Prologue · Scene 4 of 4

By dusk, Cloudspire’s upper reaches glowed with borrowed fire. Lanterns bloomed along the highest walkways, their light reflected in mist and glass until the island seemed wrapped in a halo of gold. The Bamboo Bar perched near the rim, its platforms swaying gently as patrons arrived, laughter rising with the evening wind.

Alaric climbed beside Inas, the vibration in his bones quieter now, though never fully gone. Inas had exchanged his work shirt for one so vividly blue that Alaric noticed it even in the fading light.

“Was the sash not enough?”

“I didn’t want you to feel overdressed.”

A small smile escaped Alaric. Inas saw it and smiled back, but let the silence return without trying to fill it.

They had spent much of the afternoon at the apothecary, reading the revised terms. Inas had explained the passages he recognized and admitted when he did not know. Alaric had marked questions in the margins: how samples would be stored aboard, who would prepare them, what would happen if their properties changed away from the island.

The harvest schedule was his to determine. No quantity had been promised for a larger shipment.

Those provisions helped. They did not tell him what the visitors hoped Skydew might make possible.

At the bar’s door, he glanced toward the upper rim. A short walk from here. The first bell after dusk had not yet sounded.

“One drink,” he said.

“And something to eat,” Inas replied. “Amodini gave instructions too.”

Inside, bamboo poles lashed with silver cord framed the crowded room. Rain tapped lightly against the roof. Paper lanterns hung overhead, scattering warm light across faces flushed with drink and anticipation.

Amodini poured, sliced, and slid cups along the counter without pause. When she saw them, she nodded toward a small table at the back, tucked beside a screen of woven reeds.

“I kept it clear,” she called. “Don’t make me regret it.”

They sat. Through the screen, Alaric could see the door and a narrow strip of the room without feeling quite so visible himself.

Amodini arrived with two cups and a plate of warm flatbread.

“Well?”

“We’ve been invited aboard,” Inas said. “First bell after dusk.”

She set down the plate.

“Then you can start with that.”

The drink was cool and sharp. Alaric took a small sip before drawing the folded document from his satchel.

He told her about the revised terms and the proposed visit to the terraces. Inas added what he knew of the officials’ arrangements.

Amodini listened, breaking a piece of bread between her fingers.

“And how long have you been arranging things with the elves?” she asked him.

Inas glanced at Alaric.

“She needs to know what happened,” Alaric said.

“A while,” Inas admitted. “Purchases. Introductions.”

Amodini waited.

“I knew about the visitors before they arrived. I gave the officials Alaric’s name.”

“Did he know you had?”

“No.”

Her eyes moved to Alaric, then back.

“You should have told him.”

“I know.”

She laid the bread on the plate.

“People will have plenty to say about who you work with. You can answer that yourself. But he shouldn’t have had to find out in front of them.”

Inas nodded. He did not reach for a joke.

For a moment, only the sounds beyond the screen filled the table: cups striking wood, a chair scraping, someone laughing too loudly.

Then Amodini turned to Alaric.

“Have you agreed to anything you can’t undo?”

“Samples. Explaining how we use them. No shipment yet.”

“And tonight?”

“Questions first.”

“Good.” She pushed the plate closer. “Ask them after you’ve eaten.”

Someone called her name from the counter. She squeezed Alaric’s shoulder as she passed and returned to work.

Inas tore a piece of flatbread.

“She’s gentler with paying customers.”

“You aren’t one.”

“I was going to be.”

Alaric took another piece. This time, the silence between them was easier.

At the far end of the bar, a cluster of visiting Avariels stood together. Their armor was loosened, their posture less rigid than in the market. One leaned against a bamboo post while another tried to imitate the rhythm a drummer was tapping near the door.

They laughed when he failed.

Alaric had not expected that ordinary sound from them.

A phrase carried across the room.

“Karak’s Gambit.”

An older patron at the next table lowered his cup. Another murmured something Alaric could not hear. The visitors continued their conversation, apparently unaware of the response.

“Do you know what that means?” Alaric asked.

Inas glanced toward the group. “No.”

