The final water-lift released them into a waiting line of Hawk guards on the tiled lane of the first tier. Walls of snowy marble and iridescent glassblack towered around them, plaited into green-roofed mansions and pavilions where the soft trickle of fountains whispered through stone and shadow. Vivid painted tiles bordered each household’s foundations, layer upon layer detailing generations of Peacock-caste achievements.

The Hawks fell into step at their flanks as they marched up the tight coil of the first tier and past gentry mansions, each more absurdly ornate than the last, until at last the great round black eye of the open reservoir drew into sight. The Floating Fortress sat no more than a man’s height above the Fan, stilted on thick columns that jutted from the water’s surface.

The Fan itself flowed direct under the fortress and into the massive well, and as Fie followed their wagon up a limestone slope, she saw no sign of the reservoir’s bottom. Rumor said it reached all the way down to the fifth tier. At the top it fed the canals, spilling out into the blue-tiled chutes that cut down the city’s tiers. Tavin had been right: the view was best from up here, a grand mosaic of jewel-toned roof tiles and lush gardens tumbling down the tiers.

The dying sun sent odd whorls across the sea-green walls of the Floating Fortress as the wagon neared. Fie tilted her head, wondering if it was a trick of her glassblack, until a gold hue burst across one shimmer. The walls had been painted in enamel and gold dust.

A hot lump rose in her throat as she thought of every time Pa had passed his dinner to her. Every time she’d made herself sick on moldered panbread or chewed a fistful of mint just to keep from thinking about the hunger, just to hold out until the next viatik.

“There’s Governor Kuvimir,” Prince Jasimir whispered, relief flashing through his voice like gold dust.

Sure enough, a man watched them approach from the balcony of a courtyard ahead, his neck and chest glinting with the necklace-plate bearing the governor’s fantailed insignia. A peculiar wrench wrung Fie’s gut.

Almost over.

She found a stray thread to pick at. The wagon rolled on.

The walkway curled upward, leading to a marble bridge that stretched betwixt earth and fortress, over the rushing water where river met reservoir. Jade statues of the dead Peacock gods lined the railings. Governor Kuvimir still waited above the courtyard at the other end, clutching the balustrade with both fists.

Fie’s sandal-nails gave a particular horrid whine as she set foot onto the marble bridge. Wagon wheels rattled after her, the oxen lowing with unease as their hooves clicked and scraped without purchase. More scratching echoed across the water as Crow after Crow marched onto the stone.

Someone tapped her shoulder.