Chapter
Two

Overnight, the solid line of land slowly grows thicker on the horizon, but only Tessen and Tyrroh can see anything other than flickering lights and the solidity of something that isn’t water. At dawn, the sun—its light almost as soft as the glow of a cooking fire—reveals the land I once thought the Miriseh were the keepers of.

Varan and the others have lied about almost everything, but maybe not Ryogo.

Spread out before us is a vast, lush land, greener than I’ve ever seen. No amount of rain would ever transform our desert island into land as fertile and verdant as this. It’s all somehow soft, too. The mountains rising high above the coast don’t have bare rock or ragged points and edges; their curves and slopes are covered with green that, from a distance, looks like it would be soft as a niora fur mat.

“Is that supposed to be a wall?” Sanii points north of where I’ve been looking. As I run my thumb along the red cord around my wrist, I follow eir gaze.

“If it was once, it isn’t anymore.” The massive pieces of stone standing upright on the coast might be taller than Itagami’s walls, but there are massive gaps between them. “I have a hard time believing that ever protected anyone.”

“Wait,” Osshi says as he joins us. “You’ll see when we get closer.”

Soon, I do see. It’s not a broken wall, it’s a row of enormous statues, a line of stone people. Fourteen of them.

“The Kaisubeh Zohogasha. The guardians.” Osshi touches his three middle fingers to his forehead, his chest, and then his lips, almost like a salute. “They were erected a decade after the bobasu’s exile. The seven facing the ocean shield Ryogo, and the seven facing land bless it. There are Zohogasha sets along the entire coast, but these were the first. Intended to watch the bobasu’s prison and guard against their return.”

“They’re not stopping us.” I tilt my head to glance at him. “I don’t think they work.”

He nods, his expression more solemn than I expected. “Symbols rarely do.”

I watch his face carefully. “Still no word from your friend?”

“We’re too far away from Po’umi. The garakyu only reaches for five miles.” Although his hand falls to the belt pouch where he keeps the clear sphere he can use to send messages, he doesn’t take it out. “I only hope they’ll know how much trouble I need to be prepared for.”

“Will your leaders really kill you on sight?” Sanii sounds skeptical.

“That’s the worst possibility. I’m still hoping no one figured out where I went.” Osshi takes a deep breath, pulling his attention back to us instead of his homeland. I glance at the cord on my wrist and try not to think about mine. “If they don’t know I went hunting for proof of the bobasu, no one will be looking for me, but…I don’t think that’ll happen.”

“It doesn’t matter. Your people dying is the only thing I’m worried about, if my squad meets a Ryogan one.” They fear magic and only a small, specific class of their citizens are weapons-trained. So far there’s little I’ve heard about Ryogo that scares me. “Worry more about your friends and our way in than what will happen when—”

Osshi jolts, then both hands drop to the pouch. My heart skips a beat when he nearly fumbles the palm-sized globe into the water. Recovering quickly, he steps away from the railing to speak the spell that brings up a swirl of color in the clear sphere. “Bless the Kaisubeh am I glad to see your face, Iwakari-tan.”

“Don’t be happy yet.” I can’t see Iwakari, but his voice is clear. And breathless. And shaky. A quick glance at Sanii, and I know ey’s noticed, too—something is wrong. He warns, “Flee, Osshi. It might not be too late if you head back to sea right now.”

“What happened?” Osshi brings the orb closer to his face. “Where’s—”

“Arrested. And I will be, too, if I can’t stay ahead of the tyatsu.”

Osshi’s eyes go wide and white. “Go to my father! He’ll—”

“You think the tyatsu didn’t grab him first?” Scorn and anger fills Iwakari’s voice. “You didn’t think at all before leaving on this Kaisubeh-cursed trip of yours, did you? Of course you didn’t! Answers before everything else, right, Osshi-sei?”

Bellows and blood. I spot Tessen coming up from the lower deck, and I whistle him closer. We’re going to need a new plan. Because of course we are. It’s been too many moons since a plan I’ve helped make has actually worked.

Osshi doesn’t speak. It doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. Iwakari, though, takes an audible breath. “Forget it. I promised you and your father I’d help, so I am. By telling you to stay away from Po’umi and every other port on the east coast. If anyone spots Kazu’s ship, the tyatsu will be on you as soon as you land. Just tell me one thing, Osshi.”

