The man stepped forward, and she saw that he was holding something out for her. His coat.

A refusal rose to her lips, automatic, but then good sense made her reach out and take it. She’d survived magic doors and evil queens; she’d be damned if she died of catching cold.

He let go of the coat the instant her fingers found purchase, as if afraid of being burned, and she shrugged it on, the lining still warm from Lenos’s body. She turned up the collar and shoved her hands into the pockets, flexing her fingers for warmth.

“Are you afraid of me?” she asked in Arnesian.

“A little,” he admitted, looking away.

“Because you don’t trust me?”

He shook his head. “Not that,” he mumbled. “You’re just different from us….”

She gave him a crooked smile. “So I’ve been told.”

“Not cause you’re a, well, you know, a girl. S’not that.”

“Because I’m the Sarows, then? You really think that?”

He shrugged. “S’not that, not exactly. But you’re aven.”

Lila frowned. The word he used was blessed. But Lila had learned that there was no English equivalent. In Arnesian blessed wasn’t always a good thing. Some said it meant chosen. Others said favored. But some said cursed. Other. Apart.

“Aven can be a good thing, too,” she said, “so long as they’re on your side.”

“Are you on our side?” he asked quietly.

Lila was on her own side. But she supposed she was on the Spire’s side, too. “Sure.”

He wrapped his arms around himself and turned his attention past her to the water. A fog was rolling in, and as he stared intently at it, Lila wondered what he saw in the mist.

“I grew up in this little place called Casta,” he said. “On the southern cliffs. Castans think that sometimes magic chooses people.”

“Like Master Kell,” she said, adding, “the black-eyed prince.”

Lenos nodded. “Yes, magic chose Master Kell. But what he is—Antari—that’s only one kind of aven. Maybe the strongest, but it depends on your definition of strong. The priests are another. Some people think that they’re the strongest, because they have just enough of every element to use them all in balance, so they can heal and grow and make life. There used to be all kinds of aven. Ones who could master all the elements. Ones who could only master one, but were so powerful, they could change the tides, or the wind, or the seasons. Ones who could hear what magic had to say. Aven isn’t just one thing, because magic isn’t just one thing. It’s everything, old and new and always changing. The Castans think that when someone aven appears, it’s for a reason. It’s because the magic is trying to tell us something….” He trailed off. Lila stared at him. It was the most Lenos had ever said to her. The most she’d ever heard him say to anyone, for that matter.

“So you think I’m here for a reason?” she asked.

Lenos rocked from heel to toe. “We’re all here for a reason, Bard. Some reasons are just bigger than others. So I guess I’m not scared of who you are, or even what you are. I’m scared of why you are.”

He shivered and turned away.

“Wait,” she said, shrugging out of his coat. “Here.”

He reached for it, and to Lila’s relief, when their hands nearly brushed, he didn’t jerk back. She watched the man retreat across the dock, then rolled her neck and made her way below.

She found her own coat hanging on her cabin door, along with an unopened bottle of purple wine, and a note that read Solase.

Sorry.

Lila sighed and took up the bottle, her thoughts churning and her body aching for sleep.

And then she heard the call go up overhead.

“Hals!” shouted a voice from the deck above.

Land.

IV

The bells rang out a dozen times, and then a dozen more. They went on and on until Kell lost count, far past the hours in a day, a week, a month.

The persistent sound could only mean one thing: the royals had arrived.

Kell stood on his balcony and watched them come. It had been six years since London last played host to the Essen Tasch, but he still remembered watching the procession of ships and people, trying to imagine where they’d come from, what they’d seen. He couldn’t go to the world, but on these rare occasions, it seemed to come to him.

Now, as he watched the ships drift up the Isle (as far as Rhy’s floating stadiums would allow), he found himself wondering which one Lila would choose for herself. There were a handful of smaller, private crafts, but most were massive vessels, luxury boats designed to transport wealthy merchants and nobles from Faro and Vesk to the festivities in the Arnesian capital. All ships bore a mark of origin, on either sail or side, the painted symbol of their crown. That, along with a scroll of approval, would grant them access to the docks for the length of the Essen Tasch.

Would Lila prefer an elegant silver wood ship, like the one bearing the Faroan mark? Or something bolder, like the vibrantly painted Veskan vessel now approaching? Or a proud Arnesian craft, with dark polished wood and crisp sails? Come to think of it, did Lila even know how to sail? Probably not, but if anyone could make the strange seem ordinary, the impossible look easy, it was Delilah Bard.

“What are you smirking at?” asked Rhy, appearing beside him.

“Your stadiums are making a mess of the river.”

“Nonsense,” said Rhy. “I’ve had temporary docks erected on the northern and southern banks on both sides of the city. There’s plenty of room.”