Felitïa hadn’t known what to expect. Cerus speculated that whatever was there would have long since fallen into ruin, possibly overgrown with the local flora. The meeting would have to be wherever space could be cleared. With luck, he said, the Volgs would have done that work for them by the time they arrived. Meleng pointed out that stories claimed the meeting place was protected by powerful ancient magic. It was possible that magic still functioned and the meeting place would not be in ruins at all, though he admitted that was unlikely. Either way, it had been untended for centuries, and there was little magic could have done to keep it pristine. But speculations about the condition of what they would find on Scovese said nothing about what it might look like. Both Cerus and Meleng had discussed several possibilities. Sinitïa even drew a few chalk pictures of what she imagined it might look like. But in the end, it was all just guesswork. No one had any real clue what to expect, and Felitïa preferred not to let wild speculations influence her expectations.

She was still surprised by what they saw when they arrived.

Scovese was inhabited.

When they first saw people at the quay, that wasn’t unexpected. Felitïa assumed they were people who had arrived before them. There were several other ships already docked there. Felitïa didn’t recognise any of their makes, although Cerus identified one of them as Singean and another as from Corunglain. The quay itself was in good shape, but that was either the magic Meleng had spoken of or those earlier arrivals had worked to get it in shape. Given that the Volgs had known the location of the island and had called the meeting, it made sense that they were already here, too, and might have been for a while. Nevertheless, there was still no indication that anyone lived here.

The people at the quay pointed them towards a trail that led across the hills towards the mountains looming in the distance. The landscape was dotted with strange, mushroom-shaped trees with spindly needle-like leaves, and smaller trees with bulbous trunks and bright red and pink flowers. Small lizards scurried at their feet, while goats chewed at low leaves, and small birds with orange-yellow, wrinkled faces perched on rocks and branches. It looked unlike any location Felitïa had ever seen before; she couldn’t even remember reading a description of any place like it.

The air was hot and dry, the ground hard and rocky. The hills were steep, with numerous cliffs and outcroppings. While the trail wound about to keep to the gentlest slopes, it was still a tiring walk. Nothing yet pointed towards permanent habitation.

But when the trail brought them over another hilltop, they saw it. Nestled in a rocky valley, alongside a small lake of crystal water, was a large coliseum-like building with a domed roof. And around the building, a small village.

Most of the buildings were stone, and between them were gardens of colourful plants. People moved about them, leading goats, chickens, and some cattle. Along the village’s outskirts were rows of trees whose long leaves fanned out from their tops. Past the trees were fields of crops—wheat or rice, Felitïa wasn’t sure which.

“Well, I’ll be,” Cerus said when they first saw the village.

“Thank goodness,” Annai said. “Maybe they’ll have a place for us to rest and some proper beds. I’m already sick of this island.”

“I like it here,” Sinitïa said. “I think it’s pretty.”

Annai scowled, sweat dripping down her face. “No place should be this hot. It’s not right.”

“Welcome to the rest of the world,” Felitïa said, and Annai’s scowl deepened.

She would never admit it to Annai, but Felitïa did understand where Annai was coming from—at least a little. The heat didn’t bother her quite so much, although she was sweating more than she could remember ever having done. However, the idea of a place to rest was appealing. Considering they had spent seventy-five days at sea doing virtually nothing, it was a little odd to desire rest, but she wanted it nevertheless. Those seventy-five days of doing nothing had been tiring.

Maybe it had been the swaying of the Silver Fish. It had been so constant, she had forgotten about it until stepping off the ship at the quay. Now the lack of swaying on the hard, unmoving ground threatened to make her dizzy.

But really, it was the mind-numbing boredom that had made her so very exhausted.

The first few days, she had contented herself with watching the sailors, and getting a feel for how the whole process of sailing worked. After a while though, watching just became monotonous. She offered to help on many occasions, but the crew always refused any assistance, proclaiming—always politely—that it wasn’t work for royalty. She suspected it was more because they didn’t want her getting in the way. She could understand. She had no experience in this sort of thing. But it wasn’t like she was asking to climb the rigging. She would’ve been happy mopping the deck if they’d let her.