“What?” His voice is thick.

“Was it worth the voyage?”

Osshi nods. “In ways you won’t believe until you see for yourself.” Abruptly, he straightens, his gaze focused intently on the globe. “Remember the place I took you to last summer? When you got drunk and slept a whole day?”

“You’re bringing that up now?”

“Do you remember how to get there or not?” Iwakari must nod, because the set of Osshi’s shoulders relaxes. “Head there. I’ll meet you. I’ll protect you from it all, I promise.”

“Your father and most of your friends have been arrested, and you’re being chased by the tyatsu, and you’re still chasing children’s stories?” Iwakari scoffs. “Not this time, Osshi. You’re on your own. Just don’t get yourself killed, or your father will never forgive me.”

And then the garakyu’s colors are gone, leaving Osshi staring at nothing.

Small mouth pressed thin, he puts it away, his eyes fixed on the deck of the ship. “I need to talk to Kazu.”

Tessen, Sanii, and I watch him walk off. His first steps are slow. Then each one is faster until he’s almost running to the rear platform of the ship. To the west, Po’umi is coming into view. It should have been the end of our journey, but now we’re veering away from it, running back out to sea.

The golden-bright haze of early morning has intensified. The light’s glare doesn’t come close to the desert sun, but it’s enough. Ships fill the protected harbor, some smaller than the one that carried us here but many larger. All of them have sails in bright colors: blues, greens, whites, yellows, and intricate multicolored patterns.

On land, buildings spread in all directions, rising with the slightly sloped landscape. Po’umi is packed right up to the base of a steeper hill that climbs several hundred feet up from sea level—a seemingly unguarded hill that’d be the perfect spot from which to attack the town. All of it is almost impossibly colorful, and I can see everything from the water because Po’umi has no walls.

How can they protect themselves without a wall? Maybe they really do expect those statues to protect them. My squad alone could take over the city in an afternoon if we wanted.

“We needed to head north already, didn’t we?” Tessen asks as we stare at the shore. “That’s where Chio’s old village is.”

Sanii nods. “And as much as you and Rai hate traveling by water, it’ll be faster than trying to run there.”

“I hate traveling by water in storms,” Tessen corrects.

I glance at the door to the lower deck. Despite what I told Osshi about the outcome of a fight between his people and mine, reality is bringing doubts with it. “We need to fill in Tyrroh and the andofume. They’re looking for Osshi now, which means we’re more likely to be spotted and stopped if he’s with us.”

“They’ll try to stop us.” Sanii looks up at us, eir dark eyes defiant.

“And either they’ll somehow succeed, or we’ll be hunted the whole time we’re here, and they’ll only have to follow the trail of bodies to find us.”

Tessen laughs. “As if Rai would leave anything more than ash behind.”

“But even the best warriors and the strongest mages can be overwhelmed by superior numbers, and that’s just one of their cities.” I wave my hand toward Po’umi. “The Ryogans could easily overwhelm us if we gave them a reason to try.”

Neither of them has a response for that.

When we leave the main deck to look for our commanding officer and the andofume, my thumb traces the cord around my wrist again. One of them had better be able to come up with a new plan for infiltrating Ryogo. Otherwise, we’ll have to take our chances against greater numbers. Just heading out to sea and staying there like Iwakari wanted Osshi to do isn’t an option. There’s no rot-ridden way I’m leaving Ryogo without the answers I need to save Yorri and kill the man who took him from me.

…

We stay ahead of the storms and away from the shore for days. A week. Ten days. Two weeks.

The rainwater we collected during the storm ensured we had plenty to drink, but we were running dangerously low on food back when we were closing in on Po’umi. Our rush north means we can’t stop for more. Only the fish we catch keep us from starving.

The training we couldn’t do during the storm begins again. Just not the type we’re used to. It’s not Tyrroh running us into physical exhaustion with drills and practice, it’s Osshi and the andofume making our brains hurt with language and customs and reading.

Sanii and I were right about the wall of tiny markings we found in the cave under Sagen sy Itagami—they mean something when someone knows how to decipher them. Osshi and Tsua started teaching us to read before the storms hit, and the calm seas let us go back to that practice.

