In spite of the tremor—which we didn’t feel here, but we were told there might be waves—Aaru, Gerel, and Chenda continued their scheduled activities, touring the palace and meeting with various members of the empress’s court.

It was dawn when Ilina, Hristo, and I climbed into a large white and gold carriage with the empress, two of her guards, and an older woman who introduced herself as Mekka. She was an imperial historian and would be acting as our guide during the drive to the dragon park.

“The park is on the river, so we could take the imperial barge,” the empress said, “but I thought you might like to see the city.”

One of her guards pressed his shoulders down and didn’t quite hide a scowl, and I got the sense there was an old argument in there: he wanted to keep her as safe as possible, while she was strong-willed and the one who made the rules anyway.

But surely she would be safe in her own city. Even if she wasn’t, a cadre of mounted guards surrounded the carriage as we moved down the long flagstone drive, passing fountains and statues and huge monuments to imperial heroes and accomplishments. Our guide enthusiastically described battles and conquests, filling the interior of the carriage with stories of lives and adventures I’d never even considered.

How strange to think of history marching along here, at the same rate it had in the Fallen Isles, but so different from ours. And all this time, we’d been unaware. Not that people lived here—of course we’d known that—but of their lives and struggles and triumphs. Still, it didn’t affect us, at least not that we could discern, so most of us had never paused to consider all these lives lived and lost parallel to ours.

I listened to the guide speaking, my gaze fixed out the large window nearest me. Sigils were scratched into the glass, allowing us to see outside. But, when viewed from the other side, the glass seemed darker, almost opaque.

Not only did their history move along a different path than ours, intersecting only now, but even their magic was different. It was a wonder that our languages and writing had remained so similar after two thousand years.

Unless we hadn’t been all that separate.

As the carriage sped down the main avenue that ran out of the city, LaLa stayed perched on my knee, preening. Her teeth clicked against hard, smooth scales, drawing glances from the empress and her guards.

The way Apolla looked at LaLa, I could tell she wanted to hold her, but she was too polite to ask. And I wasn’t about to offer. Paorah had already sold seven dragons to the Algotti Empire, and I wouldn’t give them another, even for a moment.

I stroked down the ridge of scales along LaLa’s spine, earning a soft purr, and looked at the buildings we drove by. Close to the palace, everything was big and opulent, dripping wealth like raindrops suspended on a spiderweb. As we moved farther out, the buildings were not as lavish, but still impressive. Everything had a uniform style that suggested a city planned well in advance and built to last centuries.