I give her a sideways glance, perking one eyebrow. “Let’s not forget how terrible I am.”

“I’ll be with you,” she insists.

“I don’t have a license.”

Glacia closes her eyes and recites from memory: “‘Statute Eighty-three: any unregistered officer who wants to pilot any registered Embassy craft must either be remotely monitored by a trained Official or accompanied by a licensed pilot.’” She opens her eyes. “I read the manual, mister. I know my stuff.”

I half-laugh, unmoved.

Glacia loops her arm around mine and hugs close to it. “Pleeeaaase?”

“Don’t blame me when I puke all over you.”

“Oh, wonderful. Thanks for that.” She turns her head and sets her chin on my shoulder. “So…that’s a yes?”

“I guess so.”

She lifts her head and kisses my cheek. “It’s fun. And I’ll be there the entire time, so unless you’re really bad, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“That’s so encouraging.”

She giggles, then nestles her head against my shoulder and gazes at the stream again.

“Have you ever met Erinn and Flavia?” I ask.

“Nope.”

“They’ll love you,” I say, nudging Glacia’s arm. “I bet they’ll go around telling all their friends, ‘This is our big sister, Glacia. She’s the bestest big sister in the whole wide world.’”

Glacia laughs and squeezes my arm tighter.

“I hope so.”

“They will. I mean, who could resist your smile?”

She scoffs. “Ha. Let’s see…you.”

I open my mouth to retort, but decide against it. So we stand on the bridge and listen. We listen to the wind, the trees, and the stream flowing below. We don’t hear these soft sounds on Undil. The sky has faded from crimson to black, and the lights of the taller towers flicker through the trees. The wind rushes over us, and we enjoy its chill.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Meekman’s Café is a few blocks south of Stationary Plaza. I meet Captain Blitner out front of it at seven-thirty, and the moment we step inside, a man slaps his hand on the counter to greet us.

“Morning to ya, Lawrence! This is him, then?”

“It is, Barimus,” Captain Blitner says, holding his hand on my back. “Mr. Arman Lance.”

“It really is an honor, Mr. Lance,” Barimus says, extending his hand over the counter to shake mine. “Your father absolutely loved my Brangleberry Tea. He ever tell you? Called it the best stuff on Belvun. Never did like the coffee, though… Then again, I find not many foreigners like many Belvish Blends. Artaans seems to have the best stuff, but we don’t get their imports.” He motions at Captain Blitner. “And Lawrence here loves my Wickberry Cider.”

Captain Blitner chuckles warmly, a series of sharp laughs that tug on his throat.

“It’s what I call the best drink on Belvun.”