“That’s so cute, Orvi.” The words rattled in my skull, impacting explosively every time they made contact with bone. They were like an arrow to the head; a knife to the heart; a scythe to the neck; a brick to the face. The initial impact was painful, but as time went on and the phrase hit me, again and again, I began to feel like I would die.

Naturally, flight was the only option. I had said my goodbyes and scurried back home to scream into my pillow. After a little while I grew bored of that and fed Miss Tran’s sleeping draught to our captive Dolphinblood. Serl seemed slightly intimidated by me; avoiding any attempts to manipulate my emotions and drinking the potion without complaint. His broken wrist must’ve been painful, for him to crave unconsciousness so badly.

All my procrastination amounted to nothing as I found myself on a boat with Jasmine, sailing across the oasis.

The dinghy Jasmine’s guards used to ferry us across the lake was one of the largest I had ever seen, sitting somewhere between a kayak and a large shack in size. It was large enough to carry Jasmine, myself, and four large escorts easily – though her excess produce was more than enough to fill the remaining space.

My seat was a sack of oddly-shaped tubers, digging into my admittedly scrawny bum. A cloth satchel – the backpack I had received from Bab was too valuable to carry around for no reason – was bundled into my lap. Its only inhabitant was a small sheet of paper. Wind buffeted my face and unbrushed hair, freezing my ears and removing most liquid from my eyes. It was probably the most uncomfortable place on the boat; Jasmine had an actual chair, glued onto the deck, and the guards – two on each side – had small benches to sit on, which they used to leverage their rowing. I had tried my hand at one of the oars, only to immediately be kicked off by a frowning guard. Name-dropping Ma had earned me some respect, but I was still only a step above gutter-trash to them.

My purpose here was slightly unclear, even to me. Ma had limped her way back into the restaurant a few hours before sunset. After a brief explanation of the Frond’s situation, Ma hastily scrawled a letter and handed it to me. She was adamant that I had to deliver it directly to the Frond patriarch. I liked to think myself an experienced diplomat, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why Ma thought that. Even so, I had no choice.

Never mind that I would have to share a small space with the sole witnesses to the most embarrassing encounter of my life.

I chatted incessantly to get my mind off my aching arse, as well as Jasmine’s brutal blow to my self-esteem. “Is a boat really the best method to get your goods to the market? Ma and Stitch, my tutor, always mention carts when they’re talking about farming, but most farmers I’ve seen use dinghies.”

Jasmine drew her eyes away from our surroundings – several kilometres of rocking water, twisting with the orange light of late afternoon. “Neither of them are native to the Foot, correct?”

I nodded.

“I don’t know about the greater continent, but it only makes sense to use boats.” She gestured to the liquid we drifted across, just falling short of stretching from horizon to horizon. “How long do you think it would take to pull a cart around the circumference of the lake?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but she cut me off.

“That was rhetorical. Over a day, I would think, and the activity would be strenuous enough to exhaust whatever beast is saddled with all the produce. It’s much easier to just… float across.”

I scratched an itch behind my ear, buying time to figure out a question that would fill the silence. “How much land does your family own, anyway? Your dad seems pretty desperate to keep a hold of it.”

She clicked her tongue in thought, the annoying sound somehow charming when it came from her mouth. “It’s less the amount of land and more that we’ve had it for so long. If Jippi is to be believed, our family has been around the oasis for almost as long as the place has existed. That might be an excuse, though. We own most of the fields around here. I wouldn’t give it up if I were the head.”

“No, but how much, exactly?”

Bashfully, she looked away. “Probably about three fifths of the area around the lake.”

I blinked. “You’re messing with me.”

“Well, there’s still the residential district, and the land further away from the oasis!” She seemed almost embarrassed.

Filled with a vengeful spirit, I began prodding. “And how much arable land is there further away from the oasis?”

She fell silent. I wasn’t oblivious to the deathly stare the guards were sending me – except the gap-toothed one who was silently chuckling – however the opportunity to tease an embarrassed Jasmine was too rare to pass up.

“Jasmine?”

Quietly, she answered. “Not much.”

“So, what you’re saying is that your family owns the majority of the land in the Foot.”

“My family,” she corrected, “not me.”

I considered that for several seconds. “No.”

She turned back to look at me, braid swaying in the wind. “No?”

“You’re rich.”

“Compared to the House’s, my family’s wealth is nothing.”

“You’re rich.”

Jasmine’s brows furrowed, and her mouth contorted into a scowl. “Stop being so childish, Orvi. I’m not all that well off.”

I grinned manically. “Rich girl doesn’t think she’s rich.” My smile stretched wider. “That’s so cute, Jasmine.”

In that moment, I was the cleverest person on the planet.

The Frond’s docks were situated in front of a few beaten paths, barely a hundred meters away from the greater estate. It was crowded with boats – most barely large enough for two or three people. Surprisingly, the ship we had rowed in on was one of the largest there – Jasmine’s stall must’ve been a larger investment that I thought.

