Marisa cried for a long time, great heaving sobs that seemed to leave her empty when she caught her breath, but there was always more. I sat next to her and put my arm around her shoulders, I had no idea what I'd started by telling her about the sacrifice, but it had touched a deep wound in her. Hikami, incredibly, flowed onto her lap, and she allowed him to remain there providing warmth.

"Tell me," she said finally, "what happened to your baby?"

"I haven't had one yet, but if I become queen, my firstborn daughter will have to be given as a sacrifice."

"Why?" Her eyes were huge and red from crying. It was as if the wall that had partitioned off her soul from the world had been broken, and I could see everything in them.

"It's tradition," I said. How much could I tell her? "My family has ruled for as long as there has been a kingdom in the mountains. We do have a kind of magic, the ability to talk to spirits and learn about the future. Every generation has to give up a daughter to keep that power. When I found out, I ran away."

"That's awful."

"It is."

Marisa looked at Hikami and smiled. "He's a baby, isn't he?"

"I think so." I wanted to ask her about the crying, but I supposed she would tell me in her own time, or not.

Marisa touched the whipping tendrils that made up Hikami's outer edges, and they wrapped around her fingers. "They feel like silk," she said, "or hair."

"I can't give you a thousand eagles," I said, "but I can ask Castor to help you. Do you just need money?"

"I owe the Baker about fifty birds by now, and doing what I do, I usually make enough to live and pay off the interest. Sometimes I get gifts, but I've made too many bad choices. I always throw everything away, and my debts get bigger."

"The money you give him when you get back, that's to pay off your debt?"

"Some of it. He gets a part of what I make and he keeps me safe and takes care of it if somebody doesn't want to pay. Then I get what's left, after he charges me for the room and the food and the leaf."

"But if we pay off your debt, you wouldn't have to do this anymore?"

She shrugged. "What else would I do? Who else would take me? I've never found a prince to whisk me away from this life, you know. That's why I was so mad at you."

"You can still work a normal job."

"Like what? You can't live off what the Baker pays for minding the counter, and I don't know anything else. I didn't train under an artisan when I was a kid, so I can't train as one now without the birds to pay for it."

I took her hand in mine. "I promise, that if you trust me, I can help you get out of here and find a new life. Just don't turn me in yet."

"You're serious?"

"I am."

"Then deal." Marisa kissed me on the cheek. It was a quick peck, and it surprised me. "Now get out of here," she said, "I'm going to pass out."

The next day, I wrote out a note for Towark explaining that I needed to see him as soon as possible. The Baker knew how to contact him, and for a small fee that service would be added to my tally. I didn't bother trying to negotiate. The day went by about the same as the one before, and I recognized some of the same customers making the same special orders. I still didn't know much about the product itself, but we couldn't talk about that over the counter. I could have been angry with the Baker for the life he'd forced on Marisa, but it was easier to think of him as an animal, like a cave bear. You could sleep in the same hollow as a cave bear if it was the right season, but if you were wrong or unlucky then it would eat you, and you couldn't be mad at the bear for that. I didn't like the Baker, but I believed he would honor his word as long as he was paid.

Towark arrived sometime in the afternoon, and I invited him into the kitchen where Patches was still working. His head was red and irritated from another bad shaving job.

"What's up?" Towark said, he looked uneasy about being in the Baker's domain.

"I need Castor's help to help Marisa," I said.

"Who's Marisa?"

"The other girl who works here. She's a...she..."

"Flower girl." Patches provided cheerfully.

Towark nodded. "What's that got to do with you?"

"She's my friend, and I need to help her."

Towark had darker skin than a typical Gracian, who were themselves more sunburnt than anything. He had a strong face, but it was closed off, and I imagined he would make for a difficult compass reading. "I can tell him," he said. "I don't know if he can help."

"Tell him it's important. And if he can pay off her debt to the Baker, he should have her come work for his family, or try to get her a job somewhere else."

"I'll pass the message." Still that closed off look. "Is there anything else?"

"No, I...has he written anything for me? Said anything?"

"He is very busy with preparations for the wedding."

"Of course, I understand."

I couldn't help but be disappointed with the meeting, though I was sure I'd get what I'd asked for from Castor. What I'd wanted was to feel like he'd been thinking about me, which was stupid. No matter how much he helped me, he was still going to be with Aster. We couldn't be together, even if he wasn't betrothed, and I wasn't sure that I would even want that, except that I did want it as an option and felt the loss of it now that it was gone.

