“Without a doubt.” My smile faded as I watched the ships come closer. “Remember when we first saw Seven’s ship?”

“I remember.” She crossed her arms over her chest as a sea breeze lifted from the water. “Chenda said she thought Anahera was building a new fleet. This is it.”

“That seems like a fair guess.” These were almost identical to the design of our other ocean-crossing vessels, made from wood, rather than metal like the imperial ship. “I suppose,” I murmured, “my question is why? Why build a fleet of ships this big? What use could anyone have of ships capable of crossing the ocean? There’s nowhere else to go.”

“There is the Algotti Empire.” Gerel’s tone was low, frightened, almost. “What if, on top of everything else, Anahera wants to take us to war against the Algotti Empire?”

Dread deepened inside of me. “Why?”

“There’s a lot about Anahera that doesn’t make sense.” She kept her voice soft so that the Anaherans around us wouldn’t overhear. None of this was the people’s fault, I kept reminding myself. We all had corrupt governments. We’d all been betrayed by the people sworn to protect us. This was just . . . so big.

I let my eyes travel across the city, to the Red Hall. Like most of Flamecrest, the capitol building was made from red sandstone, its upper walls adorned with polished rubies that shone like fire during the day.

That was where High Magistrate Paorah lived. Where he ruled. I’d been to the Red Hall during both of my previous visits to Anahera, and while my movements had been carefully monitored, I knew that much of the building was private, sectioned off not only for the high magistrate and his family, but for other purposes as well. Darker purposes, some claimed.

As the sun set fully behind the god of silence and dipped beneath the horizon, the ships moved into the harbor. They were brilliantly lit—almost cheery—with noorestones covering the decks and masts. Hopeful, at least as far as most people were concerned, but the dark chord of the giant noorestones slipped through the back of my head.

Something was deeply wrong. High Magistrate Paorah wouldn’t introduce this fleet here, now, without some reason. And I doubted hope was his true intention.

Excitement jumped like static through the crowd, intensifying as blue-clad guards bade people back off Revis Avenue, one of the seven major thoroughfares that radiated from the capitol building. Soon, a straight line from the port to the Red Hall appeared, along with fresh whispers about who or what was arriving. Regardless, the high magistrate would receive his delivery tonight, under the eager eyes of his people.

Then, a magnificent horsecarre—painted flame blue and detailed with gold—came down the newly cleared Revis Avenue. A team of white horses pulled it along the cobbled road, and though I couldn’t hear the clatter over the distance and noise of the hundreds of assembled onlookers, I could halfway feel it, rattling in the back of my head, along with the noorestones.