Prologue · Scene 3 of 4

Alaric and Inas left the center of the market, but its curiosity followed them. Even between the stalls, glances and whispers lingered. Strangers approached Alaric with hurried, half-formed questions.

“Is it true?” a young elf asked, eyes wide. “What are they taking from the groves?”

“Samples,” Alaric said. “Nothing more has been settled.”

The elf opened his mouth again, but Inas found a gap between two shoppers and led them through it. Alaric followed, grateful for the escape and irritated by the gratitude.

A familiar voice cut through the swirl.

“Well, this is news!”

Amodini emerged from between two produce stalls, earth-toned wings folding neatly against her back as she stepped into the lane. A basket of herbs, dried fruit, and spice bundles rested against her hip—supplies for the evening crowd at the Bamboo Bar. She had run it alone since her parents’ passing a few seasons earlier.

Her gaze swept over the brothers.

“I leave you alone for one morning.”

“It was a productive morning,” Inas said.

Alaric looked at him. “For some of us.”

Amodini’s smile faded a little.

“I heard the commander asked for you by name,” she said to Alaric. “And that you told an elven official no.”

“He wanted a daily harvest.”

“And now?”

“He isn’t getting one.”

Her mouth curved again. “Good.”

A porter squeezed past, forcing them closer to the produce stall. Amodini waited until he had gone before lowering her voice.

“The elves were making arrangements before most of these stalls opened. Whatever brought you into it, they’ve had longer to think than you have.”

Inas shifted beside him.

Amodini noticed. Her eyes rested on him for a moment, but she asked no question.

“Come by the bar tonight,” she said. “Both of you. I can keep the back table clear.”

“I thought you preferred us where everyone could see us,” Inas said.

“Usually, you make better company.”

This time his smile was small.

“We’ll try.”

“Do.” She adjusted the basket against her hip. “And eat something before you start deciding the future of the island.”

She stepped back into the flow of shoppers.

Almost immediately, another voice rose behind them.

“Are you the one she spoke to?”

“Is it true they’re recruiting locals?”

“My cousin says the elves approved a shipment.”

Alaric’s shoulders tightened.

Inas touched his elbow, then paused.

“The gardens?” he asked.

Alaric nodded.

They turned into the quieter lanes behind the market. The noise faded, colors softening into greens and weathered wood. Beneath a woven arch of reeds, the Wind Gardens opened around them.

Tiered walkways curved through bamboo and hanging leaves. Patient currents carried the low chime of glass leaves instead of voices. Water pooled below, reflecting sky and motion in gentle fragments.

Alaric stopped beside the railing. A trailing vine had caught beneath a loose strip of reed binding. He eased it free and laid it across the rail.

Behind him, Inas waited.

“You said you’ve been handling purchases,” Alaric began. “Is that all?”

“Purchases. Finding people who can supply what they need. Sometimes explaining why a request won’t work the way they expect.”

“Which elves?”

“The officials who deal with the market.”

“The same ones who decide what we pay to keep a stall?”

“Yes.”

Alaric turned toward him.

Inas rubbed a green stain along the side of his thumb.

“They come to the apothecary, Alaric. They need remedies like anyone else. At first, they asked where to find things we didn’t sell. I knew, so I told them.”

“And it grew from there.”

Inas nodded.

Alaric could imagine it easily: his brother remembering a name, making an introduction, finding a solution before anyone else thought to ask. The same skills that kept their shelves stocked and their debts paid.

“You knew I wouldn’t like it.”

“I knew you’d worry.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“No,” Inas said quietly. “It isn’t.”

A glass leaf chimed above them.

“When did you hear about the visitors?”

“Before the ship arrived. The officials needed someone who could help them answer questions about Skydew.”

“And you gave them my name.”

“They asked about preparation, storage, quantities. I could answer some of it. Then they started asking about cultivation.” He looked at Alaric. “I told them you were the one who understood the plants.”

“Did you promise them a shipment?”

