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steadily, as if someone had punched perfect circles in black paper. Here on Zehava, with the thick atmosphere between us, they twinkled. As soon as I fixed my gaze on one, it winked out, before again blazing to life.
    At least the moons stayed in place when you looked at them. There were three—one crescent, one that was hardly any more than a narrow slip of light, and a third, so full that it resembled swollen, blushing fruit.
    Akku. Zella. Aire, I thought, and felt my stomach clench. He’d tried to tell me something, something important. But I hadn’t quite understood the importance of moons, scattered across the sky, and the stars between them. Akku, Zella . . .
    This sky wasn’t like ours. On the ship the stars above were always shifting, from night to night as we coasted through empty space. There was a new sky every evening; new stars, too. Once, we’d learned in school, sailors had navigated according to the stars above. But ours were inconstant. And we had no moons.
    My hands dropped to my side, suddenly as cold as ice. My gaze searched the sky. There were so many stars—hundreds of them, glinting and gleaming, some in straight lines, some in shimmering clumps. But then I saw it. A white star at the apex of the sky, one that burned just a little brighter than the rest. The head of the hunter’s harp. Abstract, sure, but I could see it. The hunter, the hunter in his carriage, holding a harp in his hands. I spun around, realization dawning on me.
    “Terra!” Deklan called, his voice teasing. I’d forgotten that he was like that—the sort of boy born to be an older brother. “You’ll catch flies standing around like that!”
    I heard Jachin let out a mumble: “Haven’t seen any flies. Haven’t seen any insects at all. . . .”
    But I ignored them. Overhead was Aire, so full it might burst,and Akku, the sharp-edged crescent. The mountain dipped between them, forming a moonlit path toward the ice fields in the distance. When I let out a white, joyful breath into the cold air, I heard Rebbe Davison’s song putter to a stop.
    “Terra?” he asked. “Are you all right?”
    I laughed. Choking, giddy laughter, laughter so hard that my chest ached. I lowered my gaze and turned back toward my companions, all gathered around the dying coals.
    “I know where we have to go,” I said.
    •  •  •
    “What do you mean you had a dream?”
    They’d gathered around me, Rebbe Davison and Ettie, Jachin and Laurel. But Deklan hung back, hugging his rifle to his chest like it was his intended, not the skinny girl who stood just a few meters away. His dark eyes were hard with disbelief, and they pressed me for answers I knew I didn’t have.
    “I don’t know how to explain it,” I said. “I know it sounds ridiculous. But that star”—I pointed up, to the head of the hunter’s harp—“is a pole star. We can navigate by it.”
    “Navigate to where?”
    I squinted through the darkness at Deklan, the words dying on my tongue. I knew that if I said “Raza Ait,” then he’d never believe me, never believe that there was a city waiting for us at the bottomof the mountain where a strange, blue-skinned boy waited for me.
    “Civilization!” I said, throwing my hands into the air. “You saw those lights. Thousands of them, all along the coasts. It can mean only one thing: people.” My eyes darted toward Rebbe Davison. He’d been the one to teach us about cities, years and years ago. It had always sounded like some sort of perverse dream—villages that grew and stretched until they could swallow up our enormous ship entirely. It was hard for me to believe too, so I wasn’t surprised when Deklan shook his head.
    “Aw,” he said, “you’re delusional.”
    “Deck!” called Laurel, but Deklan hefted the gun up onto his shoulder and headed back toward the fire. After a moment she followed him, but not without hesitation. I saw her bite down on her full lower lip, like she was considering