’t believe it.”

Paydamat snarled. “I hope for your sake, you are right. If this causes a panic…” She turned away from him, going silent for a moment before hissing, “Oh, and the name of the Isyar you travelled here with is Jorvanultumn. You would do well to use his proper name.”

“Yes, sorry, force of habit.”

“He may not mind you mangling his name—even I don’t mind all that much—but there are others here who will take great offence, and you do not want that.”

“I’ll make sure to say it properly from now.” Meleng tried to move, but his legs and feet would still not respond.

Paydamat continued to face away from him. “And Princess Sinitïa Alessia Deanna Folith?”

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t tell anyone she can’t cast spells. We’ll try to hide it. And I intend to get her trained. Jorvan and...Jorvanultumn and I have discussed it. But I need to find her a teacher and there hasn’t been a chance yet. It’s not like an Isyar here would train her, right?”

Paydamat glared back at him, and Meleng gulped.

“I...I’d teach her myself, except…”

She turned to face him again. “Except?”

Meleng sighed. “She wants me to teach her, but enchantment’s not a good choice for her. She’d never be able to handle the equations. If I tell her that, though, she’ll think I’m calling her stupid, so it’s been hard to explain—”

“That is your problem, not mine.” Paydamat sighed. “However, I accept that enchantment is not a good choice for her, and there is little more you can do while she is here.”

Control of his legs returned and Meleng nearly fell over.

“Stay close to her. Watch her.” Paydamat’s tone had switched from harsh to comforting. “Make certain she doesn’t experiment with her abilities. And keep her calm. Extreme emotion can cause her to accidentally access her potential.”

Meleng climbed to his feet. “Yes, Jorvanultumn has told me the same.”

“It is more than either of us should be saying, but these are extenuating circumstances. Just look after her.”

Meleng nodded hastily. “I will.”

Paydamat placed her hand over her chest. “Pleasant thoughts, Meleng Drago.”

Meleng repeated the gesture. “Pleasant thoughts, Lamdir.”

She walked to the door, reached for it, but stopped and turned back to him. “I am sorry if I frightened you. However, she…” She took a deep breath. “She terrifies me, and she should terrify you too.” She bowed her head, then turned back to the door. It swung open in the opposite direction to how it had swung before, and she walked out.

Meleng closed his eyes for a moment and shuddered. He stumbled over to the mattress and sat down on it.

She had taken control of his body away and he hadn’t even noticed her do it. Mentalism was a very subtle discipline—he knew this—but when Felitïa cast spells, it was still possible to notice her small movements. There had been nothing with Paydamat. Nothing at all.

There was a knock at the door.

Meleng realised he was still shaking and did his best to stop. “Yes?”

The door opened a little and Sinitïa peered in. “Hey. I heard shouting. Is everything okay?”

Meleng nodded. “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.”

She frowned and her usually wide eyes drooped. “You don’t look fine.” She hurried over to him, sat beside him, and put an arm around him. “You’re shaking.”

He must have been shaking a lot to feel it through the heavy coats he was still wearing, though she had removed hers, so that was one barrier gone, he supposed. “I’ll...I’ll be fine.”

She put her other arm around him and hugged him close, her face close to his. “Did she hurt you? What did she do? I’ve never seen you like this.” Tears were forming in her eyes.

“She didn’t hurt me. She just… She was angry.”

“About what?”

How was he supposed to tell her that it was because of her and her potential? How could he scare her like that? No extreme emotions, Paydamat had said. “I’ll tell you later, okay? I promise. I just need some time to...to process.”

She nodded, the tears dripping down her face now. She touched his face and wiped tears away from his eyes. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me right now.”

He forced a smile, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Thank you.”

She smiled and blushed a little. “Better not let Miana see you do that.”

He groaned. “Sorry.”

She giggled. “It’s okay! Friends can kiss, silly. I kiss you all the time.”

It was true. She often gave him little kisses on the cheek or forehead. He had never really paid it much attention, though he had never done it back before.

She laid her head on his shoulder and hugged him tight again. “I don’t think I like Paydamat very much anymore.”

He should change the subject, avoid her getting angry. He’d never seen Sinitïa angry—not really angry—and he didn’t want to. He wanted her to stay happy. Could too much happiness count as an extreme emotion too? It probably did. Gods, what was he going to do? He wished Jorvan was here.

