“There’s some news from the city,” Vera said. “Two houses burnt down in Flag Hill.”

Lovisa stopped. Said nothing, just looked at Vera with as much dispassionate boredom as she could muster.

“The fire was started by a suicidal girl named Lovisa Cavenda who lived in one of the houses,” said Vera. “Then spread to the other house when an airship exploded. The mother of the girl, who happens to be President Ferla Cavenda, was injured by falling wood. The daughter is presumed dead. Sad story, isn’t it?”

Lovisa swallowed. “Was anyone else hurt besides the president and the daughter?”

“No,” said Vera.

Her brothers were safe.

“But there’s talk of changing the laws about how airships are docked,” Vera said, “now that we see what happens if the dock catches fire.”

Her mother was alive and her brothers were safe. And her parents were using the fire as an opportunity to ruin her reputation and pretend she was dead.

Her brothers probably believed that story. Mari probably did too. Lovisa’s voice was rough. “How much does it cost to send a signal message from Torla’s Neck to the Magistry in Ledra?”

“That depends,” said Vera. “If you’re reporting some sort of crime, and if you have credible evidence of the crime, it doesn’t cost anything.”

“The Queen of Monsea is pretty credible evidence,” said Lovisa.

“I expect you’re right,” said Vera, with a quick smile that looked more like a grimace. Then she said, “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” said Lovisa.

For the first time, a softness touched Vera’s face. To avoid the way it made her start to feel things, Lovisa turned and began scaling the second rock path, the one that looked uneven and difficult. Once she was on it, she found that it had deceived her, for with every step, a clear, flat surface met her feet. It was designed to look more treacherous than it was.

“Don’t you worry about what you find out there, Lovisa Cavenda,” said Vera. “I don’t know what brought you here with the Monsean queen, but we’ll get you to Torla’s Neck safe.”

—

What Lovisa found was a trail of trampled snow that led to a clearing. An enormous white sheet was stretched across the clearing between the trees, like a high roof. Lovisa understood that it was meant to look like a snowy field to any airships passing above.

Below the sheet was something resembling a toy airship her brothers might have made out of junk they’d found around the neighborhood on garbage collection day. It was tiny. The passenger area, which was roofless, was smaller than the smallest rowboat Lovisa had ever seen. The balloon, made of patches of some unrecognizable fabric, was pitiful, as if a real airship had had a baby that now lay sleeping, dreaming it could fly. The entire thing, car, sails, balloon, mast, boom, lines, was painted black.