Learning how to see the meaning behind these marks is more memorization than any of us have done since we were children expected to know the laws of the clan by rote. It’s exhausting.

I pick at the knot binding the red niadagu cord around my wrist, one of the dozen we stole from Imaku. Nothing I learn can tell me for sure how to break the four niadagu cords binding my brother to the black rock of that rot-ridden island. He’s not on Imaku anymore, but he’s still locked to the black stone platform, wherever the bobasu’s servants moved it. Where they moved all thirty-nine platforms.

Tsua gave me a theory on breaking the niadagu spell before I tried to rescue Yorri the second time. It’s only a theory, though, the only one I have. If it doesn’t work, I won’t ever be able to free my brother from whatever prison Varan has him in now.

The work is hard and my eyes, fingers, and head hurt by the time we’re finished each night, but at least it gives us something to do besides waiting. We’re waiting to see if the few Ryogan ships we pass turn to pursue us. We’re waiting until we’re far enough north to risk nearing land again. We’re waiting for Osshi to be within range of another so-called friend who might be able to sneak us into Ryogo undetected.

I hate waiting.

Most of the time when I take a break, I head up to the main deck, needing the open air. I stand at the railing, watching the Ryogan shoreline pass or studying the crew to learn as much as I can—just in case we really do have to steal a ship to make it back to Shiara. Today, Zonna is already in my usual spot, his elbows on the railing and his eyes locked on the green, mountainous horizon.

“So much has changed. This isn’t my parents’ home anymore,” Zonna says softly when I join him. “It’s never been mine, no matter how much I imagined it when I was a child. Uncle Varan loved to sit me down and tell me everything about Ryogo.”

“Uncle? Is that a Ryogan word?” We’d been speaking Itagamin, but even when I search my mind for a translation, I don’t know what that means. “I thought they called Varan and the others bobasu here.”

Zonna blinks, his focus shifting to my face as understanding dawns. “Right. The yugadai. I’d forgotten that, somehow.”

“I don’t know what yugadai means, either.” It’s not his fault I haven’t learned everything about Ryogo. I won’t take it out on him. I won’t, but it’s frustrating.

“Chio used to say everything broken on Shiara was a punishment,” Zonna says. “Chasing the Kaisubeh was what led Varan to whatever it was that gave him immortality, and he’s been running after them ever since. I really don’t think they like it.”

I really don’t think they exist, and I also don’t want to give Varan that much credit, but I close my mouth on the words, hoping Zonna will explain with actual answers. Thankfully, he takes a long breath and keeps talking.

“You need permission to have a child in Itagami, right? The pairing has to be approved by the Miriseh?” When I nod, he runs his fingers through his hair, distress clear on his face. “That’s the yugadai. When Varan and Suzu took control, they spent hundreds of years using Shiara’s original inhabitants, his followers, and the bobasu themselves to breed stronger mages and better warriors.” He pauses. “Given what Itagamin mages are capable of now, they succeeded.”

No, I want to protest. We need permission and the Miriseh’s blessing because resources are scarce and keeping the population steady is the only way to survive. They’re the only ones who can give us the ability to have children in the first place.

“I’m sorry.” He watches me carefully. “We weren’t sure if we should tell you or not.”

No, no, no. But then, why else would Varan not only have to approve the birth, but the parents as well? And why was there such a strict ban on a nyshin or ahdo pairing with someone from the magicless yonin class? And why the bellows would Zonna lie about this?

“We didn’t know about it for almost a century. Not until the first Itagamin escaped to Denhitra. She was injured, and when I healed her, I found…” Zonna shakes his head. “From what we’ve learned since then, Varan has the hishingu mages alter every citizen of Itagami who might be capable of producing a child. They make the changes young—immediately after puberty, we think—making it, well, not impossible, but extrememly hard for conception to happen.”

My hand drops to my stomach. My mind buzzes. Someone changed my insides just to make sure I wouldn’t have a baby? Not that I wanted one, especially not now, not with everything I have to do, but to have the choice made for me… Did I ever have any control over my life, or has it always been an illusion?

“I can reverse it for all of you if you want,” he quietly offers.

