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was staying. Delgora House lands were relatively small compared to the Houses on the Mainland of Magnellum, but there were still a significant number of people who lived here. Surely there were more than a dozen Margarettas who called Delgora home.
    Troubled, Valeda turned on her side, snuggled her pillow, and tried to replay the day's events.
    The touch of moonlight set the walls in a soft glow. There were shadows under the table at the far wall, outlining the painting that hung above it, but for the most part it was bright in her room. Bright enough that she could make out the twists and curves of the banyan tree in the painting, and the copper glint of basin and pitcher on the table. A matching copper bath tub was set into a niche in the western corner, its pipes ran the height of the wall and disappeared into the ceiling.
    She knows, Valeda thought. The House Witch knows why I'm here. Why else would she put me in a gilded cage and pamper me?
    Elsie Delgora's golden eyes burned through her memory and Valeda shuddered. If the cursed room wasn't guarded by servants, she'd have tried to run for it. The thought crossed her mind that she could lie, make up a false story as to why she'd travelled to Delgora, but Valeda imagined the Witch would see through something like that.
    When dealing with her fellow Untalented, Valeda was known as a stubborn sort and prided herself on that. But having direct contact with a Witch-Born was something else. They were relatively similar to the Untalented by way of physical traits, needs and temper tantrums, if a tad more refined than the common man. Not that they would deliberately harm someone without due cause, just that they could.
    Remembering clearly the precise manner in which the tea had set itself that afternoon, Valeda decided that the terrifying thing about the Witch-Born was the choices they made. Or rather, the choices they could make if they wanted to. It was a matter of walking or flying for Elsie Delgora, with both being just as easy as the other. Valeda imagined that the Witch could silence her forever with a wave of that imperial, gloved hand.
    The light suddenly altered in her room, from pleasant silver to a deep crimson and back again.
    Blinking, Valeda sat up.
    It came again-silver to red-and she got out of bed. Barefoot, she padded across the sturdy wooden floor to her open window and peeked out. Three flights up in Delgora Manor, Valeda could easily see the town proper. Sprawling in chaotic, curling lines, the town blended in with the jungle. Here and there she could see the flint of brass or copper in the moonlight, rooftops peeking out above the tree line. The marketplace was easier to spot, all of its tents and little shops closed up for the night, leaving an abandoned circle of pale cobblestone in the landscape.
    The light came again, illuminating a tall structure high up on the ridgeline of mountains in the south. Valeda gripped the window frame and leaned forward, squinting to try and make out the particulars through the distance. The ruby glow dimmed and faded out, only to build up again in a slow, constant pulse.
    "What in Fates is that?"
    Her voice sounded small and unfamiliar in her lonely room, but she was too overcome with curiosity to feel self-conscious. She could only make out the framework of something massive, with one giant spire at the center. The spire's peak was the source of the cynosure, and she had the sense that it was turning.
    A few moments later the slow blinking stopped and the ridgeline fell into shadow. She could still vaguely make out the structure, but it blurred in with the natural curve of the mountains.
    The ark, Valeda thought.
    Fear slid down her spine as she continued to stare. A sticky breeze rustled the skirt of her borrowed nightgown, brushing it up against her ankles. She thought she should probably move. Someone down below might spot her in the thin, barely modest material. It would be her luck that the person to spot her was some