I barely hear Michael’s response. My face feels like Glacia slapped it again. Ambassador Purnell didn’t say a word about Father to me but now he’s casually tossing his name around. Conner’s successor? Is that what Michael is to him, just another man to work with?

“I’m just ready to get this treatise done,” Michael says.

“Ah-ha! Straight to the point.” He clasps Michael on the shoulder. “You’ve got an eager one here, Orcher. Watch out, he might get something done.”

Without waiting for a response, Ambassador Purnell spins Michael around and takes us back outside. Orcher, Glacia, and I follow them to a restaurant at the end of the block. Above the door is a large golden fork propped up against a golden bowl. A woman with brown hair pinched up in a bun greets us and grabs five gold-trimmed menus, but Orcher stops her.

“Only two of us are staying,” he says, looking at Ambassador Purnell.

“The man’s right, Chels. It’s just me and Undil’s fresh ambassador.” Ladia’s father shakes Michael’s shoulder violently. “Got to get acquainted before we discuss business, don’t we?”

The waitress drops three menus back into the holder. “All right, follow me.”

She takes them to a table and Orcher leaves with me and Glacia.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says. “To both of you.”

I grit my teeth. Glacia crosses her arms, then reels back in shock when something slaps my head. I yell out and flail my arms to throw the thing off me—but it’s just a leaf. Glacia breaks into a short fit of giggles and Orcher chuckles quietly.

I pick up the leaf: it’s a warm shade of orange, and leathery. The stem is thick, and denser than it looks. Curious, I touch the trunk of the tree the leaf fell from. The bark feels fuzzy and gives off the same fruity, sour scent that’s drifting in the breeze.

“It’s an Armici tree,” Orcher says. “It’s a species native to Belvun.”

Glacia furrows her brow. “You mean like Armici Tea on Undil? I drink that all the time.”

“The very same. The tea is brewed from Armici sap. It’s famous around the galaxy, much like Artaans’s Bersivo coffee.” He takes the leaf from me and rubs it between two fingers. “The leaves themselves are at the center of Belvun’s textile industry. Their fibers are durable enough to weave shirts, towels, napkins, and even some types of shoes.”

The roar of engines echoes over us. A hovercraft drifts between two buildings, stops, rotates in place, then drops straight down and out of sight. Higher in the sky, a flock of winged creatures soars above the tallest towers: birds. Real birds.