“I can’t imagine killing me would end well for you⁠ ⁠—⁠ or accomplish your goals, for that matter,” Adwyn said, peering down at me with a look of patience and recognition⁠ ⁠—⁠ as if he’d had this conversation before. In front of me the orange drake flicked his tongue. I had to look up to meet eye with him, and I broke it just as quick. “Granted you even had it in you to do it⁠ ⁠—⁠ and you don’t⁠ ⁠—⁠ you wouldn’t survive my assassination. And if those two conditions didn’t hold, I⁠ ⁠—⁠ personally⁠ ⁠—⁠ wouldn’t recommend this. And not simply because my life is in question, either.” He paused. “Can you tell me why? What purpose could it serve?” I looked up⁠ ⁠—⁠ further up, at the sky. “Well... like I said, Highness Ashaine sent me here to gain influence over the faer, and I sorta... completely failed at that. They⁠ ⁠—⁠ he wants faster results, and um... you have the most influence over the faer. So with you out–out of the dance, I would have an easier time.” The orange drake shook his head. “I suppose that would show the ignorance of the Specters. Or their utter disregard for your life. I am hardly the one Mlaen likes⁠ ⁠—⁠ no, loves⁠ ⁠—⁠ most of all. And there is no chance of you influencing or even breathing upon the one whom she cherishes. Your efforts would be in vain.” I waited, then sighed, then said, “You aren’t going to tell me who they are?” Adwyn lifted a brow, then whisked a wing dismissive. “Why? You already know them.” ”I can’t imagine who,” I said, brilles clouded. “Does Mlaen have some family in town or something?” ”Oh, that she does⁠ ⁠—⁠ and you know them as well⁠ ⁠—⁠ but he isn’t whom I’m thinking of.” At the adviser’s smirk I growled; but nothing happened. Staring at the almost playful gleam in his metallic-red eyes, there dewed a twitch of sour in my glands and I glared down at the ground. I said, “I don’t see how any of this helps me!” The words came out hard and I flinched at how loud my voice was. Even in the privacy of the alleyway, I wouldn’t, couldn’t, risk anyone hearing this conversation. Lower, pleadingly, I said, “Can you at least fake your death or something if I can’t kill you? I need this.” Adwyn was regarding me with a small frown. It looked fake, mounted on the same face as so many smirks, even as his tone rung true. “You are serious,” he said. ”I wouldn’t joke about this!” Adwyn lifted an alula to his temple, brilles clouding. “How were you planning on ever killing me?” ”I don’t know! I had the knife. I... thought of stabbing you with it a few times, but I couldn’t do it. Maybe I would ask Hinte for some poison for your food or something. I⁠ ⁠—⁠ really don’t know.” His brilles remained clouded. “Why would you take orders from your family?” he asked. “You’re an exile. Or was that a scheme as well?” ”I really did have a falling out with my family. I⁠ ⁠—⁠ things happened. And⁠ ⁠—⁠ leaving was the cleanest solution at the time. But my brother appeared before I would have⁠ ⁠—⁠ left. He said I should go somewhere in the Dyfnderi protectorate instead, and that he had a plan, and that when it all worked out, I could come back. Everything would be fixed. And I could finally be stargazer.” The orange drake half-cleared his brilles. “There is a small problem with that, I glimpse.” I heard a smirk in his voice, but I had no idea why it never ventured out to his lips. At my tilt, he said, “You cannot return to the sky. It would violate the Severance.” I coiled my tail. Looking up at sliver of sky I could see in the alley, I murmured, “Ashaine said that was a detail, that he would take care of it.” ”He cannot,” Adwyn said. Then, low, “Unless he means to goad the sky into another war, after over a hundred gyras of peace.” ”Ashaine has moved mountains for me. I trust him.” ”You should not. You simply do not send dragons whom you respect and value on missions that couldn’t possibly end with them alive and⁠ ⁠—⁠ effective.” ”But...” I started, because I knew that’s how it had to start. I just didn’t know how to finish it. ”Unless they gave you some special means to accomplish this, I do not think this is an objective given in good faith.” A significant pause, then an orange head leaning closer. “In fact, tell me more about this Specter ‘illusionmaster,’ your... sister. Why is it they couldn’t kill me themself, if that’s truly in sight of their ends?” ”Because, um.” I looked up. “Well, the cloak’s mosaic⁠ ⁠—⁠ the uh, colors it was producing, seemed a little off. Like something was wrong with it, or something was interfering. Maybe that was a part of it?” ”And yet, she trusted that cloak enough to appear before you, in the middle of the market.” He sighed. “My point is, Kinri, that all you are suggesting is doubt. You wish to trust them simply because you can doubt their ill intentions.” ”I’m doubting your speculation! I already trust them.” ”And you shouldn’t. Where were these dragons when you were exiled? How much help have they been to your living a life on the surface?” The orange drake looked away, and came back with some look in his eye. “Why not trust me, instead? I can assure you I would never send you on a doomed mission.” ”Why should I trust you? I don’t even know what you want!” Adwyn nodded. “I suppose that’s fair.” The orange drake sat on his haunches, and waved his foreleg for me to do the same. I remained standing. ”Would you mind my sharing a little story from my past? I’ll keep it short. It should render some things aclear, I glimpse.” My head stayed still. I said, “Go ahead.” ”Very well. I have told you I was thirtieth in line for the Geunantic throne, correct? Well, when I hatched, I was forty-and-sixth. You must understand, this is not a number that tends to wane smaller as time grows on.” For once, Adwyn smirked, and because of that I could believe him. ”I was young then, and quite unsubtle in my methods. But I