“Did you talk to Fevionawishtensen?” he asked.

She raised her head. “Yep! She didn’t understand me though, so she didn’t say anything. She smiled at me a couple times though, especially when I mentioned Jorvan’s name. Don’t worry, I was good and called him Jorvanultumn.” She smiled at him. “Do you want to go meet Etiënne like we planned? It might help you feel better, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Let’s do that,” Meleng said. It would be a good way to distract her—and him too.

She kissed him on the cheek, then jumped to her feet. “I’ll go put my outdoor clothes back on. See you in a couple minutes!”

When she was gone, Meleng buried his face in his hands and let the last shivers from his encounter with Paydamat expire themselves. It seemed to take ages, but eventually they faded and stopped. One more thing to have nightmares about, he supposed. He was getting used to nightmares.

He stood up and went to join Sinitïa and Captain Gen.

* * * * *

“The first time I was here was quite the adventure, let me tell you. Almost no one here speaks any human language. A few know a word or two in Arnorgue or Corunglese, and I met one once who was fluent in Folithan of all languages. Alas, that’s not a language I know. In any case, my point is, I didn’t know their language and they didn’t know any of mine, and Lamdir Paydamat wasn’t there at the time to use her magic to make us understood—”

“I don’t like Paydamat,” Sinitïa said.

Gen’s eyes widened. “Why ever not?”

“Because she—”

Meleng nudged Sinitïa and gave her a quick shake of his head.

Sinitïa scowled. “She...I don’t know. I just didn’t like her very much.”

Gen shrugged. “I think once you get to know her, you’ll like her a lot. She can be very helpful, and she’s much more willing to talk to humans than many other Isyar.”

“What does Lamdir mean?” Sinitïa asked.

“Oh.” Gen cleared his throat. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. It’s a kind of noble title, akin to mayor I think.”

Sinitïa mimicked throwing up. “Ugh, so she rules here?”

Gen twisted his head in something halfway between a nod and a shake. “Yes. No. Sort of. There are four Isyar in Chithishtheny with the same title. Except that’s not quite correct either. Remember how I said Isyarian has some very subtle pronunciation distinctions? Those four Isyar apparently do have different titles, but for the life of me, I can’t tell the difference between them. The distinction is subtler than the one between fomase and fomaze.”

“So we could be mispronouncing her title then,” Meleng said.

“It is possible, yes, but she’s never complained so I assume my pronunciation of Lamdir must be close enough.”

“These are too tight,” Sinitïa said, fiddling with her goggles.

When they had left their lodges, an Isyar had arrived with goggles for each of them. They were meant to protect against the glare of the sun off the snow. It wasn’t as much of a concern at this time of year when there were only a couple hours a day of sunlight. However, during the summer when the days were longer, continued exposure could blind a human. Even now, with only a few thin beams of sunlight passing through the breaks in the hills, it was very bright out. Meleng was glad for his goggles.

“Now, where was I?” Gen said, as Meleng reached for the straps of Sinitïa’s goggles to assist her. “Oh yes, my first visit to Chithishtheny. I had no idea what the proper protocols were. I didn’t know the customs. I was a young first mate on my mother’s ship. She commanded the Lustrous Rose in those days, you see. Anyway…”

Gen continued to drone on as Meleng tried to help Sinitïa with her goggles. He had to remove his mittens to get a hold on the straps, but they were stretched as far as they would go. “That better?” he asked, knowing he hadn’t made any effective changes.

“No.”

“Hold on.” Maybe there was a way he could magically stretch them just a little. The basic equations shouldn’t be hard, but getting the right amount of stretch would be the difficult part. He ran through the calculations in his head and hoped he got them right. He traced the equations onto each strap, then activated the spell.

Sinitïa clapped her hands. “That’s better! Thank you!” She gave him a quick hug.

“Now my mother was an expert negotiator and diplomat, but she had a very imperfect grasp of the language, and as I’ve mentioned, with Isyarian that can cause a lot of problems. She—”

Sinitïa gasped, and Gen stopped.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Gen said.

