After some time, Phaut jabs my shoulder blade. Sighing, I gesture with my chin toward a quieter side street. As we leave the market behind, we pass several inns, common enough in a port city where people are always coming and going. Loitering on a street corner between two inns, we pretend like we’re considering which might have vacancies as we discuss our next move.

“I’m going up,” I say, indicating the roofs. “You head down to the docks. See if you can find out which ships are leaving tomorrow evening and which might be friendly to shamanborn passengers.” Many ships fly the colors of their country in addition to their own banners. It should be simple enough to avoid Evewynian vessels. “I’ve heard it said that folk from across the sea are fascinated by our crafts. Use that if you have to.”

Phaut frowns as she glances up and down the street. Although people still mill about, it’s far less crowded here. Some have foregone an inn entirely, instead finding a narrow alley to sleep off their drink. “And how do you propose I buy their passage?”

I dig into my pockets and emerge with fistfuls of coin purses, which I shove beneath Phaut’s cloak into her stunned hands. She gawks at no less than a half-dozen purses, one so heavy that she nearly drops the lot.

“What … did you steal these?” she hisses, stuffing the incriminating items into her own pockets.

“You didn’t think I was just browsing the market, did you?” I ask, smiling. Phaut’s nose wrinkles, and she does a terrible job of not looking like she’s carrying pockets full of stolen coins. I almost feel sorry for her. “There were a lot of soldiers patrolling the market and elsewhere. So stay alert and don’t get caught. Meet back here at sunrise.”

If Vos Gillis at night is magnificent, it becomes an even more glorious jumble by daylight.

The buildings are almost entirely constructed of wood. Their various roofs once might have been a handsome green but have aged into the color of mildew. The mood of the city is so different from Vos Talwyn, which is suffused in history. Everything here feels transient, ever changing, as if the buildings might pick themselves up and shuffle around when you aren’t looking.

The only buildings that aren’t made of wood are the temple and the four watchtowers. The towers teem with soldiers. Guards patrol at every level on balconies that wrap around the entire structure. Attached to the westernmost tower is the guardhouse, a two-story building with an elaborate series of roofs that resemble the blooming petals of a lotus.

Once I understand the layout of the city, I spend the rest of the night making discreet inquiries about Kendara. No luck there, though. I can only hope she’ll make herself known. More than likely, she’ll find me well before I find her.