The table wasn’t silent in the wake of the last conversation, but it had left a need to escape from the accusations and theories with smalltalk or actually eating the food in front of you. I took that last route, and so did Adwyn, while Digrif chatted laughingly with Gronte and Hinte⁠ ⁠—⁠ and Staune, when the bird wasn’t whispering with Ushra or scratching inked talons on his sheet of leafpaper.

Then Adwyn finished his plate, pushing it forward before bringing his feet together and clasping them. The orange drake looked right at Hinte.

“So tell me” — the military adviser brought a foreleg up to rest his head on and it was very much a gesture of relaxation and not a gesture of relaxation —⁠ “about your trip into the Berwem,” he said, his tone sounding like he nursed venom in his glands.

“There is not much to tell. I was sifting with Kinri,” she said, gripping one forefoot with another.

“Yes, I am sure. I will not ask for what, exactly, you two felt the need to slink out that late into the night. I will, however, tell you that sifting the Berwem is not something you can do on whim. You need a writ of permission, otherwise you will face a fine, and possible imprisonment,” he said, and let that hang in the air. Point made, he continued, “And I checked the records⁠ ⁠— neither of you have such a permit.”

“Why check? She has done nothing wrong,” her grandfather said.

“It is the law. For safety, for security. Not only is the immense heat of the lake, even outside this season, dangerous, but the extra regulation keeps certain troublemakers from taking residence in the fires.” Adwyn took another sip from his mug. “Hinte is in no trouble, I assure you. I merely wanted to smooth this out before it becomes an issue. In fact, I brought the papers with me. Consider it our thanks, perhaps,” he said, placing a small bundle of forms onto the slab, sliding it toward the dark-green fledgling.

Hinte looked them over, silent.

“And there is another matter, less serious but much harder to cullet. The head guard Rhyfel received report late last night that two alchemists attacked the night watch at the Berwem gate. They matched your descriptions, to a detail.” The orange dark clouded his eyes, and waited.

The first reaction I saw was Ushra glancing at me.

The second was Gronte scowling at Hinte. “Enkelin.”

After Digrif turned his tongue-fluttering gaze to us, then we reacted: Hinte flexing her frills and gazing at Adwyn with that same defiant regard I’d seen after the rockwraiths fled, while I was looking down, frills, wings, tails all waning small. It had felt good, was all I could think.

But the military adviser had only paused, and now he was continuing, “Rhyfel the younger sends his disappointment,”⁠ ⁠—⁠ Ushra flicked his tongue at the name⁠ ⁠— “he told me to tell you your fierceness is for our enemies, not our allies. He’s decided you shall not go to Wydrllos, however —”

“It was self-defense.”

I didn’t know who had spoken until every head turned to me.

“Um.”

Adwyn’s voice was dust. “Pray enlighten us, Kinri-ychy.”

“Well. One–one of the guards had a sword, they were about to attack us.”

Then Hinte spoke up, and I sighed relief. “We did nothing to harm them. It was an air-catalyzed reaction that overstimulates their photoreceptors. They recovered in moments.” Ushra gave Hinte a tight, easy-to-miss smile.

“All they really hurt from was wounded pride,” I added.

“Nevertheless, the guard is a distinguished position of authority. If the guard was truly out of skein, it must be brought to our sight, and not handled on your own. After all, the report did say that you antagonized them.” Adwym gave Hinte a half-smirk.

Ushra waved a wing and caught Adwyn’s gaze. “Tell Rhyfel — the younger — that my Enkelin is within her rights. Call it an experiment, just like old times. He’ll understand.” Ushra clouded his brilles, his head easing back.

I glanced around the slab and found Gronte staring at Ushra, her eyes clear and tongue held still in the air. I couldn’t help imagining it meant this discussion would continue later.

There was a squawk from a corner of the table where no one was looking. Staune stood there, baring her wings. “Why,” she warbled, “would a red-and-yellow have a sword? All red-and-yellows I saw have clubs and sticks, yes.”

“Guards supply their own weapons —”

“Swords are expensive, no? He’s up to something.”