They had come round the bottom of one of the foothills and a mountain slope rose majestically before them. All along it, structures of ice and stone rose out of the slope, those higher up glittering in the sunlight that had not yet reached the ground. The structures were of various shapes, most with elegant curves, sometimes extending vertically from the mountain, other times horizontally, and still other times in other directions. They were of various different sizes as well, most of them clearly buildings, but there were some with shapes and sizes that couldn’t possibly be buildings. They looked more like sculptures—albeit large ones—in abstract designs, some with gentle curves, others with sharp corners.

The largest structure was one of the higher up ones. Clearly a building, it had a domed roof over the central portion, and two wings that curved upwards, actually rising away from the support of the mountain as if they were literal wings.

“Stunning,” Meleng said.

“I want to paint it. I want to put my easel right here and paint it.” Sinitïa stamped the ground. “But I can’t.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Meleng said. “I promise.”

Sinitïa didn’t respond, but Meleng could picture her frown under her scarves.

Gen pointed to the large building. “That’s the council building. It’s a bit of a climb, but the gardens in front of it are to die for. Shall I show you them?”

“I want to see the gardens!” Sinitïa hurried ahead in an attempt at a run that her bulky clothes wouldn’t quite allow. “Come on, Jeanne!” The dog scurried after her. Moments later, she was clambering up the steep trail that led up the slope, Jeanne bouncing about at her feet.

“Be careful!” Gen called. He looked back at Meleng. “Quite the bundle of energy, isn’t she?”

Meleng nodded. “Yes, she is.”

Gen patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, lad, you’re doing a good job keeping up with her. My first love was a bundle of energy, too.”

“She’s not my—”

“He was a sailor on my mother’s ship. We had quite the tempestuous affair. I was exhausted all the time. Alas, it didn’t last long. My mother kicked him off at the next port when she found out about us. ‘Son,’ she said, ‘the man you marry will be an officer or a noble, preferably both, not a lowly crewman.’ It was probably for the best. I doubt I could have kept up with him much longer.”

Meleng pointed to Sinitïa, now getting farther ahead. “Should we…?”

“Oh yes, of course,” Gen said and strode off.

Meleng followed.

The climb was exhausting. Meleng almost slipped on several occasions and had to scrabble for handholds. Luckily, it wasn’t all uphill—or at least, not all steep uphill. There were flatter portions, particularly when the trail passed buildings. There were a lot more buildings than had been visible from below, some back away from the edge, others made of darker, less shiny stone. Most of them were relatively small, single-storey affairs. Homes, Meleng assumed. Very few appeared to have complete roofs. At most, they had only partial roofs, leaving a significant portion of the interiors open to the sky.

Most of the buildings were spaced farther apart than they would be in a typical Arnorin town, which made Chithishtheny seem larger than it actually was. Small gardens of grey and purple plants often filled the spaces between buildings, though there were also occasional statues and just plain regular snow and ice.

As they continued up the slope, Isyar came out of some of the buildings and watched them pass. Many flew out of the open roofs, and then back in afterwards. Sinitïa waved at every Isyar they passed. A few waved back, but most just stared at her, some in surprise, some in awe, even a few in disgust. There were also a few who paid them no attention at all, though those tended to be farther away—perhaps too far to notice Sinitïa’s potential? Meleng would have really liked to see what they saw when they looked at her. Jorvan had described it as a kind of glow, but that it also went beyond that—not a particularly helpful description.

By the time they reached their destination, Meleng had fallen well behind. He bent over and gasped for air as he finally reached Gen. “I wish it wasn’t so steep.”

Gen chuckled. “We are in the mountains, lad. Probably why Isyar have wings.”

They were on a wide ledge, the round, winged Council building at the far end of it. Between them and the building stretched a garden of bizarre plants, some of them like short purple pine trees, others taller and with white flowers. Puffy purple bushes that had been trimmed and cut into geometric shapes were spaced at regular intervals throughout the garden, and the grey roots with flat leaves Meleng had seen elsewhere twined between and around all the other plants.

Along one length of the garden—the side that bordered the continuing slope of the mountain—stood periodic displays of statuary, some with their own small gardens surrounding them. Sinitïa was already at the closest of these. It was a statue made of packed snow, and depicted an Isyar with his wings spread and a small, lizard-like animal at his feet.

Gen patted Meleng on the back and strode up to Sinitïa. “Now, this remarkable statue was sculpted before Chithishtheny was founded. It’s believed to be at least three thousand years old.”

