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  Two figurines and they reached the Shahanta’s island, where they replenished their stock of provisions. Six more figures joined the line as they passed the chain of small islands that made up Fuboli territory. Another eight as they cut through Gunzu waters, again stopping to restock, but Yenni stayed onboard to avoid awkward questions. And at last they were on the home stretch to Cresh. Though they would pass the small, single island of the Watatzi tribe, they did not plan to stop there. The Watatzi were a strange and reclusive people.

  Their ship made good progress, sailing pleasantly when the wind was favorable, the crew urging the ship along with wind runes when it was not. Yenni very much appreciated that her aunt had left hanging her responsibilities as head of ships to see Yenni across the sea. The head of ships was almost always a woman, as it was known that water—oceans, rivers, and lakes—behaved far better for women than men, offering up its bounty of fish or allowing them smooth passage.

  Yenni spent her days studying Creshen language, history, and politics, grilling her aunt about her travels to the Empire, or simply standing above deck and watching the white wake of the ship frothing on turquoise seas as she contemplated the task that awaited her in Cresh.

  Over and over she recalled the day when she’d flown her field sphinx down into Father Ri’s sacred cave, to the ancient shrine at the bottom. How it was bathed in streams of sunlight and strips of shadow. She’d taken her divination stones, etched with pictures in the language of the Sha, and offered them up to the faceless statue of wise Father Ri.

  “I, Yenni Aja-Nifemi ka Yirba, princess of the Yirba tribe, have come to pledge myself to the royal rite of the sacred journey, to embark on Orire N’jem,” she’d said. “I ask that you protect my tribe from any looming threat, and in return I will journey to the Empire of Cresh. Tell me, Oh wise Father, what would you have me do there?”

  She’d cast her eight-sided divination stones, and they’d clattered on the rocky floor, echoing through the silence. When at last they’d settled, one showed an open eye: search or find. The other depicted a flame—the symbol for the energy that ran through all things: ach’e.

  Thus instructed, Yenni had devised her plan. She must travel to Cresh and study the Creshens’ use of ach’e—“magic,” as they put it. She would gain entrance to their best academy and learn all she could. To what end, she was not yet sure, but the Sha had spoken and her faith was strong. The key to understanding her father’s illness must somehow be tied to Creshen magic, she was sure.

  She had twenty-three figurines all in a line when they docked at the Island of Sainte Ventas, the biggest of the islands colonized by Cresh and a hub for commerce. Yenni marveled at the stilted houses dotting the hills in flashes of bright pastel colors: pink and blue and yellow. Captain Morayo took her into the island proper, among the noise of rumbling donkey carts and calling vendors. The scents of fried fish and coconut. White painted storefronts with tall and welcoming arches. The people here looked so different! Some were dark skinned, like her, but some had skin the color of a sandy shore. Were these native Creshens? She had never seen a Creshen in person before, but she’d heard they were pink skinned, and the people she saw were more of a golden brown. Perhaps they simply had Creshen heritage.

  Either way, most everyone she met was incredibly friendly, even the trader who’d bought her figurines. As her aunt had warned, he’d offered a sum so low that she’d had to counter ten times as much. Though he spluttered and cajoled, and she hadn’t understood half of what he’d said due to his strange Island dialect, they eventually met in the middle. With a sad sigh Yenni gave up her beloved treasures for a thick stack of Creshen duvvies.

  Though she wanted to stay and explore, Yenni headed right back to the ship. She had to register for the entrance test and she would rather not tempt Father Esh, trickster and troublemaker that he was. Though she had no figurine to mark it, it took all night to navigate from Saint Ventas to the coast of Imperium Centre. The honeyed globe of the sun was just rising over the ocean, like a goddess stepping from her bath, when at last the towers of Cresh appeared on the horizon. It was also around this time that Yenni spotted her first dragon.

