The suns condescended from high above like distant certainties. Lonely clouds floated about beneath them, and sometimes a suggestion of a skyland far away. The murmur of the crowd in the east market was a thick, and I waded through it. My gaze might have gouged the ground as I walked, staring down; it felt that heavy. Looking down like this, I didn’t see anyone glance my way. When I heard jingling and clicking I was back to where Hinte was talking with Glyster. Hidden in the crowd I approached and felt the clicking of Glyster’s sweet voice countering the jagged growl of Hinte’s. Then someone said my name, and I padded closer, still hiding in the throng of dragons. Listening, closely, I still couldn’t hear every word. “— —’s been asking about her, wanting to know if she’ll —. And I care, too, but about the — side of it.” Hinte spoke slow, her tone from somewhere distant, even while she stood nearer to me than Glyster. She said, “She is a friend. I owe her my life. But she’s scared and flimsy. We cannot trust her for this.” “Maybe. But he thinks —” “I can smell her coming,” Hinte shot in. And that, I guessed, was my cue. I stepped out of the shifting crowd. Hinte turned to meet me, her lips curling in a way I might have once taken for the shadow of a smile, but now I wondered if it had some other meaning. “Kinri-gyfar,” she started with an incline of her head, “this is Glyster. You ran off before I could introduce you.” “Nothing happened,” I blurted. “I just wanted some time to myself.” And I didn’t get it. I’d had a⁠ ⁠—⁠ conversation. But it was over now. Everything would turn out as planned. Had to. I rubbed my raw, sore neck, and forgot. Hinte was tossing her head. “I mentioned her to you last night. She’s agreed to look at that gem, that… immortal raisin you found.” Any other day, I might have considered the sour expression she wore a victory, but I had other things to worry about now. I had it in me to murmur the correction, “It’s the raisin of immortality,” but not loud enough to be heard. Glancing at Glyster, she had a smile that told me she knew the name was a joke. “Okay,” came my voice, now louder. I met Glyster’s gaze. She stood a tall cliff-dweller wiver, and off her body draped a revealing silk dress with breaks like the ribs of a snake. Her scales were blood-red, and her wings draped over her like a second dress. Between the immaculate clothes, the electrum piercings with rubies, jades or garnets that ringed her frills, and those hornscales like nothing so much as blades of grass, the only word to describe her was cliff-dweller. She regarded me with a smile, even if she had eyes for Hinte most of all. “Hullo, Kinri. A fragrance to finally meet you. Here,”⁠ ⁠—⁠ she took something from her stand⁠ ⁠—⁠ “do you want a candy?” The candy was a clear yellow and smelt of pure sourness. After a single glance and flick from me it slipped into my pocket⁠ ⁠—⁠ the same pocket that held the cards from earlier, where they rubbed together and collected dust and lint. I ran an alula over the cards with their worn, pealing edges, and then dragged the finger over the candy with a private grimace —sour. But I smiled at Glyster and said, “Thank you.” “But of course — and don’t chew it, sweetness. It sticks.” Her frills — the one that wasn’t weighed down with piercings⁠ ⁠—⁠ fluttered at me. As my wing dug into my bag for the raisin-gem, I asked Hinte, “Where’s Digrif?” “Over there, annoying some poor stallowner.” Where she pointed, Digrif sat, all four feet on a big slate crate, waving his wing as he chatted with another cliff-dweller stallowner. They stood behind a stall of hammers, nails and other tools I couldn’t name. While Digrif shifted as he talked, the stallowner didn’t. I didn’t get the feeling they were really annoyed though, since they could always just tell Digrif to go away. I held the gemstone, and then Glyster held the gemstone. She scrutinized it for a breath, and when the second short ring chimed and interrupted that, she set it down somewhere unseen behind her counter. “I’ll look closer later.” Smiling, she continued, “I think I’ve held you three up enough. Do you have other places to be?” “No.” “Well, I have, um, things I need to do.” Saying that had both Hinte and Glyster