“That’s the high magistrate’s crest,” said someone on Gerel’s other side.

Another horsecarre followed the first, and then another, until fifteen waited along the road, just a short distance away from the port. Liveried guards stood at regular intervals along the road, their spines straight with attention. Swords gleamed in the steady light as they all faced the port entrance.

The gates opened wide, waiting.

Slowly, carefully, the ships drew up to their berths, glittering with the cool light of ten thousand bright crystals. The crews worked. Gangplanks were lowered. And handfuls of people—it was hard to tell how many from this far away—stepped onto the main decks of the immense, unfamiliar ships.

Whispers grew from our rooftop as people passed around a scope, like the kind Captain Pentoba used on the Chance Encounter:

“That one looks Bophan.”

And: “Is that one Hartan or Daminan? I can’t tell.”

And: “Those are Khulani clothes.”

At my side, Gerel tensed, but didn’t speak.

I wanted to ask the others if we could use their scope, but I didn’t even know their names, and Gerel had permitted me to come on the condition that I didn’t draw attention to myself. She didn’t want anyone recognizing my face, and while the long scar Elbena had given me provided a measure of anonymity—few people would see me as the Hopebearer—it also made me stand out in a new way. So I didn’t ask. I just leaned against the rail, heart pounding, and squinted through the gloom of dusk.

By the time the figures began moving down the gangplanks, full dark had arrived, and the bright glares of noorestones made it difficult to see details.

Without us asking, our hosts passed the scope to Gerel. She held the metal tube to her eye, and her breath hitched with alarm. “Seven gods.” She handed the scope to me.

For a moment, I saw only a dizzying blur of people and lights and water, but finally I figured out where to aim. And I saw.

There were three Khulani in warrior uniforms—

The familiar profile of First Matriarch Eka Delro—

And the stiff posture of Lady President Dara Soun.

The hope that High Magistrate Paorah had promised was the remaining governing bodies of the Fallen Isles.

The scope slipped from my hands. It would have fallen to the ground, crashing two floors down in an explosion of shattered glass and twisted metal, but Gerel snatched it from the air and returned it to the owner.

He—the owner—shot me a nasty look, but didn’t say anything as he went back to his friends.

Gerel turned to face me, using her body to block me from the others’ view, keeping her voice low. “What do you think this means?”

I wished I had a good answer, because it should have been such a comfort to see them down there. Given the cheers breaking out all through the streets, most people were comforted. They probably believed our governments had decided to do something about the Great Abandonment and—at last—take real action to preserve what was left of our world.