The sun sets over Aleria, painting the city in shades of red and orange. It’s a sight to behold; few cities rival Ecea in size, and this one, Ecea’s older sister, is at least its equal. A metropolis of great bounty and deep history. A true crossroads of the world. Looking out over the profile of the hilly urban sprawl, I see all the things that make it what it is. Opulence and poverty standing side by side, the variety of the ships in the harbor, the shapes of homes and buildings, palaces and guild halls and temples. All races, creeds and ranks intermingle here, coming together to make a mosaic unlike any other.

I’ve been itching to get off this boat for days. We all have. But the moment I come out onto the deck to see the city sprawling out before me, my unease washes away. I never expected to see much of the world in my life. There was a time I felt fortunate just to have come all the way from Nar K’zar to Ecea.

I was content, but I didn’t know what I was missing.

I hear the cabin door open and close behind me. Arcadia comes to my side a moment later, and when I look down at her I see she’s smiling at my expression.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asks.

My smile widens, and I nod and hug her in close with one arm. As she relaxes against me, I continue to gaze in silence at the view of the city looming before us. It floats ever closer, The Dove guided expertly by the hands of Posca as he steers us into Aleria’s busy harbor. A huge Ecean trade ship comes up on our left, its hull blocking out the sun for as long as it takes them to pass us by. I crane my neck to get a look up on the deck of the vessel, noting the surprising number of armed guards they have aboard. Odd.

Posca weaves us between towering warships and fat-hulled tradesmen, all while smaller vessels slip around The Dove like minnows. The business of docking, taking in sail, lowering anchor and securing the mooring lines takes time, and I’ve learned enough about the process to lend a hand. A wry smile curls my lips while I’m working, when I realize I’ve become a competent sailor.

Hook and I finish hoisting the mainsail, and as I bend over to tie off the rope, Arcadia leaps onto my back, throwing her arms over my shoulders and legs around my waist. A kiss lands on my cheek.

“Hey muscles,” she says, in my ear. I love it when she calls me that.

“Mm. Hey beautiful.”

“Let’s sneak off the boat,” she says. “Take a walk, stretch our legs, find somewhere nice to have a drink and a hot meal.”

“That sounds wonderful. But shouldn’t we tell someone we’re going?”

Arcadia grins and shakes her head. “Nah.”

I give her a piggyback ride down the gangplank and across the pier. She doesn’t have me put her down until we’ve left the docks entirely, and are wandering the streets of the city. Instead she takes my hand, swinging it a little as we stroll side by side, taking in all the sights. It’s a colorful place. Despite the uniformity of the off-white buildings, the rugs and drapes and curtains come in every hue imaginable. And the people walking the street around us are equally diverse, not just in the styles of their dress but in the shades of their skin.

But something’s wrong. I’ve never been here before, but I can feel it. The first time a random passerby gives us a dark look, I shrug it off. But then it happens again, and again. We pass a group of young people chatting amongst themselves, and their conversation abruptly stops when they see us. They glare in silence as we pass them by.

Apparently Arcadia notices too, because she’s walking a bit closer to me, looking around with a frown on her face.

“What’s going on here?” she asks.

I shrug. “No clue.”

It doesn’t take us too long to find a respectable-looking place to eat. And as we step through the beaded curtain into the place, we get a similar greeting from the people dining inside. Halted conversations and hard looks. The maitre’d is a squat, portly man with a gray beard and a turban. When we approach him, it looks like he’s fighting back the urge to slap us.

“We’d like a table,” I tell him.

He doesn’t answer. He just stares up at me, his paunch rising and falling visibly with stressed breathing.

I raise an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?” I ask.

“Get out,” he hisses.

“What?”

“I said get out! We serve Ecean no more! No more Ecean!”

His shouted rebuke earns him a cheer from some of his other patrons. Emboldened, he steps up closer and flaps his hands at us as if he were shooing a couple of stray dogs. So out we go. The next place we find doesn’t even let us get through the door. The one after that features a sign in red letters, ‘Eceans Get Out.’ Our third and final attempt ends with the proprietor yelling a tirade at us in a language we don’t understand. Which is good, in a way. I’m about ready to start serving knuckle sandwiches for supper.

“I wasn’t treated like this the first time I was here,” says Arcadia.

I frown, and shrug my shoulders. “Looks like things have changed.”

Once again we’ve drawn the attention of the people around us on the street. A couple lean in closer to each other, to mutter what I imagine are curses. A group of armed men, their red turbans and sashes standing out against their black robes, keep their eyes on us as they walk by. Several have their hands on their swords.

“We might want to get back to the ship,” I say.

Arcadia has a stricken look on her face, but she nods in agreement. We turn to head back to the docks, and just as we do I see someone emerge from the crowd, heading right for us. A short, stocky man in a long green cloak, his hood concealing his face. I curse inwardly, realizing I didn’t bring a weapon along, but I step in front of Arcadia anyway, balling my right hand into a fist under my own cloak.