  They were like a streak of fire, with scales that glittered orange in the light of sunrise. Yenni stood captivated on deck along with most of the sailors as the dragon swooped into the city. Beautiful but dangerous. Her conversation with Prince Natahi suddenly came to mind. Frowning, she fished a pot of runepaint and a brush from the pack on her hip. The Songs of the Sha said the first dragons were birthed from the fires of Father Gu’s forge, and their only weakness was water, thus she softly sang the hymn for water as she painted a rune on the back of each hand.

  Soon their ship pulled into harbor, and it was time for Yenni to depart. Her eyes were wide as she took in the streams of people bustling along the docks. These were Creshens. Their skin was quite pale and their hair flowed like seaweed. But people of many different hues, including more northern Islanders, like those of Sainte Ventas, threaded through the crowd as well.

  She felt a tap on her shoulder. “This is where I leave you, Yenni,” said her aunt. Yenni reached back and felt for her spring-spear, then felt for the small knife strapped to her arm. She looked at her left palm, where her father’s rune marked her skin.

  “I am ready. Thank you for seeing me here safely.” She embraced Morayo and felt the taut strength of her aunt’s arms, muscle corded from a lifetime of ship’s labor. “May the Mothers and Fathers smile upon you,” she said.

  Watching Morayo return to her ship, Yenni fought down a bubble of anxiety. She had never been this far from home, and never on her own. But she had her wits, her runes, and the divine guidance of the Sha. Bowing her head, she prayed.

  From this moment on, I undertake this sacred journey in your name. Oh Most Divine, watch me and guide me, your servant.

  Yenni hitched up her back-satchel and set off to follow the crowd leaving the docks.

  3

  Four guards stood in front of a large archway made of pale stone and decorated with flowery Creshen carvings. It was part of a high wall that stretched off to either side of the docks, cutting off the wooden boardwalk. The guards seemed to let most people through, but when Yenni’s turn came, one of them put out a gloved hand and stopped her.

  “Hold. Your business?” he demanded, a wiry beard parting to reveal his mouth.

  “Hello! I am here to apply for admission to Prevan Academy for Battle and Magical Arts!” said Yenni.

  Another guard, younger, with big ears that stuck out from either side of his head, like those of a rodent, glanced between Yenni and a sheet of paper, scribbling furiously with what looked like a bird’s feather even as the two others continued to wave people through. Her interrogator turned and spit whatever he was chewing on the grass. “Where are you from, en? Dressed like that. One of the Islands?”

  “The Sha Isl—I mean the Moonrise Isles,” said Yenni, pleased she’d remembered the Creshen name for her home in time. All four sets of eyebrows went up.

  “Huh,” said the bearded guard. “Well then, welcome to Imperium Centre. We accept any and all. You’ll hardly find a more sophisticated city in all the world.”

  “Name?” asked the man as he scribbled her portrait.

  “I am Yenni Aja-Nifemi ka Yirba.”

  “Right. You want to repeat that?”

  Eventually the scribe took down her name. “Your writ of passage,” he said, handing her one roll of paper. “And a map of the academy,” he said, holding out another. “It’s just there, you can’t miss it.” He gestured with the paper at a collection of towers and outbuildings that looked like the Creshens’ version of a palace—tall, gray, and stately. “Can you read?”

  “Yes, why would you think otherwise?”

  He shrugged. “It’s true your Creshen is good for an Islander. And from the Moonrise Isles at that, en?”

  “I see.
Thank you.” Yenni knew he was trying to compliment her, but something about his statement made her uncomfortable.

  He opened the map. “Right then. I’m an alumnus of Prevan myself, you know. Registration is at Bertrand’s East, it’s right next to the bell tower here.” He drew a circle on the map and handed it to her.

  The bearded guard pointed at her weapons. “Arms are allowed in the city, but don’t go making trouble, or the peacekeepers will be on you in half a second.”

  “I . . . do I seem like the type to cause trouble?” Yenni asked, confused.

  “Just a warning,” he said. “That’s it, then—you’re free to go.”

