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frankly”—Acronis shrugged—“there is no reason she should. I am a relative stranger. But she might listen to you.”
    â€œI know Aylaen respects you, Legate, as a wise and learned man,” said Farinn. “If she would heed the advice of anyone, it would be you. But she is determined to finish the quest given to Skylan by the Dragon Goddess, Vindrash. The quest is even more sacred to Aylaen now that Skylan gave his life for it.”
    Acronis gazed out at the horizon. The sky was brilliant with streaks of red and orange and gold. The sun, called Aylis by the Vindrasi, was a fiery ball rising out of the sea. They believed she bore a bright torch and that she was chased by Skoval, God of Night, who hated her for spurning his love.
    â€œThere is one other matter, Farinn,” Acronis said. “We must both try to persuade Aylaen to give Skylan a proper burial. She walks away when I bring it up. Admittedly I cannot explain what is happening to the corpse. Why it is not decomposing—”
    â€œI think I might know, sir,” said Farinn.
    He looked pointedly over his shoulder and Acronis followed his gaze. Wulfe was awake, yawning and sitting up and scratching himself. He was dressed in the rags of a cast-off shirt, and his hair uncombed and unwashed. He was scrawny and lanky. According to Skylan, the druids who had found the child running wild with a wolf pack had thought he was about eleven.
    â€œYou think Wulfe has something to do with it?” Acronis asked, frowning.
    â€œHe claims to be the son of a faery princess,” said Farinn, sinking his voice to a whisper. “Whether that is true or not, he knows fae magic. I’ve seen him change himself into a fearsome beast. He talks with the beautiful women he calls ‘oceanids’ who live beneath the waves. The boy adored Skylan. He does not want to let him go. Perhaps he is using his magic to … um … preserve the body.”
    Acronis would once have scoffed in disbelief, but in the past few weeks he had watched a powerful dragon level his city, breathed water as if it were air, and witnessed a dragon sailing a ship. He had learned to keep his mind open to all possibilities.
    â€œWe must convince Wulfe to let Skylan go,” Acronis said.
    â€œAylaen would be the only one to do that. He might pay heed to her.”
    â€œBut that means one of us needs to convince Aylaen,” said Acronis, sighing.
    â€œYou should speak to her, sir,” Farinn urged. “She will listen to you.”
    â€œShe has not thus far,” said Acronis.
    *   *   *
    Aylaen came up on deck to see Farinn and Acronis leaning over the rail, their heads together, conferring in low voices. When they noticed her watching them, Farinn flushed red in embarrassment and Acronis looked very grave. She knew they had been talking about her.
    The Legate crossed the deck, coming to speak to her. Judging by his carefully formed expression of sympathy and understanding, he was going to talk to her again about Skylan, about burying his body at sea.
    Aylaen had come to love Acronis as a father, though the transition from hatred to love had not been easy. He had taken her and her people prisoner, made them slaves. He had treated them well, however, and by a series of strange circumstances, Skylan had saved his life and brought him with them when the Torgun warriors escaped Sinaria. Aylaen knew the wise man’s reasoning was sound, but she didn’t want to hear his arguments, perhaps because she had no way to refute them.
    Pretending not to see him, she turned her back and hurried off in the opposite direction, going to stand beside the figurehead, the Dragon Kahg, that graced the prow of the sleek, fast dragonship.
    Aylaen put her hand on the dragon’s neck and felt the life quiver beneath the carved wooden scales. The glowing red eyes gazed fiercely ahead into what was, for her, the unknown. She was the first