peering at me. I brushed their gazes off. They weren’t what whittled at me. Rubbing my hurt neck, I turned and started toward Digrif, while finding myself, in my mind, a ring in the future, meeting instead Adwyn’s sifting gaze. Would he see right through me? No, he wouldn’t, couldn’t. While no one watched, I knit my feelings into a knot, buried them. My face relaxed in a way it hadn’t in gyras⁠ ⁠—⁠ into a mask that hid. Adwyn would think everything was the same, that nothing changed with me. Had to. It was a weapons stall, and it displayed a few aluminum and bronze swords. Here, the stalls sat sparser, with more room to themselves. It gave each stall room to breath, an identity, something to catch the eye if just for a heartbeat. This stall, though, stood a little taller, and it was made of stone instead of thick paper laid over bamboo reeds. The difference caught the eye and left it trapped, ensnared awhile. Digrif caught my stare, followed it, and his frills flared in excitement. He leapt over to the stall and spoke, voice bubbling over, fangs sweetening, “Hello, O stallowner.” “Oi hatchlin’ — what ya lookin’ ova?” The speaker was a mud — plain-dweller. They had a gnarled, rough look. Their horns grew out of control, and some of their scales parted from their face. They watched Digrif with what might be good-natured smile. Or an ingratiating one. “These swords — they are uh…for sale?” The stallowner laughed. “Course they are, course they are⁠ ⁠—⁠ I ought to be broke if I bought a stall just to let you look at it!” They put wing on the counter, leaning over it, head snaking forward. “Heha, yeah.” Digrif glanced back at me; I smiled — what was I supposed to do? The stallowner had a rag and a sword. Wiping the blade, they said, “So — I suppose you are lookin for one of these weapons?” Digrif glanced back — at Hinte this time. “Well… yeah.” The stallowner lowered their head. Their lips curled into a frown with dreams of being a smile. “You have any trainin with one?” Digrif looked down, poking the ground with a claw. “…No.” The frown tightened as its dreams were crushed. The stallowner said, “Pity. You can’t just pick up a sword and swing it about however you please — you need trainin. Lots of trainin.” Digrif gave a vigorous poke to the ground and met the stallowner’s gaze again. “Well, my dad’s buddy fought the spiders a few years back. Maybe I can get him teach me!” “Sure, hatchling. As long as the money is the money. Just I’m an honest drake, couldn’t sell you a sword knowin you can’t use it.” Pride dewed again on Digrif’s fangs, this time with a hint of cloying embarrassment. “Thanks? But uh… how much are they?” The stallowner smiled. “Oh, about forty, fifty aris, average. Cheapest one I will give ya is thirty and five.” I winced at the price⁠ ⁠—⁠ that was ten cycles’ stay in the inn. Maybe twice or thrice my cyclic salary. Ouch. Digrif, though frowning, grabbed a coinpouch from the pocket of his ‘pants’ and counted out the amount. I watched, slack-tongued, and Hinte didn’t, her gaze wandering as she ripped the last bites from the hog leg. “I shall take that one, then.” Digrif was saying as he finished counting. The stallowner took the plain aluminum sword from the bottom of the rack, setting it down as he slid the coins to himself. The warm gray dragon lifted the sheathed sword, testing its weight. I could smell the dillerskin leather of its sheath from here, but it wasn’t a bad smell. After a few beats he set the sword on his back between his wings and nestled it, smiling. He laughed a little and stepped back over to where we waited, watching. Hinte gave a tonguesnap when he returned. “Just what are you expecting to do with a sword?” The wiver glared at Digrif. “Uh, fight? You and Kinri already got into a scuffle with humans — what if more come looking for vengeance?” I couldn’t help but click at that. “Digrif,” I said, between tongueclicks, “that isn’t going to happen.” I couldn’t help my heartbeat hitching, though. How could we defend ourselves if we ended up in another situation like the one in the lake? My tail slipped into my bag, and wrapped loosely around Hinte’s oily knife, and I breathed a touch easier. Then I glanced back and ran my tail along the knife’s length again. How