Then he reaches up to pull back his hood, revealing a face framed by long gray hair that’s gone white at the temples. An oddly familiar face.

The man smiles. “Rekka? Is that you?”

I narrow my eyes. “Who’s asking.”

“Marcus Magnotto!” he says. “You don’t remember me? We met at my sister-in-law’s party. Your lady friend, she put on a magic show with the wind and the paper flowers and all that.”

I knew he looked familiar. It clicks the moment I have a name to go with the face. With a sheepish laugh, I let him pull me into a rough embrace for a moment, and after doing so I step aside from Arcadia. She’s smiling, for some reason.

“Well you’ll remember the evening’s entertainment then,” I say, gesturing at her. “Marcus, this is Arcadia. Arcadia, Marcus.”

Marcus grins, and bows floridly. “My lady.”

A blush burns Arcadia's cheeks as her lips pull into that familiar goofy grin. She gives a more modest bow in return, then her grin shifts to me. It's both heartwarming and heartbreaking to see how giddy she is from a simple greeting. I'm sure she'll get used to it eventually.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. And what a small world it is, bumping into each other here of all places," says Arcadia.

“Nice to see a friendly face as well,” I add. “They seem like they’re in short supply around here. Any idea why that is?”

Marcus’s eyebrows rise. “You mean you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

He looks mildly alarmed all of a sudden, and much more concerned about our surroundings. A frown comes to his face as he looks down the street. “Perhaps we’d better talk in a safer place.”

“Would this ‘safer place’ serve dinner?” I ask.

Marcus chuckles. “Yes, in fact.”

I trade a look with Arcadia, who shrugs and nods as if to say ‘Why not?’ without saying it. So we let Marcus Magnotto take us where he will. He turns and leads us up the street, away from the docks and toward the central district of the city. After about half an hour of walking, much of it uphill, we come to the gates of a grand home. It’s walled off from its neighbors, and the central building features a peaked arch of a doorway, and a great gold dome over the top of its square frame.

I whistle as I look around. “Vacation home?”

Marcus smirks and shakes his head. “A friend’s house. Well, friend may be too strong a word. Business partner is more accurate.”

We are received at the door by a house servant, whom Marcus asks to go and fetch the master of the house. When he returns, he’s accompanied by a bald, swarthy-skinned man in a fine silken robe. The man smiles broadly when he sees Marcus.

“Ah, back so soon! Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Not quite,” says Marcus. “But I ran into some acquaintances of mine I’d like you to meet. Allow me to introduce Arcadia and Rekka.”

The bald man in the nice robe smiles politely and bows. “A pleasure to meet you both. I am Suduk Za-Ziqni.”

Arcadia bows in kind, her politician smile coming right on cue. "Likewise, thank you for having us."

“My friends were having some trouble finding dinner,” says Marcus. “Could we oblige them?”

Suduk Za-Ziqni’s smile brightens. “Of course!” he says. Then he turns to the servant beside him. “Go to the kitchen, and inform them we have dinner guests.”

The servant bows and departs, leaving Suduk to usher us toward his dining room. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you,” he says, while we’re walking. “I have a few matters left to attend to this evening, so I’ll be taking supper in my study.”

“I’ll keep them company,” says Marcus. “They’ve just arrived today, and they’re ah, unaware of the situation.”

Suduk’s expression sours. “Oh. Oh dear.”

The dining room’s floor is polished marble, and it’s furnished with a long banquet table carved from dark wood. Marcus takes a seat first, and when I pull out a chair for Arcadia she blushes a bit and glares at me cutely. I forget sometimes that she isn’t used to being treated all ladylike.

Suduk waits for us all to take a seat before bowing again, a rueful smile on his face. “My apologies. I am not usually such a terrible host, but I’m afraid my business cannot wait.”

I smirk at him. “It’s fine. You’re already more polite than the last nobleman we ran across.”

That seems to please him, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Thank goodness. He simply bows again and leaves us in the dining room, disappearing around the corner with a swish of his robe. A servant enters a moment later, bearing a decanter of wine and three crystal glasses, and as he begins serving us I lean back in my chair and cast a curious look at Marcus Magnotto.

“I have a feeling we’re about to hear some bad news,” I say.

Marcus frowns at me, and nods. “I’m afraid so. It’s why I’m half a world away from home.”

His eyes shift to the wineglass in front of him, watching the servant fill it. When he steps away, Marcus takes the glass and raises it to his lips for a small taste.

“Things haven’t been so good for the family’s trade interests here,” he says. “In fact, the situation has been deteriorating for some time. What happened recently, well, that’s just made everything worse.”

“What happened recently? What do you mean?”

His expression darkens. “The murder of the royal family.”