  Yenni nodded and stepped through the arch. She soon found herself caught up in the crowd moving north from the docks, and the sights of the city around her drove all thoughts of the uncomfortable encounter with the guards from her mind. Cresh was so different from home. So much of everything was columns and rows. Rows of pastel houses—tall, skinny, and pointed. Rows of intersecting streets paved in slick, smooth stone. Rows of people, rows of carts. Rows of trees planted just so. Yenni longed to wander down the lanes and alleys, to peek into every glass window, to discover the source of that syrupy scent teasing her nose, but she had a mission. She fixed her gaze firmly on the tall, sprawling compound in the distance and soldiered on.

  Excitement and nerves fluttered like bottleflies in Yenni’s chest. Creshen architecture soared around her, all height and pillars and hard, sharp angles. The Creshens had a curious habit of letting leaves grow on the surface of the stone, like animal fur, but it was pretty and exotic.

  Yenni found she could hardly look up from her map without catching someone’s curious gaze. It must be her runes. White paint made swirling patterns all over her dark skin: strength runes on her arms, speed runes on her legs, water runes on the backs of her hands, and wards against pain down her spine. Once more Yenni glanced between her map and the academy grounds, searching for the bell tower. Straight ahead a long, white structure blocked her path—the entrance surrounded by thick columns.

  She swiveled her head left and right, trying to get her bearings, and made eye contact with a man standing far off, across the grass. He squinted at her, but unlike the others, he didn’t immediately dart his eyes away. He continued to stare, unabashed, and Yenni squinted right back. She wasn’t about to let some brute intimidate her. From what she could make out, he was tall and well muscled. He wore his dark hair in a thick braid that fell over his left shoulder and his shirt was open, showing his chest. His skin was a few shades darker than the other Creshens around.

  Whoever he was, she had no time for him. Yenni shook her head and focused on the building ahead. It was pretty in its way. True, it lacked the gold and tile embellishments so common back home, but it had many beautiful windows made of panes of colored glass. Sleek columns supported a stone awning above the entrance, which was engraved with words she couldn’t make out due to the loopy, stylized writing.

  Pretty as it was, the building stretched like a barricade, blocking her view. She craned her head upward, standing on her toes to see, and a sound like sails snapping in the wind echoed through the air before a shadow fell across her. A screeching roar pierced the quiet. Before she could even think to run a black beast swooped in like some overgrown demon hawk and touched down on the grass beside the whitestone path, right across from her. He blinked huge, violet eyes and lazy trails of steam drifted from his large nostrils as he rumbled at her, deep and guttural.

  Oh Mothers and Fathers protect me.

  Instincts honed from years of hunting told her not to make any sudden movements, but she slowly brought her hands up, backs out, showing him her water runes.

  “I want no fight, Dragon,” she said as she retreated. The dragon stalked after her, claws clicking on the path. Her back hit rough stone, an outbuilding of some kind, and the dragon stopped as well. She kept her shaking hands before her but hesitated to attack. The beast didn’t plan to kill her—the Masters’ rune gave her no such warning, but that could change in an instant. He seemed more curious than anything, and she didn’t want to antagonize him.

  He turned his long, scaled head to the side and regarded her out of an eye as big as her palm, the slitted pupil a dark, elliptical discus floating in amethyst. Though adrenaline flooded her veins and her muscles tensed to run, she couldn’t help thinking that the dragon before her was even more stunning than the one she’d seen flying into the city; maybe even more beautiful than the n’ne on the plains at home. She marveled at how his scales flashed from black to violet in the sun.

  “What do you want with me?” she demanded.

  A gleaming claw shot out at her. Yenni dove and rolled to the right, straight into the hard scales of the creature’s tail. She jumped up even as the dragon curled leisurely around her, sinuous and deadly. Yenni whipped up her hands and unleashed twin jets of water at the beast.

  He snorted and flicked out a pink lizard’s tongue, lapping at the water.

  Mothers and Fathers, water does no harm! The dragon lay flat, still eyeing her, his body a wall of scales. Tall, regal horns curved up and back from his head.