The Frond estate was less ostentatious than I had imagined. It wasn’t humble, not by any means – the building could encompass my family’s restaurant and have room for at least half a dozen more – however it was flat, and entirely bereft of any gold trimmings, fine furniture, or just general ornamentation. I was incredibly disappointed – I had expected silver candelabras, immaculately carved tables and chairs, chandeliers, maybe even a butler – but it was probably for the best. Frankly, the inside was a mess; filled with discarded toys, random piles of paperwork, small paintings and sculptures, and entirely too many rocking chairs. Resisting the urge to steal was far easier in such incoherent surroundings.

My guide had left her guards outside, to sojourn in a nearby building, and muscled her way through a mob of screeching children – her nieces, nephews, and cousins – who were entirely too interested in the new visitor, however handsome he may be. The crowd melted away to a slightly smaller gang of women, aging from Jackson’s age to older than Ma, which Jasmine cut through like a fish through water. The final barrier was a group of men – less talkative but more difficult to butt through – which she got through with a combination of a raised voice and several well-placed shin kicks. I was getting the sinking feeling that Jasmine was a powerful force around here. Who I had, just half an hour beforehand, goaded into hitting me multiple times, to the delight of her guards.

Despite the aching in my arm, I avoided rubbing it. Jasmine’s punches were stronger than I expected, however it would be foolish to do something so undignified in the middle of foreign territory.

Having passed built-in defence mechanism of the Frond family, we finally managed to push our way into a large office, containing four women – three Ma’s age, one older than dust itself – and one bearded man. Somehow, it was even more cluttered than the rest of the house – five desks and five chairs were islands in the middle of a sea of antique cabinets, constantly being riffled through for various documents. House Esfaria had fewer.

Jasmine brushed her clothes and flicked her braid over her shoulder. I hastily fixed my dishevelled clothes; ragged fabrics that made me feel like gutter trash.

“Jippi. Bobar. Mamers. This is Orvi, adopted son of General Maja.”

All of them stared at me. Silence stretched past awkward and into dangerous. It was so quiet I could’ve heard an ant walk. Suddenly, the bearded man, whose charcoal skin was almost entirely concealed by large swathes of black hair, slammed his hands on the table. Sneering, he spoke. “Ippa, I love you, but what in the blood are you doing bringing the child of the Slaughter into this house?”

“Bobar, I know you hate her, however-“

His voice shattered her rebuttal, solid as a hammer. “She killed Glade, Ippa.” His eyes burned. “Your brother!”

“There was no other option-“

“There is always another option.”

“The Lizard is coming!”

“Langli is nothing! The oasis has endured Memras for centuries. We can survive a god for a few-”

“Enough.” The words were punctuated by the old woman slamming her fist on her desk, sending a pile of documents slumping to the floor. Her face was like black sand – gravelly, harsh. “You are being foolish, ignoring the offer of a great warrior.”

“Jippi.” The patriarch’s voice shook with restrained fury. “This is my house. I will-“

The senior shook her head, and he quietened. “You are not in your right mind. You cannot be the Frond in such anger.”

I resisted the urge to raise my eyebrows. The Frond? Did she not know how to speak properly?

“The Frond does not bend to his enemies.”

“People die in war, Amos.” Her response was harsh enough to drive the rest of the room into silence. “They always have. Young men more than anyone else. It is a truth as fundamental as the gods themselves. You knew this. You know this. The General Maja may have killed Glade, yes. But it was her duty. And she had the integrity to tell us personally, as she did with all her victims' families.”

I restrained a small gasp. Had she told all of the relatives of the dead what had happened? No wonder the city hated her. Still, my pride grew alongside my amazement.

The patriarch – or the Frond, I supposed – steepled his fingers, lowering his eyelids. He stared at a point on the floor. His exhale was small; pained. “Boy. Give me the letter.”

I walked over, removing the rough sheet of paper from my satchel and handing it to him. His expression was unchanging, even as his eyes flicked through its contents. I hoped Ma had been diplomatic while writing it; if she wasn’t, I might be walking home with a few more bruises than Jasmine gave me.

He finished scanning it, levelling his dark gaze at me. “Tell me, boy: what do you think Maja’s chances are?”

I frowned. I had never truly considered the question. “I’m not a general or anything. I wouldn’t know.”

“Try.”

“…Ma’s the strongest person in the Foot. She’s also probably the only one with much experience with gods. If anyone knows how to keep the city – and the lake – safe, it’s her.”

“Your mother is significantly weakened compared to her heyday. Why do you believe she’s the strongest?”

I sighed. “It’s not just because she’s my mother. I’ve seen her fight. Even missing most of her Oxblood, a Foxkin – a strong one, mind you – couldn’t even scratch her. I think even if you sucked every ounce of Godsblood out of her, she’d still be the strongest in the city.”

“And you think I should trust her?”

“There’s not a lot of other options, Mister Frond.” Meeting his eyes was difficult, but I managed. “The Lizard’s going to make our home unliveable. You won’t be able to grow food if the oasis is full of disease. No one has a better chance than Maja. But…” I winced, making the realisation at the same time as I spoke it aloud. “She can’t protect the entire city on her own. Not from a god.”

