Djola was desperate to talk to Babalawo wise men who might understand the shimmer storms that appeared out of nowhere and left poison desert behind. Librarians could help him pull fire and do Xhalan Xhala. Urzula could offer more news of his family than Grain’s letters. “I need supplies.” Djola lied with truth. “For healing, for repairs, and acid-conjure too. We couldn’t sink a bucket with what I have left.”

“You exaggerate.” Pezarrat studied Djola. “Azizi spares my ships not just for the bribes I pay, but for you. After all this time. Why?” He searched Djola’s eyes. “You’re a snake, aren’t you?” He marched off.

The woman pirate and furry man fell ill that night. Vandana saved the man, but the woman died a week later. Vandana muttered we-warned-you curses. Unnerved, Pezarrat unloaded the captives before Thunder River and decided against more northland raids. The fleet struck out for the floating cities in bad weather. Relief, hope, and fear wrung Djola out. He hung from the mast and wept into the wind.

For two weeks, Djola paced the upper deck, trying to pull fire and cursing high waves. He never managed cold around his heart. Sometimes he sat and stared at mist, muttering in Anawanama, trying to talk to the ancestors. Pirates avoided him. Orca and Vandana made him eat and drink and poured potions in him for sleep. This evening, cold rain pounded Djola’s head. Soft-spoken Orca shook him and mumbled.

“Speak up,” Djola growled. “I can’t hear you.”

Orca shouted, “Vandana says we should make you gloves to hold fire without burning your hands.” Djola squinted at flame-red palms and sparks flitting across the waves. Had he just called fire? Orca pulled him toward sick bay. “Vandana says you know a good mesh-spell.”

“I’m the Master of Poisons. I know an antidote for everything except poison sand.”

“I don’t want you to get sick or catch fire.” Orca was as sentimental as Vandana. Or maybe Pezarrat paid him an extra share to be kind. Orca hauled Djola to their bunk. “You’re shivering and too hot at the same time.”

“What do you want?” Djola surprised them both with this question.

Orca rubbed Djola dry and stuffed him in a warm cloak. “What can I want?”

“I want to hold my wife, smell her skin, hear her scold me and the children. I want to see her ride the waves, half naked on a flimsy board. I’d love her wise counsel.”

“Spies told Vandana, Queen Urzula travels to the floating cities to see her children.”

Djola tensed. “Urzula knows everything that happens in Arkhys City. I’ll beg her for news of my family. Tell Pezarrat this secret so he can stop threatening you.” Djola sighed. “You must want something.”

“I’ll think about that and then tell you.” Orca put salve on Djola’s angry palms. “Urzula is wise. She’ll help you, but—”