I’m shaking my head well before I can manage words. “I don’t— No. You can ask the others if they want you to…but it’s not a good time for anyone to get pregnant.” I’m barely able to wrap my mind around the fact that I can without the bond blessing from Varan and Suzu. I don’t want to think about this right now, so I ask, “What’s the yugadai got to do with an uncle?”

Zonna exhales heavily, but doesn’t protest my obvious avoidance. “Because of the yugadai, it’s rare for any couple to have more than one child, right? You and Yorri were an exception rather than an expectation.”

“In more ways than one.” Full-blood siblings are uncommon; the only exceptions are usually born from sumai pairs—two people who chose a soulbond, something tying them together beyond death. So, as rare as full siblings are, it’s rarer for them to be placed in the same nursery. Yorri and I only had the chance to grow up together because of misunderstood directions. And now Zonna is telling me our births were part of a plan, the same revenge plan that Varan’s pursuing across an ocean. Followed by an army of intentionally bred warrior-mages.

My mind spins. Memories surface, my attention snagging on one in particular—the nyshin pair who’d wanted to have a child and had been denied. Without a reason. It had been unexpected—almost all nyshin pairs were approved. Lack of detail sparked rumors that tainted both the nyshins’ reputation for moons, and it ended a relationship between the two, which had seemed to be heading toward either a life-long partnership or possibly a sumai. Did all that happen because of the bobasu’s yugadai?

I press my hand against my abdomen, betrayal and hurt and confusion churning. How do I add this to everything else? I don’t even know if this matters now. What is this when compared to Yorri vanishing, the lies about Ryogo, and the deliberate attempts to destroy so much of what I loved about Shiara? Where does this fit between everything else that’s happened?

“Varan doesn’t want people forming blood-ties because those almost always become more important than the clan as a whole. It was to my parents. Varan blamed their ‘desertion’ on me. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but I was only part of it.” Zonna exhales and leans over the water. “If blood-ties were all that mattered to my father, we never would’ve left Itagami.”

“Because Varan is Chio’s blood-brother.” Tsua and Chio told us that much before we left Shiara. “Which makes him your uncle?”

“The brother of your father is your uncle,” Zonna confirms.

“I wonder if I have an uncle.” It’s a ridiculous question. The answer doesn’t matter. If I ever get back to Shiara, no one in Itagami is going to want to talk to me, blood-relative or no, and no matter how often I tell myself I don’t care, just thinking about being turned away by my clan makes it hard to breathe.

“I don’t think we’ll ever know for certain.” He looks almost apologetic.

I force myself to shrug. “I’ve lived the first seventeen years of my life without an uncle. I’m sure I can live another seventeen without one.”

“I don’t doubt that, youngling.” Zonna smiles gently, but it turns strained when his eyes lock on something behind me. Tyrroh is approaching, his eyes bright and his steps quick. It makes the ache in my chest ease to see him.

The only good thing about waiting is that, eventually, it ends. And right now, I desperately need the distraction.

After Tyrroh gestures for us to follow him, he leads us to the room he’s been sharing with Osshi. Tsua and Chio are already seated at the low table with Osshi, and Osshi is holding his garakyu again.

“What did your friend say?” I ask as Tyrroh, Zonna, and I sit.

“I don’t know yet,” Osshi says. “We were waiting for you.”

Why? I bite the question back. And have to hold back even more questions when Tyrroh leans down and whispers, “Listen closely. No matter what his friend says, we’ll need to come up with a plan that has at least a chance of success.”

Finding success depends on how you define it. Killing Varan is everyone else’s top priority. Sanii and I are the only ones who are more concerned about saving Yorri. But to do the latter, even I can admit we’ll probably have to accomplish the former first.

Osshi lifts the garakyu to his lips and murmurs to it. Colors swirl inside as the magic in the sphere connects his sphere to the one his friend has.

“Osshi Shagakusa.” The voice is resonant and melodic and carries a faint rasp. “I do not usually find you in this corner of your country.”

Tsua and Chio exchange a loaded glance, one I don’t understand. Across the table, Zonna seems just as perplexed.

“Maybe not, but I’m extremely glad to find you here, Lo’a.” Osshi’s smile is strained. “I’m calling in my favor, and it’s not a small one.”

“Changing your mind after so many years?” Curiosity fills Lo’a’s voice, but all she says is, “What do you need?”

