Suddenly she didn’t want to leave. This was already farther from home than she’d ever been. She wasn’t like the heroes in her books—​how could she think she could do this? She tried to push the doubt away and focus on the fact that she was about to start living her dreams.

Wistfully, Pixit asked, «Can I hug him goodbye too? You told me so much about him when I was in my shell. He’s my papa too, in a way.»

It felt strange having to be someone else’s voice, when she so rarely used her own. Mina looked down at Pixit, who had tiny sparks arcing on the top of his head from feather to feather. “He wants to hug you too,” she told Papa.

Papa eyed the sparks. “How about a wave?”

She felt Pixit’s disappointment—​it tasted like peppery lemon. Maybe after you learn to control your sparks better, she comforted Pixit. She felt a stab of guilt for not defending him more, but she didn’t want to leave Papa with an argument. It was already harder than she’d thought it would be to say goodbye.

«He still thinks we don’t fit. He doesn’t want to get too attached.»

He’ll see he’s wrong, she told him.

Releasing her father, Mina took out the two tickets. “I’ll send a message by balloon after we arrive,” she promised.

Papa nodded. His eyes were wet.

Above, from the river station, a bell rang—​the next ship would be arriving soon. She turned to face the raised river. In front of her were stairs, carved into the stone, worn from the feet of hundreds of people who had climbed them before her. They zigzagged twice up the side, higher than the tallest tree on the farm. Taking a deep breath, she began to climb, with Pixit following behind her. She knew Papa was watching her and knew he’d stay until she was out of sight in the station above, and probably until she boarded the ship and sailed away.

She kept close to the stone wall as she climbed—​the steps had a rope railing, but it looked flimsy. “Pixit, please don’t set the rope on fire,” she said, speaking out loud so she could be sure he didn’t miss her warning. “Other people need it.”

He didn’t reply.

Pixit?

«It’s only charred.» He was flattened against the stone wall, inching up step by step with his body pressed as close to the stone as he could manage, trying to keep from igniting the rope railing. Sparks kept leaping off him onto the stone, which couldn’t burn, and onto the rope, which sizzled. «Sorry!»

She swallowed a laugh and climbed faster.

Don’t worry. You’ll learn control at Mytris.