was that glazed olm blood still oily? Digrif was replying, “You would have said the same about Hinte getting attacked by a horde of apes!” I tilted my head. “Horde?” “Four humans, Digrif,” a soft voice said from behind us. I would have jumped, but I didn’t. Digrif, though, did, and Hinte turned, eyes not even clearing as they met the orange dragon’s gaze. Adwyn continued, eyeing Hinte “One lay dying, and two had just woke up, according to her report.” Hinte turned around, a foot dusting off her cloak’s sleeve before coming to rest on the other. I watched Hinte, so I wouldn’t slip and glance back at him. Digrif was saying, “So? My point flies!” With both Hinte and I silent, we were wedged in the middle of the argument. On one side Adwyn said, “No, it does not. The humans are unaware anything has happened, and will remain unaware for some cycles.” On the other Digrif deflated his frills, glancing back to me. I granted a small smile and a careless toss of my head. Hinte was walking away, and Adwyn strode behind her. He might have glanced at me, I wasn’t looking and I didn’t care. As I started after them, eyes to the ground, Digrif followed after me. As he caught up, Digrif cocked his head. “You smell like blood.” “I tripped.” “Ouch, that doesn’t sound fun. Did you get it wrapped up?” Rubbing my neck, I said, “Um, I cleaned it all up.” “Okay then.” We walked along for a bit. I glanced back at Digrif, and waved my tongue. “So. Where did you get the money for that sword? It seems a little out of nowhere.” Digrif strode a bit closer to me. “My dad was a bit worried after I told him what happened to you two. Wanted me to get some kind of protection, so I wouldn’t… you know.” I looked up. “I guess.” Glancing back at Digrif, and I bit my lip and said, “Sorry if I made you feel a little silly back there. I… um.” Digrif was shaking his head. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.” The weapon and armor stalls faded behind us, giving way to a new theme. Looking around, there were outfits resembling the sifting suits I’d worn with Hinte yesterday, and some that didn’t looked nearly as good. My tongue flapped and I looked around at all of the sifting goods. For either the glazeward salve or the respira fumes, only a single stall sold them, each tended by a hat-wearing, brightly red cliff-dwellers with silky purple fullrobes. The mixtures were marked as high as twenty aris for a bottle. The advantages of having an alchemist friend, I guess. Hinte’d told me those ugly bright white suits warded off heat. I didn’t believe her⁠ ⁠—⁠ it was still panting hot⁠ ⁠—⁠ but all that surfaced in my mind now was the worry that today I’d been finding out just whether she was right. Among the blinding white suits, there were sifting rods, shovel-like sieves that looked just like the metal rod the apes had, and dark-lensed goggles that didn’t have the iridescence of Hinte’s, some arm-guards that were supposed to prevent sand from caking onto your limbs, and aluminum claws I didn’t grasp the use of. I winged the sieve from my bag, giving it another look. I looked back at the sieves on display. The design was similar, very similar, down to the handle. Maybe the humans had the same ideas? I put the sieve back in my bag, and kept looking around. We passed some poor scrapers offering to clean your forelegs of glass and dust for a few coins. I was about to leap over to them just then, but Hinte stopped me with a wing over my breast. “Why would you clean your forelegs before entering the lake?” …I kept looking around. One thing you didn’t hear so much here was buskers. It felt odd to miss the unasked-for music that polluted public spaces and the ragged musicians who brought it; but when my frills felt the sharp hum of strings, it was a break from the growls and hissings which weren’t for my frills. As I padded a bit closer, there was a curious nostalgic undercurrent in that pulled me in. Over near the edge of the sifting goods section, a drake in a dull purple cloak strummed a stringed thing, glinting metallic and brighter than anything else about him. They crooned in an accent I could lull into, and slowly the singing went from wordless pitches to some accusative song: “Can’t cross the seas nor skies astarr’d,