I'd planned on going to the market that afternoon and I told the Baker I was taking Marisa with me. She looked better than she had in the pre-dawn hours and agreed to be my guide. I wasn't sure how much I would want or need, other than some new clothes and scented soaps so I could have a real bath. The Baker gave me three eagles in the form of beaks and feathers, a jingling pouch, and the amount was added to what Towark was expected to bring the next week.

As we left the shop I started toward the stairs that would lead to the narrows and Marisa stopped me.

"Those markets are trash. You're royalty, you should see the bazaar."

"But I don't want people to know that I'm royalty."

"They won't," she waved off my complaint and plucked at my head scarf. "You look exotic, but with this hair you won't be taken for a Euphorian."

I relented, and she led me up the street to a brightly sashed gate that opened into the covered bazaar. It was a huge wooden building with exposed supports and countless smaller tents and stalls constructed beneath its vaulted roof. The crowding wasn't too bad, but the noise was overwhelming. Something about the shape of the building bounced everyone's words back down on their shoulders so that we had to raise our voices, which is what everyone was doing.

"Come on!" Marisa screamed in my ear, "I know the place!"

There was a tacky, orange and blue tent, and within it were beautiful clothes. We picked up a yellow scarf and a new tunic, though I preferred my slippers to the sandals people wore here. I thought the yellow might be giving me away until I learned the aristocracy wore purple in Gracia and aspiring working classes used bright pastels, which explained the garish tent. The fabrics were nice, though I wasn't interested in having anything custom made, and we also took a satchel for future purchases.

"Do you want anything?" I asked Marisa, and she showed her dimples.

She did enjoy sandals, and she picked out herself a pair with stacked heels and a slim braided latchet. I have no idea why they seemed to make her so happy, but it was nice to see her expressing genuine emotion.

I picked up soaps and salts for a proper bath, and handfuls or dates and nuts for us to add to the Baker's unimaginative board, along with a few spices. The money I'd been given was stretching further than I'd thought it would, so I was exploring the bazaar when I saw a man being accosted by two guards.

"What's going on?" Most people were ignoring the disturbance.

"He's probably a beggar," Marisa said. "They don't allow them in the bazaar."

The man was wearing an old tunic and a worn cloak stained by nights layng in the street. He started to argue with one of the guards, and the other grabbed him roughly by the arm and began pushing him out.

"Why is he a beggar?" I asked.

"What?" Marisa was eyeing a cart full of trinkets made from seashells.

"Can't he find work?"

"Maybe some people are just lazy," she said.

"Lazy enough to choose to live in the street?"

Marisa shrugged. "That's life. He might have had a job once, then lost it and never got another. Or he could be a drunk or an addict or a criminal and no one will hire him. Some jobs don't pay enough to afford a tenement anyway. The shop doesn't. Do you not have vagrants where you come from?"

"We don't." I said. "Anyone of age to work is given a calling according to their compass reading. Nearly everyone lives with their families, three or four generations together."

"That sounds crowded."

"There isn't any excess land to build on in Cloud City, but everyone has their place."

"Must be nice." The guards and their quarry were gone, and the market scene continued as if nothing had happened.

"You still here?" Marisa asked me. I'd been staring off the way they'd gone.

"Do you know anywhere they sell books and scrolls?"

"Uh...maybe?"

It took almost a complete circuit of the bazaar to find a book dealer. Marisa had only a rudimentary reading level and I gathered that was common for everyone but rich kids like me and those whose careers specifically required literacy. The shop was actually a covered wagon with a sign on the door that read "Rendered Ink."

The wagon had a wooden door with an iron knocker wrought in the shape of a sitting dog. The door chucked open moments after I used it.

We squeezed inside, there was barely enough room for us and the proprieter along with her wares. She was middle aged, with greying brown hair and a round belly. Glasses crouched on her nose like an insect readying to leap.

"Hello hello," she said, "how can I help you?"

"I need charcoal sticks, parchment, and an ink block."

She nodded, and produced what I'd asked for from a small storage compartment. There were more compartments lining the wagon, as well as shelves crammed with folios and books.

"I'd also like to ask about something I read."

"Oh," the woman rescued her glasses, which were in the process of executing and escape, "what is it?"

"Have you ever heard of a spirit called Lithia?"

She pursued her lips, "That sounds familiar."

Marisa was thinking also, "Wasn't there a Queen Leethia?"

"Well done." The woman seemed genuinely impressed.

She retrieved a slender volume that had once been white but had since been stained with various inks. Its cover was unlabelled, and she flipped through it with a look of concentration, occasionally wetting her finger with her tongue.