“I’m on a ship off the eastern coast—we’re just passing the mouth of the Mysora’ka River. I need you to meet us north of there, somewhere secluded and safe, and take us to Uraita.”

“You are right. That is no small favor.” Wariness has infused Lo’a’s voice. “And you said ‘we.’ How many are traveling with you?”

His gaze jumps to meet Tsua’s before he swallows and looks back at the garakyu. “There are fourteen, including me.”

“Aloshaki ki’i olea’o ka lea’i ho’uliopolikia.” Lo’a’s laughter sounds surprised. “Where in this world did you pick up that many people desperate to get to a nowhere village like Uraita?”

“Meet them and see,” Osshi presses. “Will you help us, Lo’a?”

“I think so, yes, but I need to talk to my family first. I will call you in an hour with a place to meet if they agree.” The garakyu clears, the connection gone.

Tsua and Chio stare at Osshi with offended incredulity on their faces. “Lo’a is hanaeuu we’la maninaio, isn’t she?” Tsua asks. “That’s why you didn’t want to tell us about her before.”

“The prejudice against them is ridiculous!” Osshi protests. “There are more lies than truths in what Ryogans know about the hanaeuu we’la maninaio, and historians have proven that more than once.”

“Ridiculous?” Chio’s eyes harden. “They attack unprovoked! When I was a boy, they raided Tirodo and burned the Kaisubeh tower to the ground.”

“That was far from unprovoked. One of Tirodo’s Kaiboshi gave them a gift. Of poisoned meat. It was a supposed peace offering that killed half their family.” Osshi’s voice grows strident. “The truth about the poisoning was buried. No one wanted to admit we could be the ones in the wrong.”

Chio nor Tsua hold their tongues, and their expressions slowly shift from angry to pensive. Osshi takes a long breath and starts again.

“When I was ten, I saved a hanaeuu we’la maninaio boy from drowning.” He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the long black locks aside. “My father never believed the stories about them, and their people believe a life saved creates a heavy debt, so every time they visited Kanaga’ako, they’d bring me a gift. They swore they’d try to grant any favor I asked, but this—” He shakes his head. “If they get us to Uraita, it’ll more than clear that debt.”

“Will it be any safer or faster than on our own?” Tsua asks cautiously. “They used to be under severe travel restrictions. They were always watched.”

“They’re warily ignored now,” Osshi admits. “I hate it—the way they’re treated is unfounded and unfair—but it’s useful for us; those beliefs keep everyone else away. Even the tyatsu ignore the hanaeuu we’la maninaio unless they’re forced to interact with them.”

He never shortens the name of the group. It’s an odd habit considering how long the name is. Our city was called Sagen sy Itagami, but we rarely used more than just Itagami. For some reason, Osshi doesn’t do that with the hanaeuu we’la maninaio.

Chio finally nods. “You’ve gotten us this far. If you trust them, it’s enough for me. For now.”

“That only matters if Lo’a’s family agrees to help us,” I add. “She didn’t sound sure they would.”

But when Osshi’s garakyu swirls with color again less than an hour later, Lo’a proves as reliable as Osshi had hoped. She gives us a destination. Osshi heads off to tell Kazu with relief lightening his steps.

Once he’s gone, Tyrroh faces the andofume. “How worried do we need to be about his friends?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Chio rubs his hand over his once-bald head, brushing over the short, newly grown gray-streaked black strands. “My experiences with the hanaeuu are ancient. Anything could’ve happened in the interim.”

“And yet it all feels the same when we hear their name.” Tsua looks at Chio with gentle mockery in her half-moon eyes. “So much for age bringing wisdom and patience.”

“If they’re still treated with caution,” Chio says after a moment, “then they’ll have little loyalty to Ryogo. That could be good for us.”

But Tsua looks worried. “Unless they remember the stories about us as well as Osshi does.”

“Don’t tell them unless we have to, then.” My words draw everyone’s eyes. Since they’re waiting instead of hushing me, I keep talking. “If they’re doing this favor for Osshi, maybe they won’t need to know who any of us are beyond his friends. I’m not saying we lie, but we can’t regret something that’s never been said. And we can always give them the whole story later.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Zonna admits. “But there’s a risk to keeping the secret, too—hiding something like this won’t make us look very trustworthy, so we’d better hope we don’t need their help once we reach Uraita. Omitting this for too long might make them decide we’re not worth the risk.”

