Bitterlich said, “But by the time you assigned me to Isabelle, you had learned about Kantelvar’s Savior-breeding scheme.”

Grand Leon raised his bushy eyebrows. “Are you worried about the Prophecy? From what you’ve told me about the Vault of Ages, it sounds exceedingly unlikely a Savior will be born at all. As for why I put you together … are you displeased with the outcome?”

Almost against her will Isabelle met Bitterlich’s gaze. It was so very hard not to grin like a loon, especially when his ears pricked up like that.

“Just so,” Grand Leon said. “I planted a seed, but I have moved on. The orchard is yours. I will leave you two to tend it.”

The deck rocked under Jean-Claude’s feet. Marie’s homestone had brought him to Flotsam, and her fellhand status had gotten him an audience of sorts, a skymoot they called it, with the Seven Thunders clan—Dok and Aria’s people. He’d come to sing their endsong, which, fortunately, did not require any actual singing. Hundreds of people gathered round in their great stadium to listen under lightning-shot skies as he told how they lived and how they died at the last, still fighting for each other and for a future for their kin.

To his amazement, none of the Gyrine seemed to blame him for their captains’ deaths. Instead, they thanked him for the tale and named him clan friend.

“Everyone dies,” said Vote Capitaine Solo Dyne. “Not everyone has something worth dying for.”

The wake lasted a night and a day. Toasts were made and songs were sung and Dok and Aria were woven into Legend, may they not be forgotten while the wild winds yet blow.

Jean-Claude had other business there as well, an offer of treaty from l’Empire Céleste. “I know the Gyrine bow to no roi or reine,” Jean-Claude said, “but Madame Sireen would make good on Hailer Dok’s bargain.”

He showed them a map of l’Empire Céleste, and pointed out where there was good land recently dispossessed, that she would be willing to lease to the Gyrine on terms that did not require a subject’s service to a sovereign but instead would be paid for in terms of trade for particular services, namely to provide guides and good winds for Célestial trade ships and colony ships throughout the deep sky. The Craton Auroborea was due to open up and she would help the Gyrine tame and settle parts of it as well.

The Seven Thunders gave him no answer immediately. The decision would affect all Gyrine, so it must be agreed upon by the other clans.

“Do you think they’ll take the offer?” Jean-Claude asked Marie as they strolled the decks back toward the recently renamed and refitted galleon Veritus that was carrying the bulk of the supplies needed for the new colony.

“Do I look like a diplomat?” Marie asked. “Or a fortune-teller?”

“You look like somebody dipped you in flour. That doesn’t make you a pastry.”