“Until the fires have grown cold—

“Like the legends haven’t told,

“We sift while life is barred. “We bare the heat, the drought, the lake,

“The bossdrake’s unescapèd call,

“The fiery moil which bitters all—

“We sift for heart’s warm sake. “The fires are trudge and toil for what?

“Reward so meager for the plight?

“Potential pay that makes it right?

“It simply doesn’t cut. “I do not sift for glass or gold,

“And nor to make a life⁠ ⁠—⁠ that’s true,

“But only for the love I knew.

“I sift for something old. “My love escaped into the clouds

“Beyond which scarcely could I find

“The flames or words to change her mind

“The flames that could have vowed. “Now time has past like scales that slough

“My fangs have faltered, dessicated

“(A sifter’s final fall, but fated).

“It seems flames weren’t enough. “Across the seas and skies astarr’d,

“Until my flames had grown too cold,

“Like the legends haven’t told,

“I’d sift’d till hope was marr’d. It stirred something in me, and I glanced at the busker again. The dull cloak, the metal strings⁠ ⁠—⁠ the memory came fast. He was the angry drake from last night. It stopped my padding forth quick and standing still I simply peered at him awhile, wondering about the love he’d lost and what other depths lay in his past. But I wouldn’t talk to him again, and I wouldn’t patronize someone that unpleasant. The plain-dwellers stepping past who did let me cloud my eyes and continue wandering the stalls and all the strange sifting instruments arrayed. The busker kept strumming away, and his secrets kept resounding in the music. The one thing that caught my eye above all else was the gas-masks. I waved my tongue and broke my stride with the others, looking closer. The design of the masks varied: some of them⁠ ⁠—⁠ the cheaper ones, I noticed⁠ ⁠—⁠ looked like woven sacks with glass holes for eyes and a bulky respirators near the mouth; some were simple dust masks you wrapped around your snout. The most advanced I saw was unique⁠ ⁠—⁠ there wasn’t another like it: woven schizon in a sleek, form-fitting design; near-black lenses stared out, contemptuous; and its black, disk-like respirator was smaller, sophisticated. Where the other masks had simple holes, this one had a tongue-flap. I let out a quiet squeal on sight. How cool I would look in a mask like that? …I glanced, with effort, at the price: ninety aris. Frills deflating, I looked at the other options. I didn’t consider for a heartbeat the sack-looking masks. But there were sets a few notches more advanced that didn’t look hideous, and didn’t cost ninety aris. I spotted some with promise. Blaring a patriotic red with golden streaks, and glassy wing patterns over the frill guards, these masks looked like they could make Staune seem a cliff-dweller. As I stared at the masks, the owner of the stall turned around to peer at me. They were a deep orange⁠ ⁠—⁠ a canyon-dweller. Their face was specked with dark-gray freckles. They regarded me, cool and impassive. “Greetings. Have you come to buy a mask?” “Um… sure?” Behind me, where the stallowner couldn’t see, my tail was doing all manner of embarrassed acrobatics. Their eyes shifted at my questioning, un-sure tone, but it didn’t ever reach their voice. “You want one of these red ones, it looks like.” I nodded my head a little. “Alright. I shall sell you them for⁠ ⁠—⁠ let us say⁠ ⁠—⁠ thirty aris.” My wings hitched at that — what! They continued, “How many are you going to buy?” Their eyes glanced behind me, where my friends and Adwyn stood — I thought. I glanced back to be sure. “Hmm…” I hummed. Me, Hinte, Digrif… Adwyn. “Four. But a hundred-twenty is far too much! I cannot buy that⁠ ⁠—” “What are you doing, Kinri?” a voice⁠ ⁠—⁠ Hinte’s⁠ ⁠—⁠ said, coming to my side. “Oh uh, I wanted to buy some gas masks — for the trip back into the lake,” I said, frills folding. “What?” she said, taking in the stall and the masks filling the shelves and clouding her eyes. “What is the point? We have respira.” She turned and walked away. “What the blind?” the stallowner said. “How could you not afford my midrange gas-masks, and then turn around and chug respira without worry?” Hinte’s response was, “It is no concern.” With