These men will sail back north, Issari thought, looking at the foreigners. They will return to the open, cold wilderness . . . where Laira hides.

Issari's eyes moistened.

"Laira," she whispered.

She could not remember her older sister. Laira had been only three when she fled with Mother into exile, escaping Father's wrath. Issari had been only a babe.

"But if you're out there, Laira, you're twenty now," Issari whispered. "You're tall and strong, and you can become a dragon, and you can save our brother. I know you can."

Issari lowered her head to remember visiting Aerhein Tower. She had climbed the winding staircases, approached the door, and peered through the keyhole. Sena had knelt in chains, his face so bruised and swollen Issari had barely recognized him. Issari had begged the guards—towering men all in bronze—to enter the cell, to comfort her older brother, but they had shoved her back. When the guards had told her father of her visit, the king had struck her.

Issari raised her hand to her swollen cheek, still feeling the blow. "I cannot save you from the tower, brother," she whispered as she watched the ships sail by. "But a dragon can. Mother can. Laira can."

For the first time in her life, Issari wished she too were cursed. Why couldn't she have inherited Mother's disease? So many times these past few days, Issari had tried to shift, focusing all her energy on the task. She had screwed her eyes shut, leaped into the air, and willed herself to become a dragon. A dragon could fly to the tower top, smash the window's bars, and fly away with Sena to freedom. Yet try as she might, Issari was pure of body, a blessing unto Taal, the god of beauty and the human form. She carried not the reptilian blood like her mother and siblings, and so Sena languished.

A blow hit the back of her head.

Issari winced and scurried a few paces away, half-expecting to see Father here. If he caught her in this port, he would imprison her too.

But it was only a towering, gruff sailor. The man had a leathery face, one eye, and a chest tattooed with leaping fish. Upon his shoulder, he carried a basket of squid and shrimp.

"Stop standing here, gaping like a fool," he said and raised his hand to smack her again. "Men are working here. Get back to whatever brothel you fled from."

As Issari stepped back, the man walked by her, moving along the boardwalk. Several other sailors walked behind him, spitting and snorting. One glob of spit landed right on Issari's foot, and she winced and gulped down her disgust.

"I . . . I heard a tale!" she said, speaking in a high, hesitant voice. "I heard that the prince could become a dragon, that he's imprisoned in a tower. Will you be sailing north? They like stories in the north, and—"

But the men only trundled by, carrying hooks, ropes, and baskets, ignoring her.