Prologue · Scene 2 of 4

Cloudspire’s morning market hummed with controlled chaos. Canvas awnings rippled in the wind, casting moving shadows over tightly packed stalls. Elves hawked powders and salves with murmured promises of longevity; humans argued over clockwork trinkets that ticked and whirred. Beneath it all, bamboo creaked and ropes groaned as people moved between levels, the island flexing under the weight of its own life.

Alaric would have avoided the crowds if he could. Inas moved through them as though every pause and opening had been arranged for his convenience.

“You wore it,” he said, glancing at Alaric’s shirt.

“You left instructions.”

“Someone has to improve your taste.”

Alaric glanced pointedly at the blue sash. Inas grinned.

Then he turned toward the heart of the market, passing the row where they usually sold their remedies.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Who?”

Inas slowed to let a porter pass between them. When they fell into step again, he was looking ahead.

“You’ll see.”

Through a gap in the awnings, Alaric caught a glimpse of the ship. He looked back at his brother, but Inas was already lifting a hand in greeting.

An elven official stood beside the central platform. He acknowledged Inas with a small nod.

“You found him,” the elf said.

“As promised.”

Alaric stopped.

The official’s gaze passed over him, then settled on Inas’s satchel. “And the sample?”

“This morning’s harvest.”

Behind them, an Avariel vendor looked up from weighing a bundle of dried leaves. Her eyes lingered on Inas and the official before she returned to her work.

Alaric waited until the elf turned toward the platform.

“Since when do you make promises to them?”

Inas adjusted his satchel. “It’s work, Alaric.”

“What work?”

But voices were dropping around them. A loose ring of onlookers had begun to form, and the official stepped aside.

The Avariel commander stood beyond him, her wings folded into a precise V along her back. Pale armor caught the morning light like polished bone, unmarred by wear or ornament. Two junior officers flanked her, rigid and silent. A second elven official waited near the platform, holding a sealed document.

The commander looked directly at Inas.

“Your brother?”

Inas nodded. “Alaric.”

She turned to him. “I understand you know more about Skydew than anyone else on this island.”

Alaric glanced at his brother.

“I said you were the person to ask,” Inas murmured.

Apparently, he had said considerably more than that.

“I work with it,” Alaric replied.

“Then perhaps you can distinguish what is useful from what has merely been repeated.”

The commander stepped closer. Around them, vendors paused over coins and bundles.

“We have heard accounts of its effects,” she continued. “Enough to warrant study. We require a shipment, together with an accurate account of how the plant is harvested, prepared, and used.”

A shipment.

Alaric had expected, at most, a question about a remedy. He looked toward the folded document in the official’s hand.

“You came here for Skydew?”

“It is one purpose of our visit.”

Inas drew the jar from his satchel and offered it to Alaric. The petals shifted softly against the glass.

Alaric took it, keeping his eyes on his brother.

“How long have you known?”

Inas’s smile had faded. “We’ll talk afterward.”

For a moment, Alaric considered handing the jar back. Then the commander held out her hand.

“May I?”

He passed it to her.

She turned the jar toward the light, studying the petals without opening it.

“Our medics wish to examine its applications.”

“Skydew doesn’t heal wounds,” Alaric said. “If that’s what you’ve been told, the account was wrong.”

“Then what does it do?”

“It stabilizes pressure. Subtle distortions most people never feel. It thrives here because Cloudspire sits inside a constant imbalance.”

One of the junior officers glanced toward the elven officials.

Alaric continued before anyone could interrupt.

“But growing here doesn’t mean it can be taken away in any quantity you choose. How you harvest it matters. So does what you leave.”

The commander returned the jar.

“What would careless harvesting change?”

“The plant weakens. The petals you collect afterward won’t behave the same way.” He glanced down at the small harvest resting in his palm. “You could end up studying the damage you’ve done and mistake it for the plant’s nature.”

The commander was silent for a moment.

“Where is it cultivated?”

“The eastern terraces. Early sun only.”

“Your brother tells us you gather it yourself.”

“Yes.”

“And prepare it?”

“When it’s needed. The preparation depends on the use.”

“Then we will require your guidance as well as the shipment.”

Beside him, Inas shifted. Alaric could feel his brother waiting for him to agree.

The elven official stepped forward with the document.

“A daily collection has been proposed,” he said. “Quantities can be settled once—”

“No.”

The word came out more firmly than Alaric intended.

A vendor behind him stopped folding her awning.

Alaric steadied the jar between his hands.

“I can provide samples. I can explain what we know of its uses. But I won’t promise a daily harvest.”

The official’s expression tightened. “Your brother indicated that supply would be possible.”

“My brother doesn’t harvest it.”

Inas lowered his eyes.

The commander studied Alaric. “We need repeated samples to track changes in its properties.”

“Then let the plants recover between collections. Take from different beds. Record the sun and wind with each harvest.” He paused. “A schedule is useful only if you’re willing to change it.”

“How will you determine when a bed is ready?”

He remembered the familiar pulse beneath his fingertips, the sharpness that had made him withdraw his hand.

“The condition of the plants,” he said. “You’ll need to let me assess them.”

She held his gaze a moment longer, then turned to the official.

“Revise the terms. Collection will follow his assessment. Shipment quantities will be settled after the first samples are examined.”

The official lowered the document.

“And you,” she said to Alaric, “will explain the preparations to our medics. Report your observations directly to me.”

“I can do that.”

“We will arrange a visit to the terraces.”

This time, she waited.

Alaric nodded.

The commander and her officers moved toward the open landing beyond the stalls. The crowd parted, and a moment later their wings lifted them above the awnings.

The elven official remained.

“I’ll send the revised terms through you as usual,” he told Inas.

Then he withdrew into the market.

As usual.

Alaric watched until the elf disappeared.

“How long?” he asked.

Inas let out a slow breath. “I’ve been handling some purchases for them. Introductions. Things they need from the market.”

“And you never mentioned it.”

“You know how people talk.”

“Yes,” Alaric said. “I do.”

Around them, the market was finding its voice again. He caught his own name from somewhere behind his shoulder.

Inas moved closer. “When they asked about Skydew, I told them about you. You know it better than I ever could.”

“You could have told me about them.”

“I wanted to know there was something worth bringing you into.”

“And now there is?”

“They need what we know. They’re willing to pay for it.”

Alaric looked down at the jar. Inas had known about the visitors while he had been piecing together rumors. He had spoken for him, brought him here, and waited until strangers asked the questions before letting him understand why.

“They’re here to understand it,” Alaric said.

“That could be good for us.”

“Perhaps.”

He slipped the jar into his own satchel.

“Next time,” he said, “ask me first.”

Inas nodded, but neither of them moved toward the stalls.

For once, Alaric could not tell what his brother was thinking.