Watching the sea became her primary pastime. That lost most of its interest after a day, though she kept it up because there was simply nothing else to do. Once in a while, she caught sight of a large fish or whale, but most of the time, there was nothing but waves. By the end of the journey, she had mentally catalogued over three dozen different wave shapes.

Travelling overland had never seemed so tedious, even though she had spent just as much time doing it in the last year as she had sailing on the Silver Fish. Was that because she had had Zandrue with her, or was it just because overland travel felt more like she was doing something? If she had been able to help out with the duties on the ship, the journey might not have been quite so boring.

In retrospect, she realised the journey had been the ultimate test of her concentration and focus. And she had failed. Well, maybe not. The journey had lasted seventy-five days. Even the most focused person in the world would have been distracted a few times in that length of time.

It hadn’t been all bad. Conversations with Meleng and Cerus helped to pass the time, and it was usually possible to find interesting things to talk about. Cerus certainly had a great skill at talking, even about the most mundane of things. She also envied his skill at always seeming content and happy, even when he wasn’t (and she could sense he was just as bored as she was). He, too, had offered to help out on the ship, but had been rebuffed—with one brief exception.

One day in the second week of travel, he had convinced some of the crew to let him help with the fishing that day. Nothing had gone wrong with it, but the captain had not been very pleased. He requested a private meeting with Cerus to discuss it. According to Cerus, the captain was terrified of the King and Queen finding out and thinking that he had pressed Cerus into doing it rather than Cerus doing it of his own volition. He begged Cerus not to continue.

“I could have pressed the issue,” Cerus said to Felitïa afterwards. “However, it occurred to me that if your mother found out, it wouldn’t matter what she believed. She would punish the man as a way to disgrace me. I couldn’t have that on my conscience.”

One good thing that had come out of the journey was that Felitïa had developed a lot of respect and admiration for Cerus. To her surprise, she had discovered that she actually liked him. As a child, she never had, but then, she hadn’t liked any of her family back then.

She had grown to like Sinitïa too, although Sinitïa hadn’t been around during Felitïa’s childhood in the palace, so she couldn’t count that as a change in her attitude. Sinitïa was not the greatest of conversationalists, but she approached everything with such wonder and innocence that Felitïa couldn’t help but be just a little in awe of her sister. And a little envious too.

“Have you ever imagined being a fish?” Sinitïa asked one day while she and Felitïa were standing on deck looking out over the endless expanse of water.

Felitïa shook her head. “Not that I remember.”

“I think about it a lot. It would be so peaceful, just swimming around everywhere. But then I think about getting eaten by a bigger fish, so I imagine being an even bigger one, or a whale. Then it’s peaceful again. You should try. Whales aren’t fish, you know. Meleng told me that. I didn’t know that.”

Felitïa did try imagining life as a fish after that. It surprised her how relaxing it really was.

Sinitïa was a talented artist, too. Despite not having much to work with on the ship, she had produced a large portfolio of chalk drawings by the end of the journey, using whatever medium was at hand—often the walls and decks of the ship. Most of the drawings didn’t survive very long, but their cabin ended up highly decorated. She had even drawn one which she said was her perspective as a fish.

Felitïa’s opinion of Annai, however, did not change. If anything, it got worse. Her older sister was very vocal about her displeasure, and early on, took every opportunity she could to complain to the captain or first mate about the inadequacies of their cabin, or various slights she accused the crew of committing. After a couple of weeks, she gave up on that, but she continued to complain to Felitïa and Sinitïa, who were stuck sharing a cabin with her.

Annai also started to treat Marna and Della, Sinitïa’s handmaid, like they were her own. She had all three handmaids running about attending to her every whim, something which Felitïa tried on several occasions to put a stop to.

“How dare you order me around!” she responded the first time Felitïa brought it up in their cabin.

“I’m not ordering you around,” Felitïa said. “I asked you if you would please stop using Marna and Della, who are not your handmaids.”

“Why should I? It’s not like you ever use Marna. You let her wander around and do whatever she wants. It’s entirely inappropriate behaviour for a servant. I’m just setting her to work she should be doing anyway. Besides, I can’t survive with just one handmaid. Yesterday, I had to wait two hours for my dinner because Veruva was doing my washing and I couldn’t find the other two. I had to go to the captain to make sure a sailor brings it from now on.”

