Isabelle withdrew from the memory and surfaced in the real present world, in her own body with its scruffy feathers and overtight skin. She could blame no one but Forenzio for his actions, but there was no doubt Primus had urged him on, and every other ghost in her ancestral chorus, and he’d never stop trying to get to her.

How could she use her ancestors’ knowledge and skills without likewise being corrupted? Could the dead be rehabilitated, or was she stuck forever with rotten, bloodstained advisers?

She reached into the everdream and pulled Forenzio on as her ancestral cloak. His perceptions colored her awareness. She found herself more keenly aware of the currents in the air, the precise tint of the Miasma, the temperature of the wind. Many more years had he spent on the sky than she. She turned to her crew and called for an adjustment to the sail even before the helmsman did.

The Saint Asne surged beneath her feet as it picked up speed.

Together we’re stronger, Forenzio said.

Not yet, Isabelle said. She could appreciate her ancestors’ skills, but they would not truly be allies until she could trust them.

She sought out Bitterlich, who was giving more shape-shifting lessons to Rebecca, an activity with which they both felt comfortable.

Forenzio’s gaze lingered on Rebecca. Young and fresh, that one. Get an iron ring through her nose and she’d fetch a hefty price at market. He imagined the rush of power he’d feel at capturing such a prize, of breaking her spirit, a hot surge of triumph.

A paltry prize, Isabelle said. A rush like a drug that sweeps everything away and leaves you emptier than before. Your victory is not victory if it destroys your prize.

Then she pulled Forenzio into her memory, into the first time she’d met Rebecca and how impressed Isabelle had been with her poise and powers of observation. She opened up the memory of the amazement she’d felt at Rebecca’s transformation and her delight at seeing her bond with Bitterlich.

Feel that, she said. Those are the emotions that matter. They are the ones that last and build and become more than the sum of their parts.

Her ancestral cloak seemed to fray about her, Forenzio’s perceptions unraveling and leaving her mind clear of his prejudice, but in possession of his skills. In the depths of the everdream, a young man who made an evil choice began to weep.

“Cabin crackers,” Bitterlich said to Rebecca. He sat on the starboard rail, and she floated before him in her ghostfire wyrm form.

She snapped her tail once in determination and said, “Sathin thathers. Sa-thin Tha-thers.” She swam around in a circle in frustration, then unfolded into her mostly human erstepelz. “Cabin crackers! So there.”

“Try it again,” Bitterlich said.

“I hate this,” she snapped.