Adwyn glared at the bird, and turned away with a jerk and a shake of his head. Looking at Hinte, he said, “There is another thing I wanted to mention.” He arched a brow. “More about your means of sifting the lake. The heat of the lake can severely burn⁠ ⁠—⁠ there exist salves to diminish the danger of this, but you could not acquire them without a permit, for they are all regulated. I take it you made it yourself?”

“Yes,” Ushra answered instead, “I showed her the recipe several dances ago.” It was a tone that dared challenge.

“Good. Tell me, how long does it take to cook up a batch of this salve? Enough for three, say?”

“If the ingredients are already prepared, only half day. I invented glazeward.”

“Perfect,” he said. “The faer has asked me to travel into the Berwem to take the bodies and place them further out in the cliffs. Thus if the humans send search parties, they shall find that their conspecifics died of environment and the predators, rather the meddling of dragons, who assuredly do not live in these cliffs,” the orange drake finished with a frill-wink, while Ushra frowned.

Then he waved a wing in our direction, not looking at us. “Oh, and I will want Hinte and Kinri to accompany me, to take me to where the humans were found so we can eliminate traces of their camp.”

“Ooh!” Digrif said, “Can I come?”

Hinte covered her face with a wing. “Why should you come?”

“Why not let him come?” I said, “I think it won’t hurt much, and having more bodies will help carting the bodies around.” And between Adwyn and Hinte our group could use any and all cheer we could get.

“Oh well. Ushra, I suppose you should make the salve for four, in that case,” Adwyn said. Hinte only huffed. And still, Ushra frowned.

Gronte was glancing between Hinte and Adwyn, absently tapping her locket, and said, “You’re going back into the lake, dear?”

“Of course. I’m needed there.”

“Yes,” the orange drake added. “We need someone who understands the limits of glazeward, and who knows how to navigate the lake.”

Gronte lowered her head, frowning to herself.

I looked away, and tilted my head at Adwyn. I didn’t know all that much about glazeward, or the Berwem, but he didn’t know that. He just assumed it.

I stared at him until a question came to my tongue. “Why not buy the salve yourself?” I asked. “Then we don’t have to wait half a day to do the plan.”

“Fair question,” he murmured, swallowing his food. “Like most things related to sifting, glazeward is regulated for safety⁠ ⁠—⁠ improperly prepared salve could very well lead to a worker losing their leg. It was reasonable to restrict the sale of glazeward when the faer instated the law restricting passage into the Berwem, given only sifters used it.”

The drake hummed. “And salve costs quite the sum these days. I don’t think Ushra will be quite so greedy with the price.”

Finally, the alchemist’s frown changed, turning to a smile without being all that different. “Oh, but should I? The way you frame it, you don’t have another choice. And half a day could be called a rush.”

“It could,” Adwyn murmured, nodding. “But I do remember the faer pays you beautifully as her personal alchemist⁠ ⁠—⁠ Bariaeth never shuts up about it, you see. With the safety of Gwymr/Frina in the balance, I do think this could be considered an extension of your duties as her personal alchemist.”

“It could be,” Ushra murmured. “But I find myself unconvinced of danger Gwymr/Frina is in, when the goal is to replace the bodies in the cliffs before… what, precisely? If it’s a matter of the humans finding the bodies, a few days will make no difference.” The alchemist was spinning a flourish with his pen just as he finished speaking.

I nudged the dark-green wiver beside me. “It’s like pointing two mirrors at each other,” I whispered.

My friend clicked her tongue softly.

Ushra produced another sheet of leaf paper, placing the last sheet amongst the emptiness at his corner of the table. “That said, there happens to be a special specimen I’d like to retrieve from the pits, and I’d like unrestricted access to do so. Thus far, Sofrani has denied me. If you could broach the subject with the faer, I could show my appreciations.”

Adwyn smiled at the light-green drake. “It’s nothing.”

Ushra smiled back, and lifted his mug. “More tea?”

Beside Hinte, I groaned, and whispered, “And now they’re acting like friends again. Why do they have to be so indirect?”

Hinte tossed her head. “Opa has that effect on dragons.”