“You could have just gone to the mess hall yourself,” Felitïa said.

Annai had just stared at her.

It boggled Felitïa’s mind. Annai was twenty-seven years old and she acted like she was twelve.

To be fair, there had been moments when they had had less hostile interactions, few though they had been. There had been a bad storm five weeks into the voyage. Felitïa, Sinitïa, Annai, and the three handmaids spent it huddled in their cramped, rocking cabin, trying not to fall out of their bunks and not get hit by their supplies that had not been adequately secured in place. Most of them also spent the storm vomiting into buckets and then trying their best to keep those buckets from falling over. There was a lot of clean-up to be done afterwards.

“Will this journey ever end?” Annai asked at the end of it.

“Meleng says we have two weeks left if the weather isn’t too bad,” Sinitïa said.

“Really?” Annai said. “How does he know?”

“He asked the first mate.”

“Oh,” Annai said. “I don’t think the first mate likes me. None of the crew do.”

“You should be nicer to them,” Sinitïa said.

“Felitïa, how do you do it?”

Felitïa looked up from mopping the floor. “Do what? Be nice to people?”

“No, get by without servants. Do things like that.” Annai pointed at the mop.

“I just pick it up and do it,” Felitïa said. “Like most of the rest of the world. There’s really nothing else to it.”

Annai did not help with the clean-up, but Felitïa did pick up a hint of guilt from her.

Time spent with Meleng had involved a lot of technical discussions about magic, science, sailing, the sea, and numerous other topics. Felitïa was always impressed by the wide breadth of knowledge Meleng possessed. He lacked self-confidence though, and constantly second-guessed himself.

“I’ve been working on this idea,” he said one time. “It has to do with the conversion of potential into kinetic energy. It was inspired by that spell I tried to show Corvinian in Mesone, the one where I tried to levitate the books, but they burst apart? Well, I’ve been having some ideas about it, but I keep getting them wrong. The equations just won’t work out.”

“Do you want some help?” Felitïa asked. “I don’t know a lot of math, but I might notice something.”

“Oh, no, no, that’s okay. It doesn’t really matter. It’s pretty silly, really.”

“No, I’d be happy to.”

“No, it’s okay, honest,” he said and didn’t bring it up again.

He did spend most of his time in his cabin, which he shared with Cerus, scribbling away at diagrams and equations. Cerus confirmed it all seemed to be the same “project”, but Cerus also confessed he didn’t really understand any of it, no matter how much Meleng tried to explain it to him.

Once in a while, Cerus managed to drag Meleng out on deck. “A bit of fresh air will do you good, Meleng. As will a little bit of socialisation.”

“If you say so,” Meleng would reply and go on to do little in the way of socialisation.

He did spend a lot of time with Sinitïa, though—or rather, it was the other way round. Sinitïa spent a lot of time with Meleng, following him around, asking him questions, and listening to his carefully explained answers. Felitïa suspected it might have started as a way for Sinitïa to avoid Annai, though she seemed to really enjoy the time spent with Meleng.

Also, as best Felitïa could tell, Cerus and Meleng had struck up a friendship of sorts on the trip. Cooped up together in a cramped cabin for eleven weeks would do that—either that or put them at each other’s throats, but thankfully that hadn’t happened. Felitïa had been quite impressed when Cerus had first offered to share his cabin with Meleng before they left. The Queen had not approved, but Cerus had argued that there really was nowhere else to put him. He had refused to see him put with the servants as the Queen had wanted. “Besides,” he had told her, “you and he will be on different ships. What will it matter to you whose cabin he shares?”

“He will be on the same ship as my two daughters!” the Queen had said.

“Your three daughters,” Cerus had corrected her. “What’s the matter? It’s not like he’s sharing their cabin. Or are you afraid he might charm his way into theirs?”

The Queen had gone deep red at that, but had let the matter pass.

The friendship that had developed between Cerus and Meleng did seem somewhat dominated by Cerus, though. Whenever Felitïa encountered them together, Cerus was usually the one talking, with Meleng standing awkwardly nearby and not saying much. She never sensed annoyance from Meleng though. Instead, she often sensed a small amount of enjoyment coming from him, passing through the overall boredom that he and everyone else was feeling.