"Here we are, Queen Leethia. It's not much to go on, a kingdom to the south -east of Kanto, separated by a straight. It's described as an unfound kingdom, which should more properly translate to lost. They were a happy, pastoral realm, peaceful, and no wonder, for they were matriarchal. Yes, there she is." Her finger jagged along the page.

"Leethia had a brother, the Prince of Worms, who wanted to marry her, but she wouldn't have it. He went to Kanto, which was called Westerland during the period, and raised an army to take his sister's throne by force."

"There are accounts of several battles," she flipped pages, "and the mysterious defenses that defeated anyone trying to cross the strait to the lost lands. Some kind of sea monster, it suggests. But Leethia had a habit of treating the injured from both sides, and sending her ships out to collect the wounded from the waters when enemy ships foundered. This went on until there were thousands of Westerland soldiers recuperating in her kingdom, and the Prince of Worms appeared to rally them."

"Her capital was sacked, but rather than be taken, Leethia sprouted wings and became a bird. When she was gone, the Prince of Worms had her throne, but the kingdom withered under his hand. The soil of the land was so hard used that it wouldn't support crops any longer, and strange beasts arose, stealing men's lives away while they slept. Leethia's kingdom became uninhabitable, and it was abandoned by everyone but the Prince of Worms, who lives there still."

"Is Leethia the same as Lithia?" I asked.

"Fair question, where did you hear it?"

"I read it in an old scroll. She was supposed to be a powerful spirit, but I did see an image of a woman with wings." And I could have shown it to her, if it hadn't been among the things that Sponga stole from me.

"Then they may be the same, or related legends. Many myths are fanciful ways of recalling past events, where people and objects take on powers and means they never possessed in life. Pronunciation varies by region. This isn't a Gracian story at all, but a Kantonese one, that's why I'm surprised your friend has heard it."

"I think a customer told me something about it." Her mouth wrinkled in distaste. "He was explaining why women shouldn't rule, and he said Leethia was an example. I don't remember if he was Kantonese. He might have had an accent, I thought it was just the drink."

I used the paper and charcoal sticks I'd just purchased to copy some of the symbols I'd seen on the old scroll around Lithia/Leethia. They weren't as perfect as I'd have liked, but they were good likenesses.

"Oh my," the woman said. "You have a fine hand. But those are unfamiliar."

"They were around the figure I mentioned. Would it be possible for you to look for anything like these?"

"May I?" She reached for the paper and I nodded. "Are you an artist? Or a scribe?"

"I've had some training."

"That's clear." She saved her glasses from another fall. "I'll make you a deal. If you can do some copying work for me, I'd be happy to do the research for you."

"That would be wonderful."

"My name is Havella, by the way." She was studying the sketches intently. "You'll find me in this spot most days. I like to sleep in my cart, so I have to take it out of the building at night."

It was hard to guess where she would sleep in her cart, among the books and sundries, but I didn't bother trying to imagine it. "I'm Juno, and this is my friend Marisa. If you need to find us, we're staying with the Baker."

"Which baker, dear?"

I didn't know how to answer that, so Marisa gave the address.

"Oh, that's fine then," Havella said. "I'll bring by the work I'd like you to copy tomorrow. I need to go through a couple of items to unbind them, and I'll see if any of these symbols catch my eye as well."

We thanked her and left, then went to have a pair of kebabs from a stall. The meat was seared and flavorful, it paired well with the smoky zest of cooked onion and peppers. It was nice to have so much variety, a veritable potluck of cultures arrayed around us for the taking. Euphorian fare could become repetitive, even for a princess. So much couldn't grow on the mountain.

We were both ready to turn for home, with out feet tired and most of the afternoon spent, when we heard shouting, and witnessed a surge of bodies. The smoke I smelled wasn't just from the kebabs, black, sooty clouds were gathering in the rafters, too much for the vents to accommodate.

Marisa and I were caught up in the press of bodies, it was that or be knocked down. And we were frantic too, shouting and reaching, trying not to be separated. These were endless moments, and only flashes, until we found ourselves in the open air again. The crowds did not disperse, but only packed tighter to see what else would happen, which slowed the response. Men with buckets of water and sand were trying to enter to fight the fire, it was far from the first fire to catch hold in the bazaar, and they knew what to do, but it took long minutes for a path to be cleared for them to do their work. We waited for an hour, and finally managed to escape the press.

Havella didn't visit the shop the next day, or the day after.