her back turned and her form hidden in her cloak, it was all you got. The stallowner frowned, then smirked. “She’s an alchemist, isn’t she?” They were peering right at me, so they saw my brilles clear, my frills twitch. The smirk stayed long enough to let me know I’d been bested, and fell back to a frown, as the stallowner hissed and shook her head. “Of course, she’s just another stuck-up alchemist who thinks they can live in the depths of their vials. I almost pity you and her.” Hinte gave a dismissive hiss, which felt a bit less dismissive when I could hear it from over here. “I don’t not need a mask, Kinri,” was what she said as she lifted to a high-walk and strode futher off. “Well. I think I’ll only need three, now. Is seventy or eighty possible?” I asked, tone pleading. “Eh,” they said. “Look, I could sell you all four for a hundred. Your friend needs it⁠ ⁠—⁠ she’s clearly not getting enough air to her head as it is.” I jerked back, claws scoring the gravel, brow narrowing. But I grounded the impulse, tied it up with the dewings I’d removed to build my mask. This was a good deal, I thought. It was what I wanted. “Um. I can’t bring you down to ninety?” “No, I am being generous.” “Then I guess that’ll work.” I reached into my bag for my coinpurse. I wrenched the amount and dropped the purse back into my bad. I could already feel the lightness in my purse. The stall owner slid them adroitly across the counter coin by coin, checking my counting themself. I took the four masks and started to turn, but the stall owner stopped me. “Hey, stop. A gas-mask is not as simple as just strapping it to your face and wandering into the vog. Here,” they said, then produced a bag, quickly filling it with some thick green and black discs. They picked one up and extended it to me, explaining, “these are cartridges.” They grabbed one of the masks⁠ ⁠—⁠ the same kind I just bought, and then, “You insert them like this and they absorb the sulfur in the air. They cannot last forever, so you shall want to switch cartridges sooner or later.” Across my face fell a look like I almost slipped from a cliff. “Oh, thanks.” “Don’t thank me⁠ ⁠—⁠ it’s my job. If you want to thank, pray your gods for you to not ‘die’ or ‘suffer serious injury’ out in the lake. I am liable so long as you wear our masks. Faer’s new system.” I flicked a tongue. “Insurance?” They nodded. “Don’t I have to sign somewhere for that?” “What are you talking about?” they said, “I have your names — I read the papers⁠ ⁠—⁠ you are Kinri of Specter, that must be Hinte of Gären, of course I recognize highness Adwyn. And that other hatchling has scales that nearly pin them down. Who are they? Donio? Digrif?” “Digrif.” The warm gray dragon jerked at his mention but at my head shake went back to listening to Adwyn explain something with wide wing gestures. “Yes, see? I have things handled.” “But how will they know to blame you when something happens?” “All controlled purchases in the east market are documented. I could not get out of here tonight without registering this transaction.” “But — what stops you from just… not registering? Or putting down bogus information?” “That is fraud, madam. Are you implying something?” “Oh… no! I⁠ ⁠—⁠ I will go.” “Do.” “Thank you, Kinri. This was quite thoughtful of you.” “Wow. We’ll look like proper sifters yet. Sharp thanks, Kinri.” “You wasted your money. Gas-masks are inferior to respira fumes.” I sighed past the salt on my fangs, and put Hinte’s mask in my bag. What could I do? Adwyn was saying, “Do not oversell your alchemy, Hinte. Gwymr/Frina was built on top of sifting. If alchemy were the only way, some clever sap would have known it and made rich because of it. Respira is not perfect⁠ ⁠—⁠ it has its disadvantages.” “Such as?” Hinte shifted, staring at Adwyn. Adwyn held out a forefoot. He extended one toe. “It heals your lungs, but without perfect quality and refinement, the repair is incomplete.” I stared at Hinte. Holding out another toe, the adviser continued, “And the damage to one’s lungs accumulates over time.” He extended a third toe. “It is rather expensive —⁠ not very trivial to brew.” He extended a fourth, “And⁠ ⁠—” “Ha,” Hinte laughed in