The seemingly endless boredom.

The first and only real excitement on the trip had come when the lookout in the crow’s nest called out that there was land ahead—the first sign that the boredom would be coming to an end at last. A short while later, they saw the mountains of Scovese come into view on the horizon. It was still several hours before they reached the island, and there were several other islands in the vicinity to sail between. The Silver Fish and two of the naval vessels arrived first at the quay, with the remaining seven Arnorin ships still some distance behind. Felitïa was glad of that as it meant she could avoid seeing her mother for a little while longer. It wasn’t difficult to convince Cerus to start along the trail right away and not wait for the Royal Folith and the other ships.

Now, as they followed the trail down the side of the cliff and then onto the streets of the village, Felitïa found the idea of collapsing onto an actual bed to be what she most wanted in the world.

But she wasn’t about to admit that to Annai.

The locals, as well as the people they had met at the quay, were all Sanalogs—or closely related at any rate. They had the same dark yellow-brown umber skin of Sanalogs, though Felitïa didn’t know the different peoples of Endoria well enough to say for sure. Their clothes were light and airy, and some, particularly those working in the fields, wore wide-brimmed hats. There weren’t many children, but the few there were wore little, if any, clothes at all. A couple of times, Felitïa noticed Annai, Sinitïa, or one of the handmaids blushing at the sight of a naked child running past them. Yet she also picked up a hint of envy from them as well. She could understand that. The gowns she and the other women wore were not at all practical for the environment, and she suspected even Annai was coming to realise that.

The locals were clearly expecting visitors, but none of them spoke Arnorgue, so they just smiled and pointed towards the coliseum. As Felitïa and the others got closer to the building, though, it became clear the locals were actually directing them to the other side of it. There they found several rows of long, stone buildings. A small group of people was approaching them from that direction.

Leading them was a tall, wiry man. His brown skin—a little lighter than that of the other people they’d seen—was wrinkled and mottled with age. His head was mostly bald, but he had a short, but thick grey beard. In addition to his thin, multi-coloured robe, he wore several beaded necklaces and bracelets. Accompanying him was a younger woman dressed similarly. The remaining four were all bare-chested muscular men carrying spears.

The elderly man raised his arms out to either side. “Eles,” he said and smiled.

Cerus stepped forward and bowed. “Eles,” he repeated. In his usual way, he looked and sounded confident, but nervousness emanated from him.

“You are Arnor?” the elderly man said. He had a heavy accent, but his words were discernible.

Cerus smiled and Felitïa could feel relief flood from him. “Yes, we have just arrived.”

“King Wah-von?” the elderly man said, mispronouncing the name.

Cerus shook his head. “No, Prince Cerus. The King is behind us and should arrive soon.”

“Ah,” the man said. “Apologies. I am Adranaska. I watch the meeting place.”

Cerus gave another low bow. “I am honoured, Adranaska. Allow me to introduce my sisters, Annai, Felitïa, and Sinitïa. This here is Meleng Drago, and the rest are our entourage.”

Adranaska nodded as Cerus named and indicated each person. “Welcome to Scohovasta, you call Scovese. And apologies for poor speaking your words.”

“Not at all,” Cerus said. “You speak our language far better than I could speak yours. And thank you for your hospitality. We have had a long journey and I hope that there is a place that we can rest.”

“Yes, I show you.” Adranaska motioned towards the long buildings, but was interrupted by a gust of wind and the flapping of wings. The old man grimaced as a Volg landed in front of him, the Volg’s wings almost knocking him aside as they folded behind the Volg’s back.

The Volg bowed low to Cerus and the others. He wore a gold-coloured breastplate and a dark red cape with gold trim, the top of which hung low beneath his wings. When he rose from the bow, he stood close to seven feet in height. His beard and the fur on his face were grey, and his horns were more expansive than those of other Volgs Felitïa had seen, curling around in several complete circles and protruding wide from the side of his head.

As the Volg rose back up, Adranaska hissed something in the local language and the warriors with him raised their spears. The Volg looked back at him and said something in the same language in return. The Volg’s voice was deep and calm, but also harsh and grating. Anger emanated from Adranaska and amusement from the Volg. The two of them began to speak back and forth, Adranaska in anger and the Volg almost laughing in return.

