Approaching Prime as a sightseer was an entirely different experience from prowling it searching for clues leading to a lost prophet, and Qora would have been concerned about wasting the FIA hold’s time had it not been for the conversation they’d had after their first pleasure outing.
“You’re worried about us kicking our heels here?” Laniis shook her head. “Don’t be. Even if we hadn’t been assigned to your task, alet, this is our theater. We’re supposed to be cruising the border listening for information that might help the Alliance understand what’s going on in the Empire—no offense, huntbrother.”
“What is there to be offended over?” the dragon said. “My Emperor wishes peace with the Alliance, but many within the Empire do not. That is the reason I am assigned here… to also listen for information about rogue elements in the Empire that might be acting against the Emperor’s wishes. Our purposes are aligned.”
“And Akana Ris is a great source for information,” Laniis said. “Trust me, even if we’re not making headway on your mission, the rest of the hold is picking up data we can use for our mission. Which is ongoing and non-specific. Which is a long way of saying ‘don’t worry about it’, and also, you should continue teaching me Faulfenzair. In fact—” She brightened. “Why don’t you only talk to us in Faulfenzair while we’re out and about?”
The Liaison’s wings sagged.
“All right, spare him! But talk to me in Faulfenzair.”
“No,” the Liaison said, waving a hand. “No, to me as well. I do not see a use for this third language, but the future is a night flight. It may prove providential to have learned.”
Qora thought that far more likely than the Liaison believed, given the Emperor’s shapechange, but he said nothing, Daize’s suggestion notwithstanding… an Eye, after all, had standards to uphold.
So they sailed forth to partake of restaurants and fairs, hike through forested slopes and canoe mountain streams, watch performances baffling to both Qora and the Liaison and spend all evening discussing them over bitter drinks that steamed in the frost-edged weather. Qora surrendered to the now of it, surprised at how much harder it was when enjoying himself than when he’d been in captivity. Somehow, endurance in the face of adversity had been ennobling in a way endurance in the face of frivolity was not. And yet they were both, as his princess would have said, a durance.
No one they talked to had seen a Faulfenzair in person, though most knew of his species. No information magically coalesced once he gave up seeking it. He slept poorly, dreaming of a broken chain of messiahs, crumbling into ash in his hands. And still, something in him told him: You are where you are supposed to be.
* * *
“Do you smell it?” Laniis leaned out the open window, inhaling until her ribs visibly expanded, crinkling her uniform tunic. “Spring’s on the way!”
The Liaison, notably less cold-tolerant than either of them, ducked his head. “Ughn, huntsister, close that!”
“Not until you take a whiff. I’m serious.” She pressed her palm to the back of his shoulder and directed him to the window. Curious, Qora ambled after. “Smell!”
She wasn’t wrong: though chill, the quiet morning air had a freshness, like a new fern before opening.
“This is going to be a great day,” Laniis declared. “Let’s go get breakfast and do something in nature!”
“She is indefatigable,” the Liaison murmured after the Seersa had vanished into her room to change. “But perhaps that is to be expected of a female who could survive the imperial harem for a year and be resilient enough to befriend members of the species that tormented her.” He considered Qora. “You, too, were a captive.”
“Yes, but of pirates,” Qora said. “And I haven’t made friends of any of them. Have you also been a captive?”
“No,” the Liaison said. “But I pretended to be a slave to infiltrate a worldlord’s compound. Even as pretense it was difficult to bear. It is part of what convinced me that our opinions of the wingless were without merit. To be captured is dishonorable… but surviving capture to rise again requires strength that we do not acknowledge.”
“And you do.”
“I am here,” was all the Liaison said, but that was enough.
* * *
Laniis advanced a panoply of suggestions over their table at the coffee shop, but all of them disappointed her: “We’ve done these things before. I want to do something different. The day deserves it!” Neither the Liaison nor Qora had useful ideas, but as they prepared to exit the coffee shop, the female behind the counter offered them an alternative.
“I heard you were looking for things to do? The frost’s clearing from the air, so you might see if the kites are up today.”
Qora’s fur bristled down his spine. Qufiil had kites. Qufiil had kites that flew from a port that had been built during the messiah’s lifetime. “What kind of kites are these?”
“Powered ones, for flying!” The female grinned. “It’ll be at the old palace, down at the end of Prime.”
“Kites,” the Liaison said, puzzled.
“The Lookout’s a great place for jumping from, you’ll see.”
And they did, because ‘the palace’ had been designed for Akana Ris’s original masters. The Liaison tipped his head in an Other-style nod as they approached its stairstepped heights. “This is typical of the period for a worldlord’s manor. Modern courts aren’t much different, really. We like building in mountains or on cliffs with platforms and multiple levels.” He examined the gate as they passed beneath it, craning his long neck. “They have maintained it well.”