I wrinkled my frills and looked back at my plate.

Gronte started speaking again, this time her voice came level. She wasn’t touching her locket, and her tone hid a certain steeliness that I couldn’t place.

“So, this mission of yours. It’ll take you through the east market, won’t it?”

Adwyn nodded. “It… will. Why do you ask?”

Gronte jerked her head up. “Oh, the thought crossed my mind. The market is very crowdy when it first opens, and it may be difficult to get the bodies through it.”

Adwyn smirked. “You don’t stand where I do without being able to see things so basic. Trust that I’ve considered it, Gronte-gyfar.”

My brow furrowed, and I stared at Adwyn again until I had another question. “Wait,” I started, “if passage into the Berwem is restricted and glazeward is also restricted… I mean, you need Hinte to make us the glazeward, but how are we getting into the lake? Is that what the forms are for?”

This time he lifted his foreleg to his chin. Before he spoke, he tossed a glare at Hinte, before saying, “No. The paperwork will take far too long to get through administration. I do not want these corpses to turn to rot. The plan had been for Hinte to escort us into the lake⁠ ⁠—⁠ after all, if she was there last night to find the bodies she must have had her writ.

“But it had seemed odd for one so young to be licensed — so I confirmed my suspicions earlier this morning.” He takes a long drink of his mug, finishing the contents. “The new plan had me battling with the faer to schedule a nondescript investigation into the cliffs around the Berwem today and for I to accompany the guards therewith. A pain⁠ ⁠—⁠ but you have left us no choice.”

“Oh. Okay.” I lowered my head. Already, the thrill from telling my story had faded, and replacing it was the image of an evening that looked to be filed with Adwyn and the Berwem. A pleasure. Truly, a pleasure.

The conversation faded again to mixed smalltalk and silence, and those who hadn’t finished their food yet had another chance to⁠ ⁠—⁠ though not any more reason to. Hinte still didn’t touch her greens, Digrif still ate slow so he could talk to Gronte and sometimes Hinte (he didn’t speak with his mouth full), and Ushra scribbled alone instead of eating. Gronte, Adwyn and I had already finished our plates. And that was everyone, wasn’t it?

The military adviser again broke the — well, it wasn’t silence — and this time he spoke looking at Gronte. “Gronte, I had nearly forgotten. I saw the goggles your granddaughter wore into the lake. Those are your make, are they not? I recognize the craft.”

Gronte curled her frills, but when she spoke her voice sounded all business. “I suppose you would like a pair?” She watched the him nod. “Ja, you never ask questions for conversation, do you? The goggles were custom, I’m afraid. But I have some similar pairs for sale. You’ll need to pay for them, however.”

Adwyn reached into his dress, retrieving a small sack of coins. “How much will it be?”

“Fifty aris.”

Adwyn snapped his tongue, but groped in the bag, producing the requested amount. Gronte waved her tongue at the bag, then the coins, and took the coins after a beat. Had she not expected him to pay that much?

“Just a moment.” Gronte high-walked out of the room before returning with a pair of small, clear-lensed goggles set on a small stand.

Adwyn took it, saying, “I appreciate this, Gronte-gyfar.” After pushing his plate forward, he stood up. “I think I have troubled you all enough for one morning. You will see me leave. And, perhaps, you will see me return some other day. It looks like Ushra can cook something besides his potions.”

Gronte hissed a laugh, and Ushra gave a thin smile.

“Hinte, Kinri, meet me at the eastern market in, say, six rings? Bring the forms, as well.” He stepped away, and Ushra got up, intending to lead Adwyn to the door. As he did, the orange dragon gave me a significant look, but left.

When Ushra returned, he looked to Hinte, saying, “Let us start on the salve. Come, Hinte.”

Hinte rose, spitting out a bone before leaving the three of us.

I looked around at the dwindling slab, only Gronte, Digrif and I remained. “Thank you for hosting us, Gronte-sofran.”

“It was a pleasure, Kinri-ychy. Pray come back some other time?”

“I will!”

