The flight had taken half a day, and had passed in silence. The wind numbed their faces into cold, expressionless masks that aptly mirrored what they felt within. Ylia had not known what she had expected to feel seeing the hulking continent of Aurelia again. The great landmass stretched north and south further than any eye could see, preposterous in its enormity and opportunity. She wondered what the first Yarulian settlers had thought discovering this uncharted treasure trove, how awed they must have been, but the thought did not warm her.

  Though she had never visited Wylhome, it was a part of Aurelia, and therefore a part of the place she had once called home. Even though the cities of Virgoda differed greatly from those of Tezada, there were similarities—familiarities of Aurelian culture—she recognised from another life. The way the streets were laid in blocks rather than the haphazard rivers laid down by the Yarulians. The way the houses were spaced extravagantly so that even commoners felt the wealth of their home. The way the paint glimmered on the gables, freshly applied, whereas in Yarruk painted houses showed the fade of decades with pride. All this should have evoked something, but she had nothing left within her to feel. Telos had fallen. He had sacrificed himself to rectify his wrongs and give them all a chance at freedom. Any lingering feelings of resentment she felt towards him had evapourated. She cursed herself, cursed her handling of him, wished that she could have done something.

  Below them, the seaport rose up, a cluster of wooden houses with brightly painted facades interspersed by stone watchtowers, a lighthouse, and a few squat turrets that composed a small Dragonport. Several wharves projected over the blood-dark oceanwater, crowded by Qi’shathian galleons and small fishing vessels alike. A smattering of dragons, most of them dwarfed by the size of Pandora—the dragon which they had requisitioned in Gorgosa—looked skyward as they descended, growling among themselves at the presence of a newcomer. On the western side of the city, she saw the familiar rails that demarcated an Engine track. Thick columns of black smoke billowed from the disordered buildings that must have formed the station. She could smell Daimonsblood even from this height.

  Gryll, the dragonrider they had strong-armed into taking them over the sea, steered the ruby-scaled dragon skillfully towards a vacant perch. They landed and disembarked, still in silence.

  An official, wearing a dragon broach, scurried up to them. Gryll descended the ladder and approached, a snarl forming before they had even exchanged words.

  “This flight is not scheduled!” the official said, shrilly. Then his eyes alighted on Jubal. “And… and that is a theront!”

  Gryll retrieved a bag of coins from the inner lining of his fur coat—he alone had been warm on the flight—and pulled out ten Demons, the coins winking in the dying sunlight. Gryll forced them into the official’s hands.

  “It just became official,” Gryll grunted.

  “And the theront?” the official said, though the money was already in his hands.

  “It is a costume,” Qala answered, stepping forward. “And we are mummers in a drama.”

  The official hesitated only a moment. Hard eyes stared at him from all around. He nodded.

  “Now make sure she’s fed,” Gryll said, patting his dragon’s flanks. “Only the finest beef or she’ll burn you alive.” Gryll rubbed Pandora’s neck a final time and the dragon made a sound almost akin to purring. “I’ll be back for you in a moment, love.”

  The purring sound reminded Ylia: “Wait, Urgal!”

  She and Gryll went to the wooden storage unit strapped to the huge dragon’s underbelly. She could hear the yowling within before she’d unbolted the door. As soon as undid the bolt, the cat leapt upon her, nearly knocking her over the side of the tower. It alternately licked her face then hissed.

  She found a moment of comfort in the cat’s warmth and softness and affection, before Urgal started to look around. A lump formed in Ylia’s throat when she realised he was looking for Telos.

  “Urgal, I’m sorry...”

  The enormous felidae let out a howling shriek that caused the dragons to stir, their handlers looking around in panic, fearing one had loosed its conditioning. The cat’s hackles stood on end and it dug its claws into the stonework, carving granite like it was soft clay. The fury in the cat’s eyes made even Ylia afraid.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  Urgal hung his head, then slunk to Ylia’s side, rubbing himself against her legs, letting out horrid mewling sounds. He expressed outwardly what Ylia felt within.

  Gryll, who watched the display without any flicker of emotion, looked at Ylia, Qala, and Jubal, grunted disconsolately, and jerked his head towards the stairwell down.

  Ylia understood Gryll’s rage. They had forced him to depart his place of business in disgrace, endangered his dragon, and brought a whole heap of trouble on his head. But it seemed he still wanted to talk to them. She dreaded the conversation, but it needed to be had.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Gryll led them down the roughshod set of stairs carved into the side of the Dragonport tower. These were much smaller than the pinnacles in Gorgosa, but their flat tops served the purpose just as well. The smells of the seaport already rushed to greet them: saltwater, fish, but all overlaid with the unmistakeably metallic tang of Daimonsblood.