Tsua turns toward the room’s small window, then she nods. “We’ll wait and see what happens when we meet them. Maybe they’ll change their minds about helping and this whole discussion will be irrelevant.”

“Guess we’ll find out soon,” Zonna says as he walks out of the room.

And he’s right. The meeting place Lo’a gave Osshi is only an hour from where we are. Of course, once I see the place, I start to wonder if Tsua and Chio had been right about the trustworthiness of the hanaeuu we’la maninaio.

“If you weren’t with us, would you be able to find a way to climb this?” I ask Osshi as we stand on the beach and look up at the daunting wall of rough, dark stone. The cove has a small beach, but beyond that are sheer cliffs. At least a hundred feet high. Completely encircling the only safe place to anchor the ship and row the smaller boats to shore. Telling Osshi to land here seems like setting him up to fail. Or fall.

Osshi shakes his head. “Even with you, it’s hard to believe I can survive this.”

“It won’t be that bad. Look.” Tessen points to the south edge of the beach, but until we get closer, I can’t see what he spotted—an incredibly narrow footpath carved into the rock.

It makes the climb easier, but by no means easy. The path nearly disappears at times, barely wide enough for the balls of our feet. My fingers collect scrapes and cuts from how hard I grip the sharp stone. The wind tugs insistently at my clothing as I climb higher.

We can count on Tsua’s and Etaro’s magic to catch us if we fall—both are powerful enough rikinhisus for that—but they can’t fly us all up the cliff. It’s too much even for Tsua, especially since she’s already mentally hauling up all our bags and weapons. Miari going first does help, though; since she’s an ishiji, she can shape the rock as she climbs, leaving us better handholds and footholds in the stone wall. It helps, but not enough to make the climb painless.

Halfway up, my hands ache. Three quarters of the way up, my arms and shoulders burn. By the time we reach the top, Etaro has caught Osshi twice to keep him from tumbling down to the rocky beach a hundred feet below us, and my hands are seconds away from giving out.

I’ve been on Ryogo for less than an hour, and I already want to go home.

This isn’t the smooth, sand-blasted stone of Shiara’s desert. This rock hurts, even after Miari manipulates the stone. And I thought that the breeze would warm once we landed, but if anything, it’s gotten colder.

Zonna stops by each of us, healing whatever injuries we collected. I smile when he approaches me last, hands held out in front of himself with his palms up. I place my hands on his. Instantly, the soothing energy of his magic sinks into my skin, easing the ache in my shoulders and feet and legs and arms, and healing the cuts on my hands. It felt cool on Shiara, like water from a deep spring rushing over sun-burned skin, but now it seems wonderfully warm to me.

“We need you in one piece for what’s coming,” he says.

I flex my newly healed hands and try not to let his words sting. He didn’t mean them to hurt, but they do. Because he’s wrong. Before, that might’ve been true—it was just me, Sanii, and Tessen against the bobasu. Now, I’ve been knocked back down to youngest in the squad. “The only thing we need me for is wards when something else goes wrong.”

Zonna smiles, but says nothing. In part because Tessen has gone stone-still nearby, his narrowed gaze locked west of us.

“They’re coming,” Tessen warns.

Tyrroh silently signals us to spread out, weaponless, but magic ready. I stand at the center, just behind Osshi, and I reach for the desosa in the air, testing it and getting myself ready in case whoever’s coming brings danger with them. The rest of the squad spreads out in a line to either side.

“Khya, do you feel that?” Tessen moves closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Focus on the desosa. Do you sense anything different?”

“No.” I’m already focusing on it; it seems normal. “But you obviously do. What is it?”

“I have no idea.” He looks up at the impossibly tall plants that grow here. They’re densely packed, growing close enough to each other to easily hide an army behind them. “Whatever it is, it’s almost here.”

Moments later, even I can see the shapes of more than a dozen people in the shadows cast by the tall plants. They’re dressed brightly, as colorful as the ships’ sails we passed in Po’umi’s harbor, but the cut of the clothing worn by some of them vaguely resembles Itagami’s.