“I said we might be able to supply one. I didn’t give them a quantity.”

“They seemed ready to settle it.”

“I thought you’d explain the limits.”

“In front of half the market?”

Inas winced.

“I thought if they heard you themselves, they’d listen.”

Alaric looked back at the vine. One leaf was still bent where the binding had pressed it.

“You sent me a note about bringing petals. You could have told me who wanted them.”

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Inas was silent long enough that Alaric turned again.

“Because you might have stayed in the grove.”

The answer hurt more for being plausible.

“I might have asked questions first.”

“I should have let you.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Inas added, “What you do matters. I wanted them to see that.”

Alaric’s fingers rested on the rail.

“I wanted you to tell me.”

The wind shifted.

Not stronger—sharper. The steady currents faltered for a fraction of a second, chimes stuttering as though caught mid-breath.

Alaric felt it before he saw the shadow cross the boards.

The hum deepened, pressing at the base of his skull. Something in it felt familiar, though he could not have said where he had felt it before.

He looked up as wings folded into view.

The commander stepped onto the garden walkway. Her feathers settled in the disturbed air, and two officers landed several paces behind her.

“Alaric,” she said. “May I speak with you?”

He inclined his head.

“Inas.” She acknowledged his brother with a nod, then returned her attention to Alaric. “Would you prefer to speak privately?”

“He can stay.”

Inas glanced at him.

The commander produced a document from a slim case at her side. A crescent entwined with a talon marked the wax seal, threaded through with fine metallic filaments.

“The proposed terms have been revised,” she said. “There is no fixed daily harvest. The first collection is for study. Any larger shipment will depend on your assessment of what the groves can spare.”

“You rewrote them already?”

“The officials had a draft prepared. Your objections required changes.”

Of course they had.

Alaric resisted the urge to look at Inas.

The commander held out the document.

“You are invited aboard the Virelis Falcon at the first bell after dusk. Our medics will attend. We would like you to explain Skydew’s uses and review the agreement with us.”

Alaric accepted the paper.

“Before I agree to a shipment.”

“Before you agree to further work.”

The distinction eased something in him, though not enough.

“What are you hoping to learn?”

“Whether the effects described to us can be reproduced. How preparation changes them. Whether harvested material remains useful away from Cloudspire.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then we need to know that before we fill a hold with it.”

Inas leaned against the railing. “A practical answer.”

“An expensive mistake is still a mistake.”

Alaric studied the commander. The hum changed when she shifted her wings, deepening briefly before settling again.

“What have you observed already?” he asked.

“Your explanation in the market. Your insistence on allowing the plants to recover.”

“And before that?”

“What the officials told us, and what your brother supplied through them.”

Her answer came without hesitation.

“We have not visited the terraces,” she continued. “I would like you to show our medics how you assess the plants and harvest them.”

“You’ll ask before taking anything.”

“Yes.”

“And before doing anything that could affect the beds.”

“Yes,” she repeated. “Tell us what requires care. We cannot account for what we do not understand.”

Alaric glanced down at the seal.

“And if I decide against the agreement?”

“Then say so. The invitation is to discuss it.”

At his side, Inas straightened.

“May I come?”

The commander looked to Alaric.

He let the silence last a moment.

“Yes,” he said.

She inclined her head. “At the upper rim. You will both be met.”

Then she stepped back, spread her wings, and lifted from the walkway. The officers followed.

The wind settled. The chimes resumed their rhythm.

The hum remained.

Inas watched the empty sky.

“Amodini will have opinions about this,” he said.

“She usually does.”

“We could stop at the bar before the bell.”

Alaric turned the document over in his hands. This morning, he had known where he was going and what the plants would ask of him. Now there was a ship to board, an agreement to read, and a brother whose familiar explanations no longer settled everything.

“We can,” he said. “But I’m reading this first.”

Inas nodded.

“Together?”

Alaric unfolded the paper.

“You can start by telling me what you’ve already seen.”