“Who’s it of?” Sinitïa asked.

“No one,” Gen said.

Meleng huffed over to them. “No one?” He peered closely at the statue. The details on it were precise down to the pattern of the fabric of the Isyar’s robe.

“So they say,” Gen said. “Apparently, the sculptor wasn’t trying to represent any actual individual, just a generic Isyar I suppose. Personally, I think they just say that because no one remembers who it was supposed to represent.” He chuckled.

Sinitïa reached a hand towards the statue, but didn’t touch it. “It’s beautiful. I want to learn how to make statues out of snow.”

Gen gestured around them. “There’s certainly lots of snow here for you to practise with.”

Sinitïa pointed to the lizard at the statue’s feet. “Do Isyar keep lizards as pets.”

“That’s not actually a lizard,” Gen said, “though it does look a bit like one here. If you see a real one, you’ll know it’s not a lizard.”

Sinitïa bent over to look closer at it. “What’s it called?”

Gen knelt beside her. “It’s called...now, you have to be careful with the pronunciation here. Get it wrong and you can end up saying the Isyar word for dragon. But if I have my pronunciation right, it’s called a frirrdund.” He rolled the middle r’s.

“Firr-er-er-dun,” Sinitïa said.

Gen shook his head. “No, it’s more—”

“Frirrdund,” a voice said.

An Isyar had approached behind them. His wings hung at odd angles, withered and useless, though he otherwise looked in peak condition. Indeed, he was the most muscular Isyar Meleng had ever seen. Instead of the typical Isyar gown, he was dressed in a form-fitting fabric similar to what Fevionawishtensen had been wearing, but a darker grey colour.

Gen took a step away. “Oh dear.”

Sinitïa looked up. “Firdund.”

“Frirrdund,” the Isyar repeated.

Gen gave the Isyar a quick nod, then placed a hand on Sinitïa’s shoulder. “We should move on.”

“Why?” Sinitïa stood up. “Furrrrrdund.” She grinned at her overemphasised r’s.

The Isyar shook his head. “Frirrdund.”

Gen stepped between Sinitïa and the Isyar. “Yes, thank you. If we head over this way, your Highness, there’s another statue almost as old and with a much more interesting story. We—”

Sinitïa pushed past Gen. “But I want to learn how to say it. He’s helping me.”

“What’s the problem?” Meleng asked Gen.

About the garden, other Isyar had stopped what they were doing and were staring in the group’s direction. But it wasn’t the usual awe and surprised directed at Sinitïa. It was disgust.

“Furrdund.” Sinitïa tried to roll her r’s but was unsuccessful.

The muscular Isyar smiled at her, but also glanced furtively about. There was an elderly Isyar with a cane approaching, and the muscular Isyar started to back away.

“No, don’t go,” Sinitïa said.

“Frirrdund,” the Isyar said one last time, then turned and started running.

“Ptip!” the elderly Isyar yelled. He raised his cane, which stretched outwards, past Meleng, Sinitïa, and Gen, then wrapped around the fleeing Isyar’s legs, pulling him off his feet.

“What are you doing?” Sinitïa grabbed the cane, but it shrank back to its normal size, whipping past her hands. She screamed and stumbled back. Her mittens were ripped right through, and blood was staining the tattered remains.

Meleng tried to rush over to her, but something grabbed his feet. It was the icy ground itself. It held him firm while the elderly Isyar stomped past him, yelling in Isyarian.

The muscular Isyar had gotten on to his hands and knees and was whimpering in Isyarian. He appeared to be begging for forgiveness from the elderly Isyar.

“He was just trying to help me!” Sinitïa screeched. “Meleng, tell him!”

Meleng gulped. “I...I don’t know Isyarian.” The ground had let go of him though, so he hurried over to Sinitïa’s side.

“We should get those hands tended to,” Gen said, trying to guide both of them away, but Sinitïa refused to move.

“I don’t understand the problem,” Meleng said.

Gen sighed. “I’m so sorry. I should have warned you, but it slipped my mind. I’m a terrible guide.” He looked over where the elderly Isyar was still yelling at the Isyar begging at his feet. “The one with the bent wings is called Itra, but he’s more commonly called a ptip. It’s something of a slur against Isyar born without the ability to use magic.”