  Yenni’s stomach was a twisted knot of nerves, yet she heard no screams, no shouts, no indication that anyone else noticed the grumbling beast surrounding her. She’d seen students everywhere coming and going, and though a few spared curious glances for the unfolding drama, none stepped in to help her; not even the man who’d stared her down so boldly moments ago.

  The dragon turned. Yenni flared her speed runes and dove, but too slowly, and a forked tongue slid rough and wet against her thigh. The dragon jerked his head up, twin plumes of smoke hissing from his nose, and nimbly jumped to his feet like a fleet cat, rising up to more than twice her height. Then he turned away from her, opened his bat-like wings, and flapped them, fanning her with heat. He took off with a screech, flashing purple and black as he soared into the azure sky. For two heartbeats Yenni stood stunned, watching the beast disappear, then she grabbed the straps of her back-satchel and ran like an emerald leopard was on her heels.

  She didn’t stop until she was in an open square of bright, green grass, where at last she flicked her eyes back to the sky, relieved to see it dragonless. Panting, she glanced around. The other students gave her strange looks, but none seemed particularly disturbed. What by all the Sha was going on? She didn’t imagine the whole thing, did she?

  She looked up again, tense, alert for the sound of wings beating the air, but the atmosphere around her was calm, almost pastoral. Perhaps it had been some kind of hallucination brought on by stress. But that heat and those gemlike eyes . . . the dragon felt real enough. Yenni looked to the sky yet again. Still no dragons. She bit her lip. If she retraced her steps she could find the main gate again and go from there. Hallucination or not, she wanted to get out of the open as quickly as possible. She turned to head back and froze.

  A very strange person was making her way through the sprinkling of students in the square. Yenni blinked. Was this another trick of her mind? She shook her head, but the woman didn’t disappear. Yenni knew it was rude, but she stared openly. She couldn’t help it: the woman was blue!

  All the Creshens she’d encountered so far were pale, but this woman was so light skinned her complexion had a blue tinge. Her face was angular, with high cheekbones and eyelids that folded over in a way Yenni had never seen before. Truly, all manner of people resided in Cresh.

  The woman smiled as she approached, her steps gliding and graceful under her long ivory skirt. She didn’t seem to be a threat. Still, Yenni stood ready to call on her runes. This was a strange place where no one batted an eye at dragon attacks, and she wasn’t taking any more chances.

  “Let me guess, you’re looking for admissions?” said the woman.

  Yenni let her shoulders drop. “Yes, I am.”

  “Allow me to show you where to go. I’m volunteering w
ith the student service committee and it’s my job to stalk the grounds looking for lost lambs to lead. I’m Kiyozui Duval. Call me Zui.”

  She held a hand up, palm forward, and it took Yenni a moment to remember that in Cresh women greeted each other by touching palm to palm. She placed her hand against Zui’s, holding back a grimace at the awkwardness of it.

  “Nice to meet you. I am Yenni Aja-Nifemi ka Yirba, and I’m from the Moonrise Isles.”

  “I should have guessed. I’ve never seen anyone like you before. Your hair is really something. May I touch it?”

  “Touch it?” Yenni felt a trace of unease that she couldn’t quite understand. “Oh. I—I suppose . . .”

  Zui ran one of Yenni’s black braids through her hand. “Pretty,” she said.

  “Thank you. Your hair is quite interesting as well. May I?” Yenni gestured to the swath of pale-blue hair draped like sea grass down the woman’s back.

  “Oh! Well, I suppose it would be rude of me to refuse after you were so accommodating.” Zui was about a head taller than Yenni, and she bent awkwardly so that Yenni could run her fingers through her hair.

  “Incredible,” she said, fascinated by how the blue hair slid lazily through her fingers.

  After a while Zui cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’m beginning to feel a bit like a pony on a petting farm,” she said and laughed nervously.

  “Ah!” cried Yenni, the source of her earlier discomfort clicking into place. “Yes! That was how I felt as well.”

  “Oh my, I do apologize then.” Zui blew out a breath and changed the subject. “These white markings on your skin are quite striking, Do they have a purpose or meaning?”