  Wylhome was much less crowded than Gorgosa, which Ylia considered a blessing, as their party received many strange looks with the hulking cat and Jubal in tow. Though the theront pulled his deep hood over his face, it was not enough to hide what he was from discerning eyes.

  Gryll seemed to know where he was going, leading them down several broad avenues until they reached a disheveled tavern.

  “Why is it that for the teeming millions of Gorgosa they build streets not wide enough for a dog, and here, where the population numbers mere hundreds, they have built avenues fit for a royal procession?” Jubal grunted.

  They were the first words Jubal had spoken since Telos fell, and while Ylia was glad someone had broken the silence, she was not sure she had the strength to engage in trivialities.

  “It is the Aurelian mindset,” Qala supplied. “Everyone here believes they are an emperor.”

  Ylia thought that was rich coming from a disinherited princess, but Qala was also bang on the money.

  “In here,” Gryll grunted, pushing open the door to the tavern. Ylia did not catch the name. Something like “Ryldon’s Respite”, or another typically Aurelian and homely title. When Ylia had built her own House in Yarruk, she had learned quickly she needed to adopt the Yarulian custom of having a more grandiose, poetic name to attract customers. But here, homely was preferred.

  They stepped within. The smell of barley-rich ales and malts saturated the walls. Men and women smoked goldleaf via ornate wooden pipes, plumes of grey smog drifting across the tavern as though ghosts also frequented the drinking hole. Gryll found a table, deposited his extraordinary bulk onto a chair, and gestured for them to do the same.

  They each sat around the table and Urgal curled up at Ylia’s feet. A barmaid came over and asked if they wanted drinks. Her eyes lingered on Jubal but if she suspected what he really was beneath the hood, she said nothing. Gryll answered for them and ordered a round. He said nothing else while they waited for the drinks to arrive, and no one seemed to know how to break the silence. When he had his pint, Gryll downed half in a single gulp. Ylia stared at hers. Her hands started trembling. Despite how dreadful her relapse had been, she found it’d reawakened the old temptation. The sweet numbness, the sweet release of not having to be herself, that was the oblivion alcohol promised, and she craved it more than anything else—especially now.

  With an effort of will, she pushed the tankard away from her. Had Qala’s eyes not been on her, she doubted she would have been able to resist.

  “In forty years of fucking flying, since I was eight years old, I’ve never lost a soul,” Gryll blurted. “By the gods, today is the worst day of my life.” He looked at each of them. “And it’s all thanks to you. So I say: how are you going to make it up to me?”

  “We owe you nothing,” Qala hissed. “You were the one who abandoned a priceless cargo of Qi’shathian wares on the forecourt!”

  Gryll slammed his fist on the table. Heads turned, but he did not seem to care. People spied Jubal and began muttering. Ylia knew this could not end well.

  “I should have left you to be shot! You jades are all the same: arrogant to a fault, espousing mystical bullshit... You owe me a fucking empire of coin, woman! My business, ruined. My reputation, ruined. And a life on my hands!”

  “His life is not on your hands,” Jubal thundered. “His life is on the Warden’s hands. And the two are now both dead.”

  Silence followed. The door to the tavern opened and closed. Ylia had no doubt someone had gone to get the city guard. She stood.

  “You may wallow here all you like, Gryll. But we must move.”

  Jubal caught her eye, nodded. Qala did the same.

  Gryll waved his hand at them.

  “Fine. Go your way. Leave me. But know this: I harbour a vendetta against you, now and always.”

  “Come on,” Ylia said. She had spent her whole life dealing with drunks, and she knew from prior experience that Gryll knew how to drink with the best of them. She, Qala, Urgal, and Jubal made their way to the door.

  But Gryll did not want to be ignored. He stood, sending beer slopping everywhere, all bluster and foam-flecked ire.

  “I see your faces again and Pandora will burn you! You hear me?” he spat.

  Ylia turned on him.

  “I’m surprised Pandora did not burn you the night you tried to stick your thing in her. I have to give you credit, Gryll, it takes balls to try and fuck a dragon. Be safe.”

  Gryll turned white. He looked around, saw the faces staring, then the laughter. Ylia thought he might have a seizure. A muscle twitched in his eye.

  Laughing, she opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight. It felt good to get that secret off her chest, even though it was someone else’s.

  “Where to now?” Jubal said.

  “Somewhere private,” Ylia replied. “We need space to think what we can do. I’m sure we can help one another. That’s one positive that has come from all this: it’s brought us together.”

  “My, my, Ylia,” Qala said. “If I did not know better, I’d say you were a master of the Immutable Way.”

  Ylia smiled.

  “Just a sunny girl from Tezada,” she said.

  Urgal let out a yowl. As always, he seemed to know how she really felt.