The Frond took my argument in, breathing slowly through his nose and out through his mouth. He nodded slowly, beard touching his desk as he did so. “I will come to your mother’s meeting, then.” He narrowed his eyes, piercing my body with his gaze. “Tell her I expect a plan that will save my family. Anything less, and I’ll offer no support.”

I let out a heavy breath, relieved. Jasmine spoke from beside me.

“Should I prepare a guest room, Mamers?”

Two of the younger women looked to a third one, unassuming were it not for the frown marks around her mouth. “I think not, Jasmine. Send him home.”

Jasmine spluttered, the undignified display far more surprising than the answer. “Mamer! He is a guest!”

The intimidating lady sneered. “He is not a guest. He is an emissary; one whose missive has been delivered.”

“But Mamer!”

“But nothing, child!” she shrieked. “A deal has been made, do not push your luck. The kin of the Headsman is not welcome in this house.”

My guide said nothing, only grabbing my arm and marching us both out the door. Our journey outward was more subdued; the dozens of relatives moving to swarm her took one look at Jasmine’s expression and decided retreat was the better option. Some of the children even burst into tears as she passed.

Her anger came as a surprise. Much like the sensation that arrives seconds after getting punched in the head, I was still stunned; emotions muted by the thrumming of a failed fight-or-flight response reverberating in the base of my skull. My stupor had no room for rage, and I struggled to empathise with a girl who suddenly decided to be indignant on my behalf, despite having hit me multiple times in the past hour. A more optimistic person would’ve taken it as a sign of attraction, but I wasn’t so sure: if an afternoon of getting yelled at was enough to make someone like me, then half the city would be crushing on me.

We stomped out of the house, then out of the estate, then down a path. By this point, I had recovered enough composure to speak. “Are you alright, Jasmine?”

“I’m fine.” She replied. “I’m more worried about you. Will you be able to make your way back in the dark?”

“On my own?” I blurted.

“Bobar won’t let me stay up past curfew, and the guards are done for the day.” Jasmine spat in the dirt. I backed away slightly – I’d never seen her perform such an unrefined action before. “I thought we were better than this.”

We kept walking, giving my mind time to catch up with her statement. “Huh?” I said eloquently.

“I don’t know!” Her dark hands raised, as if she were trying to hold an armful of air. “I thought… it wasn’t anyone’s fault! And now, when our livelihood is on the verge of being destroyed by a god of all things, they refuse to let go!”

“Well, y’know,” I fumbled, “it’s not that easy when someone you love dies, right? All that affection melts into hatred. At least they’re not trying to kill Ma – that’s a plus.”

“Even so, I wanted us to be better.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t blame them. I doubt Ma does, either.”

She nodded her head, yet said nothing else. She left me with a small canoe and a paddle. I watched her silhouette fade as the sun sank. The hospitality was flattering, even if it left me flummoxed; it hadn’t occurred to Jasmine that I had never operated a canoe before. With the only options available being to either cut through the lake and potentially capsize the boat, or attempt to find my way back in the darkness of night, I chose the one more likely to kill me. I had a bit of Dure in me – I wouldn’t tire even if I had to swim all the way back. Besides, the opportunity to use a canoe was rare; this might be the only chance I would ever have.

Sand shifted beneath my toes. Holding the canoe in knee-deep water, I attempted to clamber in, only to accidentally flip the boat, sending myself and the oar into the water. Luckily, the water was rather clear, so retrieving the paddle wasn’t a difficult task. A second attempt was similarly fruitless; however the third saw me mastering the art of wobbling my way into a seated position, only partially assisted by my Foxblood.

For several embarrassing minutes, I propelled my craft in wide circles, stubbornly refusing to paddle on the right side. My hand shivered as the heat of the day departed, my wet clothes smearing an icy coldness all over me. I had watched fisherman with similarly-sized vessels; they managed to steer their boats almost lazily, without changing sides. However, soon enough I managed to puzzle out the barest forms of their technique. With every stroke I let my oar trail behind, using it as a rudder to steer the canoe.

The longer I spent paddling, the more accustomed I grew to the rhythm of the movement. I stripped my wet clothes off, and paddled in my undergarments. Soon the heat of exertion began to fill me, and in combination with my Lizardblood, I felt almost comfortable. By the time the shore was disappearing into the falling darkness behind me, I was able to raise my head and take in my surroundings.

Water. Twisting shadow. And between them the dappling of moonlight, sliding playfully through and around the contours of both. I hummed tunelessly. The shore was invisible, but the stars were bright enough to help me navigate. Rowing across the lake was a solitary task. There were no distant voices or scuffles, like in the city, and no sounds of insects, like in the fields. Just my oar pushing through water and the silence of dusk. It struck me as ironic, that the most central location in the city, both literally and metaphorically, was also its most isolated. But, contrary to my fears, my thoughts did not take the quiet as an opportunity to lay siege to my mind. It was peaceful.

I wanted to pluck the scenery from its roots and squirrel it away somewhere safe, but I knew it was impossible.

The Lizard was coming, and the night was that much colder for it.