Kites, Qora thought. Would they be similar to the ones flown from the cliff of Laizafzafiir port? How could there be kites on Qufiil and kites on Akana Ris where the FireBorn had once walked without there being a connection? The sense of rightness intensified, became restlessness. He was grateful when Laniis led them at a brisk pace toward the ramps into the facility… grateful, and disappointed when it proved to be deserted save for one uniformed Other. A Tam-illee, and male, with a bright smile that he directed at them when they approached.
“Oh, did you come to fly a glider? If the weather holds we’ll be setting up next wee—” The male halted, eyes locking on Qora. For a moment, he did nothing but gape, mouth working in silence. Shaking himself, he smiled. “Well, he said you’d come and you did. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“I’m sorry?” Laniis said.
“Come with me,” said the Other, and turned his back on them. What could they do, but follow? But Qora’s pulse accelerated. To be near to the end of the quest at last! For surely to be recognized, and predicted, must presage the final step. Who but a prophet would know to expect him?
The modest office the Other brought them to was overshadowed entirely by its window wall view of the cliffs. It was empty, and Qora refrained from the urge to check behind the door or under the desk for missing Voices. He struggled with impatience as their host shut the door… and addressed them. No, not them. The Liaison. Really? The dragon?
“Do you know me?”
The Liaison sounded as confused as Laniis looked and Qora felt. “Should I?”
The Other perched on the edge of his desk, grasped his knees, and tucked his head against them. When he lifted it next, it was the face of a dragon.
“Oh!” Laniis gasped. “Even your eyes were perfect! I would never have guessed!”
“We work hard on our shapes,” their host said. “This may be a lawless place, but it is the Alliance’s lawless place, and not even with the war ended would I trust my safety walking its paths in my true shape.”
The Liaison’s wings were tight against his back. “But you are showing us. Why?”
“He told us you might need proofs. He said ‘of the three peoples Entwined,’ which makes no sense… but what about the wingless does? Your people in particular are opaque.” The male nodded toward Qora. “I will bring you to the place you are seeking… though you must swear not to reveal our secrets.”
“It is not a place I am seeking, but a person.”
“Yes,” their host said. “But that I leave to you. Will you all come? And be sworn?”
Laniis’s ears slipped back. “I can’t swear to anything without knowing if it will endanger the Alliance or interfere with my vows to Fleet.”
“Nevertheless.”
The female was so obviously torn that Qora said, “Let me go first, and if it seems safe, I can send for you.”
“That’s not how this works! I was assigned to help you, Qora-alet—”
“You have,” he tried to interrupt, but she wasn’t done.
“—and if something happens to you while I’m not there, the captain will have my hide.”
“Will she?” the Liaison asked.
“Not literally. But I might wish she’d decided to go the easy route by the time she’s done. Especially if I create an intergalactic incident….”
“You won’t,” Qora said.
“You can give him a communications device,” the Liaison suggested. “And gear you feel appropriate. A weapon—”
“No,” Qora said in unison with the stranger.
“At least the device, then.”
Laniis said, “I would have done that anyway!”
Qora could tell this back-and-forth would continue unless he quashed it. “I will make it easy on you, friend. I require that you allow me to do this alone. It is a thing between Faulfenza.”
“And Chatcaava, apparently,” Laniis said, ears pinning back.
“We are as involved in this as leaves blown on a storm wind,” their host said, surprising them all. “I believe it would be best to let this alien choose the manner of the meeting. It is not a thing for outsiders. Is it?” His brow ridges rose.
“No,” Qora said. And then, relenting to the internal pressure: “Not yet, at least.”
“If you get injured… captured… killed, Speaker-Singer forfend—”
“It is as the God wills it,” Qora said. “I don’t think He would bring me this far just to toss me off a cliff.” He grinned. “That would be too easy. For me.”
The Liaison chuckled. “Let him do this thing, huntsister. In the end, it is his hunt, not ours.”
Laniis turned intent eyes to him, bright like flames. “Is it?”
How dearly he wanted to agree… but the months he’d spent with the Silhouette and its crew Danced before him in a pastiche of memories, of glorious and alien locales, laughter over food, shared work in engine compartments and shared language in conversation. Daize was right: somehow he had acquired a new crop of Other friends. Admitting it made him regret his next words. “This part of it, yes. But only this part.”
The regret convinced her where his stubbornness failed. Her jaw tightened and then she reached for his hands, just as Daize had. “All right. But keep us informed.”
“I will,” he said, and accepted the telegem she passed him. Fixing it to his ear, he said to the stranger, “All right. I’m ready.”
Which was not a falsehood, because lies were anathema before the God. It was, however, more aspirational than he’d hoped given the end of his quest.