"How did you do it?"

Zef glanced at the windcaller. It was the first thing she had said since they had left the plaza. For a time, they had walked in silence, the shadow of the A’avi’s greathawk sometimes falling on them as it wheeled overhead. The people of Foundation stared at the odd pair as they passed. He imagined the thoughts behind their narrowed eyes.

Him? How? Why? It must be a mistake.

It only made it worse to know they were right.

But Zef had expected the windcaller’s question and prepared an answer. "High One, I only opened myself to the blessing of the stars. As you do."

For a long moment, silence was her only response.

"Right,” she said at last. “What's your name then, dweller?"

Her change in tone, not to mention her accent, threw Zef for a loop. He’d only heard artists use High Speech before, but this sounded much more like Foundation common. And then there was "dweller," an insulting term used by those from Pinnacle to describe those who lived in their shadow.

He tried not to let his irritation show. "Zef."

"Just Zef? No family name, godsign… heavens, I'd take a second syllable."

"It's Zef."

"Fine. I'll call you dweller." Despite the switch to more casual language, the skyscribe let little emotion through her facade. Her face could have been written in A’avian for all he could read it. Did she only tease, or did she really think him scum?

"Here's the thing, dweller," she continued. "I know you didn't use an art."

Zef reeled. He wondered if he should run before she had the chance to summon the constables or continue the con. Before he could decide, the windcaller kept talking.

"You’re a clever one, but clearly, you’re blind to how I’d know. Your first tell is that your cloud remains shrouded. Your second is that you didn't use any sign I know, and I know them all. Your third is, I mean…" The artist gestured up and down his length. "Look at you. You'd have to be damned lucky to figure out the astral arts on your own, and you don't seem the sort that's had a lot of luck in life."

Amid the flurry of revelations, Zef decided to touch on the least damning of them. "My… cloud?"

The skyscribe sighed, but her eyes finally showed some life. Unfortunately, it was amusement at his benefit that he saw in them.

"You don't know a storming thing, dweller. We'll have to raise you from an egg, and I'm not sure I'm cut out to play the hen. But do you know why, even though I knew you were a liar, I picked you?"

To have it all stated so baldly had Zef looking for the next alley to flee down. Yet something compelled him to stay. For one, she didn’t seem angry at his ploy. For another, she spoke like she still intended to take him on.

Though Furies blast me if I know why.

Aloud, he only said, "My charm?"

The artist laughed. It was an easy, free laugh, pleasant to listen to, even as it was edged with mockery. "You're bright, that's why. If you could sense magic, you'd know what you were missing to fool me. But to any other dweller, it was a flawless performance."

An alley Zef knew to be good for an escape was coming up. A tanner lived at the end of it, and he always kept a few boxes stacked for a nimble person to gain the roof. But as he came abreast it, Zef again hesitated. The skyscribe had exposed him for a charlatan, and yet it was his deception that made her pick him.

He still had a chance. Even if it might land him in a cell, he had to take it.

The things I do for you, he thought to Gail.

Zef met the artist's lightning blue eyes. "A bellows. I borrowed one from a smithy and hooked it up to a spinning wheel pedal."

This time, the artist really seemed to smile. "Clever. And where'd you learn to engineer that, much less acquire the parts?"

Zef waved a hand. "Here."

"Right…" The skyscribe turned serious again, and he wondered if he'd taken his cheek too far.

The frown faded after a moment. "You'll be a fresh breeze, and in Pinnacle, that's saying something. I can just imagine the elders' faces when they see you…"

Zef repressed a wince, catching her drift.

"Why?" he found himself blurting. "Why pick up a vagrant like me over the nobles?"

The artist gave him a sharp look. "I already said, dweller, and I don't like repeating myself. You've a quick wit, plus you’re far more interesting than a duke's son."

"But you said it yourself: I don't know the first thing about magic."

Zef cut himself off before his confession went too far. Baffled as he was by the whole affair, he had to remember he was trying to get himself into the Sky Isles, not talk her out of the mad decision.

She studied him out of the corner of her eye for several paces. "You're right. A wealthy kid would be a dependable bet. But here's something to know about me: I don't do the sure thing. Playing it safe doesn't get you far, especially not in the Aedis. And if I'm going to bring you up, you have to soar high, or my reputation sinks. Got it?"

Zef nodded mutely.

The artist snorted a laugh. "Besides, you and I have more in common than any of those nobles. More than you know."

He couldn't hide his surprise now. "You lost your parents, too?"

The artist snorted. "Now's not the time for my life story. Anyway, here's the place: the inn where I'm staying, the Featherlight.”

Zef had noticed the inn coming up, yet he hadn't expected her to stay at a place so… ordinary. The sign with the bed and bowl indicating an inn hung crooked on its pole, and the feather etched above its doorway sported cracked white paint.

"Meet me here tomorrow morning," the artist said. "Mid morning, mind. If you're here at dawn, I'll kill you."

Zef resolved not to test her on that point. By the look in her eyes, her promise was deadly serious.

"And who should I ask for?" he asked innocently.

She laughed. "I'm sure ‘the windcaller’ would fetch me fine. But since you're angling for a name, I'll give you as much as you gave me. Imyla."

With that, Imyla strolled into the inn without a backward glance. Only when the door closed behind her did the realization settle in.

I did it. I'm ascending to Pinnacle.

But it was only the first step. Now, the hardest part began.