Her face adopted the same expression of concentration that it did when Isabelle presented her with a puzzle. “So … what would you do if I just said no?”

“I would have no choice but to shake my head and be very disappointed. Like so.” He shook his head sadly and let slip his most disappointed sigh.

“Ungh. Why? Why is that somehow worse than being yelled at?”

“Because you don’t want me to be disappointed,” Bitterlich suggested. “Now, are you going to try your speech exercise again, or must I shake my head at you?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes, flipped over backward, and transformed into her ghostfire wyrm form. “Sathin thathers.”

“Sails!” hollered the lookout. “Sails on the horizon!”

Bitterlich and Rebecca joined everyone else in staring in the indicated direction. Bitterlich turned his head into an eagle shape for the sake of its incredible vision.

A sloop of war sailed course crossways to the Saint Asne.

Isabelle, still in her cloak and cowl, stepped up beside him. “Is it anyone we know?”

“The sloop’s nameplate says Dame Formue.”

“Ivar Thirdeye,” Isabelle said. “It’s too much to hope they haven’t spotted us.”

A bright light on the Dame Formue flashed in their direction.

“They say they want to parley,” Bitterlich said.

CHAPTER

Twenty-Seven

The Saint Asne and the Dame Formue eyed each other across the top of a small barren skyland, a floating rock barely a musket shot in diameter. Isabelle and Marie made land in a rowed skiff, but the coastal precipice proved unstable, made mostly of aggregate that crumbled and bobbed like bits of cork in water so that the aeronauts had to leap out and drag the skiff half again its length onshore until they found rock solid enough to hold them.

Primus crept into her awareness, as if he were standing just out of sight behind her shoulder. Forenzio had regressed into his old habits of mind, but brought with him an awareness of the world that might have been, and a desire for the fulfillment Isabelle had shown him. The road home was long, but at least he had taken the first steps. If he could be rehabilitated, what about the others? If she could repair enough of her ancestors, she could rob Primus of his strength, deny him refuges in which to hide.

Why do you fight me? Primus asked. You need me.

I would find your skills useful if they served my purposes, Isabelle replied. Perhaps you should exert yourself to see to it they do.