“I didn’t even know that happened,” Meleng muttered, as he pulled Sinitïa’s tattered mittens off her. Only one hand was cut, and it was only a small one.

“It’s rare,” Gen said, “but it happens. He’s not supposed to talk to anyone, but he often tries to talk to visitors because we’ll talk to him out of ignorance.”

Sinitïa pulled her hands away from Meleng. “Well, it’s not fair. He was just trying to help me.” She moved forward. Gen tried to grab her arm, but she slapped his hand away and marched straight up to the elderly Isyar.

“Your Highness, I wouldn’t recommend…” Gen shook his head and sighed. “This will not end well. That’s one of the other Lamdirs.”

“He was just trying to help me,” Sinitïa hissed.

The Lamdir went quiet and turned slowly to face Sinitïa. He peered up at her, his eyes narrowed. Behind him, Itra scrabbled to his feet and hurried away.

“Sinitïa,” Meleng said, “maybe we should listen to Gen. We don’t know how powerful…”

Sinitïa shushed Meleng, then said calmly to the Lamdir, “I know you probably can’t understand me, but you don’t have to be so mean to him. He was just trying to help me.”

The elderly Isyar harrumphed softly and reached up at Sinitïa.

“See? We just have to be friendly.”

The Lamdir’s fingers began tracing something on one of her scarves. Meleng couldn’t make out the exact symbols, but he doubted they were anything good. “Sinitïa, look out!”

The scarf sprang to life, pulling itself tighter around Sinitïa’s neck. Sinitïa screamed, but the scream cut off as she began to choke and gasp for breath. She clawed at her neck.

Meleng rushed over to her, threw off his mittens, and tried to get his hands between the scarf and her neck. Gen did the same, and they struggled with the scarf while Sinitïa gagged and gasped.

Maybe there was a way he could undo the spell? What would the right equation be? Damn, he wasn’t even sure what sort of equation would make the scarf behave this way in the first place.

Gen had pulled out a knife and was trying to cut through the scarf. Sinitïa’s face had gone pale and she was unable to make any sounds beyond a gurgle.

Meleng let go of the scarf and rushed at the Lamdir. “Let her go!”

The Lamdir raised his cane, which stretched out again and whacked Meleng across the side of the face. He fell over, the other side of his face slamming into the hard ground. He groaned and looked up. The Lamdir raised his cane again and swung it down.

Something spun past and sliced the cane in two. The severed piece fell on Meleng’s chest, but without the force it would have otherwise had.

Somewhere behind him, a voice yelled in Isyarian, and the elderly Lamdir yelled something back. The two began yelling back and forth at each other.

Meleng crawled along the ground towards Sinitïa and Gen, not bothering to even look at his saviour. Gen was seated on the ground, cradling Sinitïa in his arms. She was free of the constricting scarf. It lay in a couple pieces on the ground.

When he reached them, she let go of Gen and threw herself into Meleng’s arms, and sobbed into his shoulder. “Why are Isyar so mean? They’re supposed to be kind. They’re supposed to be angels.”

“Alas, my dear,” Gen said, “reality rarely lives up to the stories. But many are kind. That one saved you.” He nodded towards their saviour.

Meleng looked over to see who had come to their rescue. She was a tall Isyar, almost as tall as Meleng, and young-looking. Her wings were spread wide, and they twitched as she glared at the elderly Isyar. The shouting between them had stopped.

Sinitïa sniffled. She pulled off her goggles and wiped her tear-filled eyes. “Who is she?”

“No idea,” Gen said. “Never seen her before.”

Their rescuer said something, this time softer, but the elderly Isyar still heard her. He hissed something in reply, spread his wings, then flew away. Their rescuer raised her hand, her forefinger and pinky extended and pointed towards the retreating Isyar. After a moment, she smirked, lowered her hand, and folded her wings. She walked over and knelt beside Meleng and Sinitïa. She held out her right hand, palm out. “Lamdhir Chiansamorkin.”

Sinitïa looked at her and sniffled again. Meleng tried to reach his left hand out, but he couldn’t get it out from under Sinitïa.

“I mean you no harm,” Chiansamorkin said. Her eyes were looking straight into Sinitïa’s.