was subtle enough to avoid official punishment.” The orange drake pulled the root of something from the gravel. Having long broken off and been exposed to the elements, the root was dried and hardened. “Of course, everyone knew I was guilty⁠ ⁠—⁠ they called me the black ascendant⁠ ⁠—⁠ but none could prove it. Our justice system is flawed that way⁠ ⁠—⁠ or some would say, featured.” He gazed up at the sky, and at the skylands floating above. “I still don’t regret any of what I did to advance this far in succession. What I do regret is how it affected my sister when she found out. It hurt her, and I wanted some way to make it right. So I went to the king. He is a wise, philosophical drake⁠ ⁠—⁠ judgment being about all he is good for with our parliament allowed to do much of the more important things.” The orange drake looked back at me, at me. “I wanted a way to make things right. He didn’t give me one, but he did give me a path to follow, that I might better understand. His first suggestion was monasticism.” The military adviser smiled a smile that had lost at something. “It will come as no surprise I didn’t accept this.” He rolled the root around his toes. “Next, he gave me a challenge, a method to reach my own enlightenment. I would go to Gwymr/Frina, and try to reunite it with Dyfnder/Geunant, like so many others have.” He stood the root up on his foot and balanced it there for a moment. “He said I had the head on my withers to pull it off,” he continued, hissing a little laugh. “He told me to do this, but with one stricture: I could not kill anyone or anything along the way.” As he continued, his voice began in low, approaching tones. “It may look, to some, not a fitting punishment for my actions. But I think it has given me a sort of wisdom. I think I understand better than most the value of peace, and the price of violence. This has become why I want further peace between our two strongholds, and why I do not think a path of violence is the one down which you should go, Kinri.” Adwyn snapped his root, and dropped it. “It won’t end well, simply.” I was looking down, scratching the gravel. “I guess that makes sense. But you haven’t given me anything. None of that helps me.” ”I suppose.” Adwyn looked over toward the horizon blocked by cliffs, where the loversuns ran themselves to the rim of the world and clouds and skylands danced before the suns’ gaze. “So, what are we to do? I rather hope it’s been settled how unfortunate an idea your plan was.” I stamped a foot on the gravel. “What else am I supposed to do? Rot away on the surface with no hope of ever returning to my home?” Adwyn looked tilted at me. “Tell me, do you think you’re stuck on the surface with return only an invisible dream? Or is it something you’re truly anticipating and working toward? I confess it doesn’t sound as though you have seen your own mind on this matter.” ”It’s⁠ ⁠—⁠ complex.” ”Tell me the complex answer, then.” ”I...” I scratched the gravel again. “It’s⁠ ⁠—⁠ I want it. I want it, but it does feel like a dream sometimes. And it’s not a contradiction because it’s about, uh, timescales.” I poked an alula at the military adviser. “What about uniting Gwymr/Frina with the Dyfnderi protectorate? You’re trying to do it, but you aren’t going to do it tomorrow, or overmorrow, or anytime this cycle. It’s hard and no one’s done it and some dragons say it’s impossible, but you can’t just... not try, even if you believe them. What else can I do? I have next to nothing down on the surface.” Adwyn nodded. “You are, in fact, quite right. You’ve only missed just one crucial fact: you cannot do things on this scale alone. I have help: two other canyon-dwellers with me, along with allies in Rhyfel, Cynfe, to name two. Even the faer is sympathetic, if naturally opposed to change.” Another smirk, again giving his words that curious tinge of honesty. “Whom would you rather assist you? A distant, invisible brother who has helped you none at all, or myself, who at the very least is responsible for your being in Gwymr/Frina at all?” My eyes flashed clear. “You’re going to help me return to the sky?” I couldn’t control my pitch. ”Not quite. But you don’t want to return to the sky. You want somewhere to belong. I can help you with that. In fact, I don’t think you’d even find that in the Constellation, were you to return. The same things you ran away from haven’t gone anywhere, have they?” Adwyn shook his head. “Alas, the choice is yours. Make your decision.” I turned my back, speaking low, “But where would I fit into any of this? What could you want with my help at all?” Even with my back turned, I watched Adwyn’s cast shadow, waiting for his reaction. It was his shadow folding frills, as if he’d just won at something. A drop of embarrassment flickered through me. Had I fallen for some trick? A movement distracted me⁠ ⁠—⁠ closer to the patch of shade near the alley’s mouth, there came another shadow, waxing, that of a dragon flying low overhead on a glider. But a motion from the drake’s shadow jerked my focus back to it. He was speaking; he said, “Why, Ushra’s granddaughter clearly sees something of value in you.” I spun around, saying, “But she doesn’t! She doesn’t trust me at all⁠ ⁠—⁠ she thinks I’m flimsy and fearful and completely useless.” What would she think when she found out about⁠ ⁠—⁠ all of this? I watched Adwyn’s assured look falter at that. There should have been a thrill of being right, of landing a retort he couldn’t counter. But if his helping me was conditional on me being useful, if he only thought I was useful because of Hinte... Behind me came the crunch of a dragon’s landing, and the voice I least wanted to hear in reply said, “You are not completely useless.” The voice was jagged. I spun around, catching Hinte standing there in her soot-covered cloak and glider. * * *