Felitïa looked to Cerus, who gave an uncharacteristic shrug. He then straightened up and said, “Excuse me for interrupting, but we were about to be shown to our accommodations.”

The Volg turned to face Cerus, leaving Adranaska scowling. “Ah, Arnorins. Foliths, yes?”

“Yes,” Cerus said. “I see you speak our language. However, I was addressing—”

“I am versed in the languages of all the peoples expected to be here,” the Volg interrupted, “which is more than I can say for you or most of the others, except Adranaska here. I am Agranim, son of Ekrafim of the Warrior Caste. Where is your king? It is not you, I think. You are too young.”

“I am Prince Cerus Folith, son of King Wavon the Second Folith. My ship arrived ahead of my father’s, but he will join us soon. Now, if you don’t mind, I do believe Adra—”

“Ah yes, we were told the Arnorins would likely come in large numbers, requiring large amounts of resources. Typical.”

“I apologise if that is an issue,” Cerus said. “We had no idea how many of us were expected to come. If it’s a problem, we can—”

“Not a problem to me,” Agranim said. “It’s his business.” The Volg pointed to Adranaska, who responded with more angry words in his language.

Agranim laughed. “He doesn’t like it when I or my men come out into the streets.”

“You scare people,” Adranaska said. “You agree with Emperor to stay inside.”

Agranim addressed Cerus. “He doesn’t like me very much.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” Annai muttered.

Cerus was more diplomatic in his response. “It is not my place to comment on the private relations between you and our host, Agranim, son of Ekrafim. However, I would ask that you allow our host to continue with his duties. He was about to show us to our accommodations. As eager as we are to begin relations between our people and yours, we have had a long trip and need time to rest and freshen up. We ask kindly that you allow us to do so.”

Agranim’s snout twisted into an approximation of a smile. “Of course, Prince Cerus, son of Wavon. I will not stand in your way.” The Volg bowed again and then stepped aside.

Adranaska took a deep breath and nodded. The four warriors with him relaxed and lowered their spears. He pointed towards the long buildings. “This way.” He started walking in their direction, followed by the young woman and the four warriors.

Cerus nodded to the others and they followed, Annai and most of the others moving wide to the side to avoid the Volg. Cerus came up close beside Felitïa. “That was a very strange display of rudeness. Any idea what he was trying to achieve?”

“Not a clue,” Felitïa replied.

“He said he was warrior caste. Maybe that means he’s not supposed to be a diplomat and won’t be one of the ones we’ll be dealing with here. I’d hate to see how he and your mother got along. Sidlove said he was worker caste. Perhaps that’s the caste of diplomats.”

“It would make sense,” Felitïa said.

“I just hope we’re not walking into a trap.”

“Same here.”

A hand gripped Felitïa’s shoulder, long, thick nails digging into her gown and pressing into her skin. She stopped. Agranim stood behind her, close enough for her to feel his warm breath on the top of her head.

Cerus stopped as well. “Did you want something, Agranim, son of Ekrafim?”

“Only a moment to speak to her,” Agranim answered. “In private.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Cerus replied.

“I understand,” Agranim said. “It is good you look out for your females. I would be equally protective of my sister. But do not worry. I mean her no harm.” He let go of her shoulder. “I wish only to talk.”

Felitïa took a deep breath. “It’s all right, Cerus. I’d like to talk to him.”

“You’re sure?”

She wasn’t, but she nodded anyway. Something like this had to happen eventually if she was to find any information about Corvinian. Might as well start now.

“Very well, but I won’t be far away,” Cerus said.

“I would expect nothing less,” Agranim replied.

Cerus nodded and walked away, urging Meleng and Sinitïa, who had also stopped a short distance ahead, to move with him. Meleng protested briefly, but followed when Felitïa nodded to him.

Felitïa then turned to face Agranim, staring up at him and doing her best to look defiant—and more importantly, not show any fear. Her heart was beating so heavily, she half expected him to be able to hear it. “What would you like to talk about?”

Agranim lowered his head closer to hers and peered into her eyes. This close, she could see that his left eye drooped a little, possibly because of a thick scar beneath it. “I know who you are.”

