Hundreds of years ago, the Temple had declared the Gyrine anathema for betraying the Kindly Crusade to the Skaladin. Three months ago, Dok had laid out his plan to have the anathema lifted by retuning the Conquest treasure, lost in the Great Betrayal, to the Temple. It was a plausible enough idea, and Sireen, deducing the craton itself to be a greater prize than an uncertain amount of shipwrecked gold, had agreed to trade l’Empire’s interest in the treasure for a navigable route through the Bittergale.

Djordji’s eyebrows pinched together like a pair of fuzzy white caterpillars preparing to do battle. When he spoke, it was low and pointed, like a knife held to the belly. “That’s not your idea.”

“I presents it to the dirtborn,” Dok said.

Isabelle felt another presence ghosting through the conversation, someone known to the Gyrine but not to her.

“It’s not a bad plan,” Djordji said. “Do you honor it?”

“Aye,” Dok sounded strangled, like Djordji had a hand wrapped round his windpipe.

Djordji did not so much step back as relax in such a way that suggested that while death was still very much an option, it was not an immediate one.

“But I am disinclined to believe that Dok will see it through,” Isabelle said.

Dok shot her a glare, but she continued, “You had all winter to work, which you spent laying siege to the beds of Rocher Royale instead of taking the diplomatic steps required to find out if the Temple was even open to the trade. If you think you are going to show up on the steps of the Eightfold Temple in Om and be forgiven on the spot, you are sorely mistaken.”

Dok composed himself like a flustered chicken settling its feathers. “I’m not the only one who works on this.”

“Then who is the other?”

Dok made a would-be airy wave. “Solo Aria goes to Om.”

“Aria?” Djordji sounded surprised. “She’s a clever one. How’d she get drafted into one of your daft schemes?”

“Other way around,” Dok said. “She chooses me.”

Djordji grunted disapprovingly, and Dok continued. “You vouches for her skills, yes? She turns the Omnifex around.”

“If anyone can,” Djordji said.

“Who is this Solo Aria?” Isabelle asked. “Who does she serve?”

“She’s vote capitaine of the Seven Thunders Clan,” Dok said.

Djordji said, “She serves the future. Long eyes she has, to see beyond the horizon. It’s a fair omen if she’s involved.”

This explanation seemed to reassure the Old Hand, so Isabelle said, “Monsieur Djordji, shall I hand you the duty of keeping Dok on a short leash?” Jean-Claude trusted Djordji, and Marie whispered his praises as a trainer, two endorsements that meant more to Isabelle than any number of warrants or credentials.