The closer they came to Ithilia, the more crowded the waters grew. Errol guided them expertly, avoiding the larger ships that could threaten their tiny sloop. Agnes saw that many were flying the Kaolin flag, red and white stripes and a golden sun. She wished the Palma had a flag to declare them Pelagan. She caught sight of armed Kaolins stalking the decks of a ship with rifles in their hands. But it wasn’t until the afternoon of their arrival in Pelago’s capital city that they truly saw what Phebe had been talking about back in Arbaz.

Two ships were locked in battle—they had heard the cannon fire and smelled something burning, then seen a ship with a mast missing and smoke pouring from its deck alongside an enormous galleon. They had been too far away to see the flags they were flying, but the sight made Agnes jittery and anxious. If Pelagans were openly attacking Kaolin ships, then things were only going to get worse.

They reached Ithilia just as the sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon.

Agnes could not help the way her breath caught in her throat. Ithilia. She had dreamed of it, but no dream could prepare her for its magnificence. The city was built into the side of a cliff, three massive rings of white marble stacked slightly above each other like a terrace, each one smaller than the last. And at the very top was Banrissa, looking like a toy castle perched at the cliff’s tip.

Farther out from the shore, she saw what must be Whitehall, the sacred shrine of Talmanism that Phebe had told them about. A narrow stone bridge sprouted from the base of the palace and hung, delicate as a cloud, over the whitecapped waves below. All Agnes could make out of Whitehall itself was a glint of blue-green.

Misarro ships patrolled the waters, as they had around the docks of Arbaz. Agnes was grateful for their little sloop—it was too small to be of any interest, and with only two passengers and a little cabin, there wasn’t much chance of them hiding anything. A schooner flying a flag with the five red stars of the Lekke pulled up alongside them and Vada deftly negotiated permission to dock in Ithilia with a surly Misarro with tin disks at her neck. Agnes held her breath until the ship passed, headed toward a Kaolin frigate making a run for the port.

A young girl with sunburned skin and a blue kerchief around her neck helped them tie up at the docks, then stuck out her hand.

“Twenty aurums,” she said.

“Twen—you’ve got to be kidding me!” Vada cried. “It was four last time I was here.”

The girl shrugged. “There wasn’t so much Kaolin trash last time you were here, then. Price’s gone up. Pay or we sink your boat.”