She shivered. “I’m Princess Felitïa Asa Folith, daughter of King Wavon the Second Folith. Why wouldn’t you know who I am?”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Of course it isn’t. What do you want?”

He smiled. “To see if you can fear, and I see that you can.”

“You think I fear you?”

“I know you fear me. I felt you shake when I grabbed you. I smell your fear now.”

This close, she could also sense his feelings a lot more clearly. He was amused and proud, but there were other emotions underneath that. She needed to find a way to bring his fear out, crush his confidence. “Only fools never fear, Agranim. Are you a fool? Do you not fear me?”

He chuckled. “You have shown me your weakness. There is no need to fear you.”

“Then why do you not say who I am? Are you afraid that I’ll confirm it?”

That did it. His fear was starting to wear at his pride and amusement. “You are not what they say. I do not fear you.”

Her heart was beating even faster now, pounding in her chest. She had to be careful. Focusing on his fear could end up exacerbating her own. “That’s all right. I’m the Will-Breaker. I’ll make you fear me. That’s what I do, isn’t it?”

He took a step away from her, his fear getting much stronger now. “We shall see.” Then he spread his wings and flew away.

Felitïa nearly collapsed, but held herself upright until the Volg was out of sight. Then she turned and walked back to Cerus and Meleng, shaking all the way.

“Are you all right?” Meleng asked.

“I will be. In a little while. I hope.”

“That was amazing!” Sinitïa said. “You just stared up at him and he flew away!”

Annai was ashen-faced.

“Did you learn anything?” Cerus asked.

Felitïa shook her head. “Not really. Just confirmed that there’s stuff to learn.”

“Is there problem?” Adranaska called from up ahead.

“Our apologies,” Cerus called back. “We’re coming.”

When they reached the old man, Felitïa went over to him. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault we delayed. The Volg wanted to talk to me.”

“Hmm,” the old man said. “Do not trust that one. He is...bad.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I don’t, but thank you.”

The buildings each had numerous entrances along their lengths. While there were a lot of doors, there didn’t seem quite enough for everyone, so Felitïa guessed each door must go into a group of apartments—though the individual apartments would have to be small.

When they reached partway along one of the buildings, Adranaska stopped and pointed to the door he was beside. “All places from here to end are Arnor. You use as you wish. When King arrive, Kindanog come speak to him.”

“Kindanog?” Felitïa asked.

“Ah, that’s a word I recognise,” Cerus said. “I tried to brush up a bit on what we know about Endorian society before we left. A title, isn’t it? Head of the Emperor’s personal guard?”

Adranaska nodded. “He will speak of security.”

“It’s not just a title,” Felitïa said. “It’s his name, too. They take their titles as their names. Adranaska is a title, too, isn’t it?”

Adranaska nodded.

Her heart started beating faster again. How had she known that?

“It appears you’re better versed in this than I am, Felitïa,” Cerus said. He turned back to Adranaska. “We look forward to the Kindanog’s visit.”

Kindanog.

A familiar sensation that she hadn’t felt in a while swept over Felitïa, and she was looking over the line of people in her head again. Her gaze swept past Zandrue, Rudiger, and Borisin, past Meleng, Corvinian, and Jorvan. It lingered briefly on Quilla before moving to the eighth figure, still blurred. The voices continued to call out their names. And amidst them all, an eighth name.

Kindanog.

As they said the name, the eighth figure came into focus. A muscular Sanalog man just short of six feet tall. He had short hair with tight curls. His eyes were dark, his ears small, and his face lean. He had a long neck with a pronounced Adam’s apple and his left leg was just a bit shorter than his right, giving him a slight limp when he walked. As usual, she knew more about his appearance than she did her own.

She pushed the Room away from her, and with it the line of figures.

“Everything all right?” Cerus asked.

She realised she was staring away from everyone. She must have looked as if she’d dazed out—which wasn’t far from the truth. “Fine.”

As Adranaska began to show them the apartments and explain where they could find various things around the village, Felitïa leaned in close to Meleng. “I just saw number eight.”

“Number eight?” he replied. “What do you...oh.”

“I really need to see this Kindanog.”

They’d barely arrived and already a Volg had threatened her and she’d discovered who another figure in the line was.

At least it meant the boredom was over.