a wavering tone. She yawned, and then her expression and voice seemed to settle. “It is not my fault you cliff-dwellers are in dire need of competent alchemists. Respira is trivial⁠ ⁠—⁠ in Teif/Günstig academies, we would brew it as busy work or punishment. Do you think I would botch something so trivial?” Adwyn brought his forefoot back to the ground, and shook his head. “Be that as it may, we have the masks. There is no good reason not to use them. If a sifter wants a mask like these, they’ll be paying out of their own pocket.” Adwyn popped his tongue. “Basic caution implores us to use them, Hinte.” Adwyn’s tone had become bronze, as if he would take to ordering Hinte around. It was easy to forget⁠ ⁠—⁠ with his irreverent, observant demeanor⁠ ⁠—⁠ that this schizon-clad canyon-dweller was a military veteran, a former commander. Adwyn glanced my way, and I was looking away, hard. Hinte was turning away. “I cannot wear the gas-mask over my goggles, regardless,” she said, fingering the goggles hanging around her neck with an alula. She saw Adwyn tilt his head. “What?” “Tell me about your goggles.” He smiled. I narrowed my brows. Hinte whisked a wing. “Gronte made them for me. She did the weaving herself, but she had help for the glass. It’s for the ash and rain. Polarized, and filters light based on the angle of incidence to keep out reflections.” She glanced to the ground, muttering as if it were an embarrassment to admit, “Something only the Gwymri know how to make.” “Heha, Gwymr/Frina is the land of glass and secrets. Secret glass.” Digrif had tried putting on his gas-mask already; but he had it on backward, eye holes at the back of his head, and was looking in the wrong direction as he spoke. I walked over to fix his mask. Adwyn slipped on his mask as well; between it and his schizon armor, you could miss the few orange scales that were still exposed. Adwyn had lowered his head, saying, “Has your grandmother taught you anything of her craft?” Hinte’s face I couldn’t see, but her tone sounded level, the kind of levelness that came from not being calm, if by some small yet significant amount. “She has tried.” “Would it be beyond you to modify your mask to fit over your goggles? It’s a gift, and I would hate to so it go to waste.” When I turned, I saw Adwyn was talking to empty space; Hinte had already stalked off. A properly masked Digrif, Adwyn and I low-walked after Hinte. Her tail lashed and her frills writhed, but seemed to fade as she distanced herself. I watched Hinte, wondering if I should say anything; but salt still dewed on my fangs (scared, flimsy, can’t trust her), and in that moment of hesitation, Digrif slinked right beside Hinte. “Hey Hinte,” he said. “What’s wrong?” Hinte regarded Digrif with a glare less intense than the one she’d been giving the ground a heartbeat earlier. “I know when I am being manipulated.” Adwyn curtsied. “See my apologies, then, Hinte. I meant you no harm.” Hinte snapped her tongue. She said, “It does not matter,” in a low growl. She scratched one forefoot with the other and waited for Adwyn and me to close the distance between us. She started off⁠ ⁠—⁠ if she were following Adwyn, you couldn’t tell for the first few steps. As we walked, Adwyn started speaking, saying, “I looked over the bodies again, before leaving them in the charge a few guards. I found some interesting objects among the bodies⁠ ⁠—⁠ they aren’t any kind of evidence, so I plan to sell them.” Adwyn didn’t seem to be done, but in between his sentences Hinte stabbed a question. “Will a human search party not notice if the possessions of the humans are gone?” “I doubt a search party will care, as long as some valuables are still there. I shall only sell some. And irregardless, glazed olms are known to scavenge for metals. That could cover us, but we can’t count on the humans knowing that, so I held back.” He looked over to Hinte, then me, starting to lick his eyes only to find them covered by the mask’s goggles. “Since you two are responsible for bringing the humans to us, I thought you would want a share of the spoils.” “No,” Hinte said. “I would,” I said. Peering at Hinte, I asked her, “Why not?” “It does not matter.” * * *