All right. Giddon tried to bring himself back to the present. He breathed deeply, noticing the tiny, sharp flakes of snow that dove at his face. They were approaching a sprawling city beach dotted with the impromptu camps of travelers and traders, their carts and horses braced against the wind. A giant bonfire rose into the sky, surrounded by people warming their hands and laughing. Beyond the beach, Giddon could see the beginnings of the long harbor, the spires of masts, and the hulls of colorful ships.

“Have you noticed that a fox is following us?” said Hava. “Again?”

Every time Giddon saw a blue fox, he got the feeling, like a crawling on his skin, that it was following him, but he knew this was irrational. “Are you sure? There are so many of them.”

“This one keeps popping up, wherever we are,” Hava said. “I saw it once back on the cliff path too, near the farm. They don’t feel right to me. You know?”

“I find I’m always guarding my mind against them,” he said. “The way we do with mind readers back home, or Dellian monsters. I know it’s pointless, since they can’t read our minds. But I guess my instinct is too strong.”

Hava made a humphing noise. “I think I guard my mind against everyone and everything, always. Old habits.”

Both Bitterblue and Hava had worked to develop that habit as children, to protect themselves from the Grace of their father. Remembering this, Giddon’s mood softened. “They make me nervous,” he admitted.

“So, where are we going?” said Hava. “What’s the boating company that leased the Seashell called?”

“I have it here,” Giddon said, reaching into his coat pocket for a piece of paper. Finding it, but not finding the other item that was meant to be in that pocket, a small envelope he always kept there. Alarmed, he began to search all his pockets. When Hava said, “Well? What’s it called?” he ignored her, kept looking.