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man’s body, clad in his armor and chain mail and helm, lay on the deck, only a few feet from Acronis.
    He propped himself up on an elbow and looked at the corpse. Acronis had been a soldier for years and he had seen death in many gruesome forms. He had walked the bloody battlefield and watched vultures pluck out the eyes of the dead and rats swarm over the bodies. He had once, on a moonlit night, witnessed the ghouls, horrible fae creatures who feast on corpses, slinking among the dead.
    But he had never seen, in all his years, a corpse that didn’t decay.
    The body was cold to the touch, the flesh smooth and cool as marble. The beating heart was still. No breath passed through the blue lips. Acronis knew this for a fact, for he had held a bracer to the lips to see if some faint moisture might form on the metal and had found no signs of life.
    Yet, day after day, the body lay in the heat of the sun and there was no change. It was a mystery that Acronis, as a man of science, could not explain.
    But then, he reflected, watching the stars as the ship sailed slowly beneath them, he had seen many mysteries during his time with Skylan and his people. He supposed one more should not surprise him.
    Now thoroughly awake, Acronis sat up on the deck, moving slowly to ease out the kinks and stiffness of age. A tiny sliver of red light in the eastern sky meant that morning was not far away. He rose to his feet and went to perform his ablutions, wondering if this day would be different, if Aylaen would listen to reason.
    Returning from his ablutions, Acronis heard singing coming from the direction of the stern and paused to listen. The song did not last long, and ended in a sigh.
    As the morning light stole across the waves, Acronis could see young Farinn standing with his back against the bulkhead, his arms folded, gazing out across the ocean. He sang the phrase again, then shook his head in obvious frustration.
    The sun glinted off the armor on Skylan’s body, which lay in the center of the dragonship, beneath the mast. The fae boy, Wulfe, was still asleep, curled up beside the corpse like a dog that will not leave its dead master. Aylaen, who made her bed in the hold below, had not yet come on deck.
    Acronis walked back to the stern.
    â€œMay I speak to you, Farinn?” he asked. “I do not like to interrupt your singing, but I need to talk to you before Aylaen rises.”
    â€œI am grateful for the interruption, sir,” Farinn said, adding with a sigh. “The song does not go well.”
    â€œWhat song are you composing?” Acronis asked.
    He leaned over the rail, watching the waves slide by beneath the keel. Farinn joined him, gazing down morosely at the blue water dappled with sea foam.
    â€œI am trying to compose Skylan’s death song to do him honor,” said Farinn. “The words will not come or, when they do come, they are not the right words.”
    â€œPerhaps you are too filled with grief now to give the song proper thought,” Acronis suggested kindly, recalling that the young bard was only sixteen.
    Farinn shook his head. “I have never had this trouble with any of my songs before. The words always flow from me as naturally as breath, yet now my tongue stammers and the words stick in my throat.”
    He sighed again, then looked up at Acronis. “But enough of my trouble. What did you want to talk to me about, Legate?”
    â€œI want to talk to you about Aylaen,” said Acronis, lowering his voice. “You know that she is determined to pursue this mad idea of traveling to the land of the Stormlords to find the fourth bone of the dragon, the … what do you call it?”
    â€œSpiritbone. I have heard the two of you discussing the voyage,” said Farinn. “It sounds very perilous.”
    â€œIt is,” said Acronis, his voice grim. “That is why I want you to talk to her, try to dissuade her. She refuses to listen to me and,