Alaric watched a moment longer, then wrote the name in the margin of the document.

The commander entered from the rain. An officer made room for her at the counter and offered a cup.

“They say it’s traditional.”

“They say many things,” she replied.

She tasted it. The officer waited.

“Better than the last recommendation.”

His laughter was immediate.

Inas followed Alaric’s gaze.

“You can ask her tonight.”

“I intend to.”

“About the drink?”

Alaric tapped the paper.

“About everything else.”

Amodini returned briefly to refill their water. She glanced at the notes covering the margins.

“If the meeting runs long, I’ll know why.”

“She asked for someone who understood the plant,” Inas said.

“She’s getting someone who wants to understand the agreement,” Alaric replied.

Amodini smiled. “That seems fair.”

Then something small streaked through the doorway.

A flying lizard, no longer than Alaric’s forearm, banked around a lantern in a blur of iridescent motion. Two children stopped at the entrance, calling after it. The creature darted between the bamboo poles, veered over the reed screen, and landed squarely on Alaric’s head.

The nearest tables erupted in laughter.

Alaric went still.

Tiny claws held gently in his hair. A tail curled against his ear, and the creature leaned forward to peer at the table.

Inas pressed his lips together.

“Don’t,” Alaric said.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You’re preparing to.”

Amodini leaned around the screen, delighted.

“A drift-lizard. They follow disturbances in the currents.”

“Then it’s found the right table,” Inas said.

Soft light rippled along the creature’s body. Alaric could see it reflected in his cup—brief, uneven flashes that gradually slowed.

A low chirr vibrated against his scalp.

The pressure at the base of his skull eased.

He drew a deeper breath than he had meant to. The hum was still there, but its persistent edge had softened, leaving him suddenly aware of how tightly he had been holding his shoulders.

The lizard settled closer, its tail loosening against his ear. Its glow steadied.

Amodini’s smile grew thoughtful.

“What?” Alaric asked.

“Nothing.” She watched the creature a moment longer. “Let it settle.”

One of the children approached.

“Will it bite?”

Alaric raised his hand slowly.

“Give it a moment.”

He rested a finger beneath its forefeet. The lizard shifted onto his hand, warm and almost weightless. Its chirr trembled against his skin.

He remembered the Skydew’s pulse beneath his fingertips.

Without quite knowing why, he waited.

The creature’s eyes half closed. For several breaths, neither moved.

Then it lifted its head, spread its translucent wings, and sprang to the bamboo pole above them.

The pressure returned—a faint tightening behind his eyes.

Alaric looked down at his empty hand.

“Apparently, the groves weren’t enough,” Inas murmured. “Now the wildlife is recommending you.”

Alaric managed a smile, but his attention remained on the lizard. Its light flickered as it moved along the pole.

Across the room, the commander was watching.

Her cup rested untouched in her hand. She glanced toward the creature, then back at Alaric, her attention lingering until he met her eyes.

She lifted the cup slightly.

He returned the gesture, still feeling the small claws against his finger.

There would be another question to ask aboard.

Music rose around them—flute first, then drum, then voices finding their way into the melody. For a little while, Alaric let the document lie untouched. He ate, listened, and watched the drift-lizard inch closer to the lantern’s warmth.

His brother sat beside him. Amodini was arguing cheerfully with someone over the price of another cup. Rain brushed the roof.

Whatever had changed that morning, this place still knew him.

At the counter, the commander set down her drink and spoke to her officers. They followed her out into the rain.

Alaric folded the agreement along its original creases and returned it to his satchel.

“Ready?” Inas asked.

“Not entirely.”

He stood.

Amodini met them at the door.

“Come back,” she said. “You can tell me whether their answers were any good.”

“We’ll have opinions,” Inas assured her.

“You always do.”

She looked at Alaric, and he nodded.

Outside, the rain had thinned to mist. Inas fell into step beside him, leaving Alaric to choose the pace.

The first bell after dusk began to sound as they turned toward the upper rim.

Alaric touched the satchel at his side. The questions were still there, waiting with the agreement.

This time, he knew where he was going.