Our pants bind tight from calf to ankle, theirs fall straight from their hips. Our tunics are long-sleeved and reach just above our knees, split on the sides. Their sleeveless tunics only fall to their hips, and the split is down the front instead of the side, exposing their bare chests even though it’s so cold I wish I had several more tunics to put on.

Those not wearing the loose pants are wrapped in voluminous folds of cloth that hang from their hips to the ground. The fabric is bright, multicolored, and patterned with tiny, intricate designs. Breastbands, just as colorful, are wrapped around their chests. The few with anything over the wide band are wearing a shorter version of the open-fronted tunic.

In skin and size and shape, they vary as widely as my clan in Itagami, from warm beige to rich brown, and from as short as Sanii to one who looks taller than Tyrroh. Including all members of the group, it’s more revealed skin than I’ve seen since the last time I bathed in the pool under Itagami. But what keeps my eyes locked on them is the colorful patterns and designs drawn over almost every inch of exposed flesh. Even their faces bear symbols and marks, though mostly surrounding their eyes.

The closer they get, the more I feel what Tessen must have. The desosa flows in lines and ordered swirls around these people, eddying in certain areas but always moving in what seems like an ordained path. When I reach out to pull some to me, it comes, but only when I insist. What have these people done to the desosa? It almost feels trained. Like the energy likes obeying them.

Who are these people that they have such power? Osshi didn’t mention magic at all, so they must be able to use it without the Ryogans noticing. Somehow, they’re working powerful magic under the Ryogans’ noses. I look at the cord on my wrist, and I can’t help wondering if they might have an answer the Ryogan books haven’t given me yet.

“Alima’hi, Lo’a.” Osshi inclines his head to the woman at the head of the group. Lo’a. “Ou’a ka lea’i imloa ka’i ia okopo’ono aloshaki ana’anahou.”

“Aloshaki naho olea’o wa’heekohu shahala’kai. O’kaoo malohakama ka lea’i le’anohu.” She smiles, and her voice is exactly as rich as I remember. It’s a relief when she switches to Ryogan. “Osshi Shagakusa, my cousin is going to be extremely upset to have missed you.”

“And I’m sad he’s not here, but it’s a relief to see you,” Osshi says.

“I can see that. And that you have had hard times recently.” She tilts her head in our direction. The others arrayed beside her follow her gaze; none of their faces are nearly as open or warm as hers. “You trust these people?”

“Yes.” His answer is unequivocal. “And if you help us, it will wipe out the family debt.”

“More than, I think.” Her smile fades. “I am worried about what this favor might cost us, honestly. There are rumors that the Ryogan’s coastal guard is searching for a traitor.”

Osshi stiffens. “I’m no traitor.”

No, he’s not. He very well might be a savior if we can get what we need in time, but I don’t think his people will ever know what he’s risking for them. He’s putting his standing with his people in jeopardy to protect them, I realize suddenly. Just like we are.

For a long moment, Lo’a and the others with her watch us. The ordered swirls of energy surrounding them reach out, brushing over us like questing fingers, and it takes all my willpower not to snap my wards into place to stop the intrusion. It’s worse than bugs skittering across bare skin, but the touch never digs, pulls, or burns, never grows edges, so I let it be.

When it retreats at last, it’s a relief.

Lo’a looks toward two of the older members of her group—both with gray and silver-white streaks through their dark hair. The three of them seem to communicate in small gestures and facial quirks, and then Lo’a turns back to us.

“We should go.” Lo’a sweeps her arm the way they came. “There are patrols nearby, and the last thing we want is for them to think you anchored here for something more sinister than evading the port tax.”

Osshi mumbles his thanks, quickly picking up his bag and following Lo’a, as though he wants to be sure she doesn’t have time to press for more details. The rest of us move a few seconds slower, and as I step closer to the towering plants, I look back at the ocean.

Dangerous as that watery expanse was, at least it was familiar. Ahead, I’ll be shocked to find even one small thing that reminds me of home. We’re putting our lives in the hands of strangers, and all I can do as I follow them into the shadowy growth is hope Osshi’s trust isn’t misplaced.

It had better not be. Yorri doesn’t have time for me to make mistakes.

And neither does Ryogo.