I glanced at the window, seeing an orange drake walking away from the house. My tongue tasted tart anticipation on my fangs, and I waited for the orange drake to leave the window’s view before I bowed to Gronte and left. The canyon-dweller should have gone some ways back toward the hall, and I wouldn’t have to deal with him again for a while.

I stepped out of the dining room in time to see Hinte following Ushra into the dark brown door. I turned, but glanced back when I noticed an absence on Ushra’s wing. That red and blue parrot had been the one tolerable member of the pair. But she had sort of faded away as the conversation piled on. Where was she?

I looked down the corridor, but it would be tart to explore someone else’s house uninvited. Instead, my head only peeked into the front room. No blue and red conflagration stood out. I held my breath for a beat.

“Oh well,” I murmured.

I low-walked toward the door, taking me past the dining room’s doorway one more time. As I passed it, I heard, “Oh, Kinri! there was one thing⁠ ⁠—⁠ something my Enkelin wanted me to give to you. Give me a few breaths to find it.”

I nodded as the dark-green wiver slinked past me, slipping into the other room.

Waiting by the doorway, I peered from the door’s long glass windows, watching a red and orange dot take air and circle around till I couldn’t see him anymore. With a smile, I leant back from the door and twiddled my halluxes. It was moments more before I smelt Gronte returning.

“Thank you for waiting.” The older wiver walked back with a black form held in her wings. “This is the third book of nothing, a small collection of stories. My Hinte wanted you to borrow this one in particular.” Tapping her chin, she said, “And I couldn’t ever imagine why,” with a smile and a wink of her frill.

I tilted my head. “Huh?”

“Has she told you about, hmm,Light Most Piercing?” At my blankness, she added, “It is the story of Jammra and Wauchu.”

“Oh,” I said with the grace of a cold, tired salamander. “She uh, did.”

Her smile returned. “Yes, it’s Hinte’s favorite story. I read it to her at least once a cycle⁠ ⁠—⁠ or I had, when she was a fledgling.” Gronte breathed a sigh, snaking an alula around her locket.

At that, I looked away, thinking of things to say and getting them as far as my tongue and no farther.

When I glanced up, Gronte had held out the book for me. She said, “Regardless, you may find some other story you like in here. Might I recommend The Confusion of Underbrush? It’s⁠ ⁠—⁠ worth your time.”

I reached for Gronte’s book. “Thank you.”

It was thick vellum pages bound in black leather with no title or any inscription. Just a blank black cover. Well, not blank⁠ ⁠—⁠ one side had a silver circle on it. The front? I flipped through it⁠ ⁠—⁠ it was the front⁠ ⁠— and my eyes flashed clear at its thin script. “This is in Drachenzunge.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no, I can read Drachenzunge, it’s just… been a while.”

“Forgive my asking, but why do you know our language?”

I looked up, curling my tongue as I pieced together the words. “Well, you should know House Specter. We’ve most of the Constellation’s diplomats. We run negotiations for things like trade, criminals, information, and general meetings and stuff, to uphold the Severance.” I scratched my headband as I drop my gaze to the floor.

I continued, “Once, I was heir of my House, so I was one day going to be lying in those meetings. It⁠ ⁠—⁠ didn’t work out that way.”

Gronte nodded, and brushed a wing against my shoulder. “It’s okay, Kinri. I left something similar behind when I split with my clan.” An alula on my chin lifted my gaze to hers. She smiled gently, and we paused like that for a second.

She continued, “Back then, all those gyras ago, Dwylla promised me Gwymr/Frina would be a new beginning, a place where no one’s past has a hold on them. An escape.” Her eyes clouded, and her next words were small, as if they weren’t for me. “It was what we needed then, and now.” Eyes clearing, she gave my shoulder another nudge, and withdrew both aluae, folding her wings back around her.

I was nodding at her words, but then I jerked to a stop, clearing my eyes. “You knew Dwylla?”

“Of course. Ushra is my husband, did you think I would be so much younger?” Gronte shook her head, laughing a little.

“Well… I guess not.”

“Regardless, I’ve held you long enough. Good day and vast silence to you, Kinri.”