Sinitïa detached herself from Meleng and placed her right palm on Chiansamorkin’s. “Princess Sinitïa Alessia Deanna Folith. You have beautiful eyes.” She lowered her hand again.

Chiansamorkin smiled. “Thank you, Princess. You are beyond beautiful. An absolute marvel.”

Sinitïa beamed and wiped her eyes. “You think so?”

“Such incredible power.” Chiansamorkin turned her gaze to Meleng.

He hurriedly pressed his palm against hers. “Meleng Drago.” Her eyes were unusual, dull red and splotchy. He wasn’t sure why Sinitïa described them as beautiful.

She removed her hand, stood up, and went through the greeting ritual with Captain Gen.

“Apologies, Lamdir,” Gen said, “but I...”

“Lamdhir,” she corrected.

“Apologies again, Lamdhir. I was only going to say that I don’t recognise you, and I’ve met the Lamdritta before.”

“I’m new, only recently raised to my position.” She reached a hand down and helped Sinitïa to her feet.

“The old guy was a Lamdir too?” Sinitïa said.

“Lammdir.” Chiansamorkin offered her hand to Meleng. “Lammdir Griholbovroh. He is a…” She paused while she helped Meleng to his feet. “I think the word in your language is ass. He is an ass of the worst kind. It is long overdue time someone challenged him for his position.”

“Why don’t you?” Sinitïa suggested.

Chiansamorkin chuckled. “Thank you, Princess Sinitïa Alessia Deanna Folith. Believe me, I would if I could. I am considerably more powerful than he is and he knows it. Unfortunately, we practise different disciplines. I can’t challenge him. I already have the equivalent of his position.”

Sinitïa frowned. “Oh. I don’t like him.”

“Few people do.”

“You’re the first nice Lamdir we’ve met,” Sinitïa said.

“Lamdhir.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m not very good with the differences. I can’t really tell…”

“It’s fine,” Chiansamorkin said. “I understand the difficulty our language presents to non-native speakers.”

“I’ll get our friend Jorvan to help me,” Sinitïa said. She put her hand over her mouth and gave a light gasp. “Sorry, I mean Jorvanultumn.”

Chiansamorkin’s eyes widened. “You know Jorvanultumn?”

Sinitïa nodded. “He’s our friend.”

“He’s here? In Chithishtheny?”

“He might still be at the ship,” Meleng said. “We’re not sure. But yes.”

Chiansamorkin’s wings began twitching. “Oh my. I didn’t expect him back for a couple years at least. Does Fevionawishtensen know?”

“She does,” Meleng said.

Chiansamorkin nodded and put a hand to her cheek. “That’s good, that’s good.”

“You know Jorvanultumn?” Sinitïa asked.

“Oh yes. We grew up together.” Chiansamorkin rubbed her forehead and began to pace, her wings still twitching. She muttered to herself in Isyarian.

“Are you okay?” Sinitïa asked.

“Better than you can imagine,” Chiansamorkin said. “Sorry if I look otherwise. I should let him and Fevionawishtensen have time together first. It would be inappropriate of me to go see him first. Princess Sinitïa Alessia Deanna Folith, I need a distraction. Might I have the honour of showing you around Chithishtheny?”

“Um…” Sinitïa looked at Gen. “Well, Etiënne here was…”

“I am aware Captain Etiënne Gen has been to Chithishtheny many times,” Chiansamorkin said, “and he could probably give you a decent tour. However, I’ve lived here my whole life. I’m sure there are things I can show you and tell you about that he has no knowledge of. No offence, Captain.”

Gen raised his hands. “None taken.”

“You don’t mind?” Sinitïa said.

Gen shook his head. “It’s fine. Go have fun.”

Sinitïa beamed. “Okay!”

Chiansamorkin moved round behind Sinitïa. “Raise your arms. If you don’t mind, that is.”

Sinitïa looked confusedly at Meleng, but raised her arms as asked.

Chiansamorkin put her arms around her and clasped her hands over Sinitïa’s stomach. “Now hook your arms over mine.” She looked to Meleng and Gen. “Please stand aside.”

As they moved away, Chiansamorkin spread her wings. “Hold on tight,” she said to Sinitïa, who grinned broadly. Chiansamorkin looked at Meleng and smiled. “I’ll have her back in a few hours.” Then she leapt into the air and flew with Sinitïa over the gardens and into the distance.