Dahran is foul. I’ve been here three days and I’m still not used to the gilded silk palanquins gliding past crowds of downtrodden workers, impossibly beautiful faces gazing from behind gauzy curtains. From my seat on the balcony of Café Murta I can see the city’s famed towers, rising glittering to impossible heights, while mud-brick shanty towns climb the steep slopes beyond. You can smell the inequality: under the heady perfumes and incense drifting from market stalls is the common stink of unwashed bodies and human waste. It’s probably why the rich burn incense in the first place—it sure isn’t to any god, other than money.

  I wonder what Gaxna would think. If she would love this place for its opulence, or hate it for its greed, like I’m starting to. I smile, sipping my sickly sweet cup of tea. She’d probably do both, and start stealing from the richest to give to the urchins on the street.

  I’m waiting for Hiana Caghdan, the woman my father named at the end of my last immersion. It’s taken three days just to get an audience with her, after the eleven days sailing here on a Bamani rig, and my stomach churns with everything that rides on this. Not just the chronicles, but my father’s copy, with his notes on what he thought they meant. And not just an ally, but a wealthy one, if her allegiance will transfer to me. Someone with the means to hire a mercenary army to take back Serei, if it comes to that.

  She could be the key to all my plans. And if she doesn’t want to help, I’ve wasted two weeks trying.

  I ice the churn inside, my internal focus back now that I have a plan, and watch the street through the balcony’s carved sandstone lattice.

  An azure palanquin sweeps up three hundred breaths later, and black-liveried porters swarm around it. I stand and watch as its occupant ascends the stairs, face radiating beauty and health. That’s what wealth does in Dahran: it gives its owners more life. Vitality, they call it, a power running through their currency that makes them stronger, faster, more beautiful, and longer-lived. The wealthiest people here have been alive for centuries, they say. Amaranths. Apparently Hiana isn’t one yet, but the way heads turn and people scoot out of her path, she must be close.

  I brace myself as she glides through the packed café. I’ve always been awful at words, and all my hopes hinge on convincing this stranger to help me from the goodness of her heart. If only this were a fight, or we were standing in a proper pool of water so I could read her thoughts.

  Instead, I send a silent prayer to Uje. If my cause is just, if you really do care about saving your people, let this woman help me.

  “Aletheia,” she says, and even her voice is rich and lustrous, like a minstrel moments from song. Necklaces of coins layer her neck, the air warping around them like burning coals. It seems bold to wear so much money, but all the wealthy here do it.

  “Caghdan-djo,” I say, using the Daraanese form of respect. “You speak Ujeian?” Daraa and Ujeian are somewhere between dialects and related languages—Trainer Yemlaw at the temple would be ashamed at me for forgetting which—but I’ll feel more comfortable here speaking my own tongue.

  “Of course,” she says in that rich alto. “I spent years in your city. That’s where I met your father, around the time he was coming into power. I’m sorry to meet you under such unfortunate circumstances.”

  She doesn’t sound it, but maybe that’s just the vitality beaming from her voice.

  “He’s in the waters now,” I say, as much because I don’t know how to respond to pity as because it’s the actual truth. “He’s how I heard you were here, actually.”

  Hiana raises an eyebrow. “So the rumors are true. A girl with male magic—such blasphemy for an Ujeian. Though you won’t find too many offended here—money mends all things, as they say. Shall we sit?”

  I realize I’m still standing here like an oaf and nod. She sits with the grace of a dancer and I follow suit. One of her attendants swoops in to pour her mint tea from a fresh pot, then refills mine, sweetened with copious amounts of date sugar in the local style.

  “How did you know my father?” I ask. It’s blunt, but like I said, I am bad at words, and this is the only thing I can count on here, is her having enough of a connection to my father to want to help me.

  “Initially it was purely for business—the temple can make or break any trade endeavor in Serei—but then I found him intriguing. A driven man.”

  Driven enough to ignore his own daughter. I am over the pain of that now, but behind it has come a sadness that I will never know him, that even now he’s losing focus in the water. That this woman might have known my father better than I ever will.

  “And you met Nerimes too?”

  A shadow falls across her perfect face. “Unfortunately, yes. The reports from your attack on his wedding were mixed, of course, but I gather that you hold him responsible for Stergjon’s death?”

  “He is responsible. I can show you proof, if you want.”

  I reach my hand across the polished table. Hers is gloved, but still she snatches it back in the first move from her that hasn’t looked practiced and perfect.

  “That… won’t be necessary. I can believe it of him, based on the man I met back then. Even as a junior council member, Nerimes was unpleasant. That, and I trust you.”

  A knot loosens in my shoulders, and I realize how long it’s been since I’ve had anyone I could trust. Not that I trust her, but I have carried this weight alone for a long time.

  I ice the emotion, picturing it as water freezing into a giant block, then set it aside to deal with later. On my side or not, this is not the time to break down crying.

  “He’s worse than unpleasant,” I say, voice steady again. “He’s perverting the temple and the city for his own gain. Selling it to a Seilam Deul woman to get himself in power. And he’s sent overseers to kill me, because I tried to expose him.”

  Hiana nods. “What went wrong?”

  “He had allies I didn’t expect,” I say, not bothering to ice my anger. “You heard the head of the Theracant’s Guild was killed?”

  She raises one perfect eyebrow. “That was his doing too?”

  “His ally, yes. Miyara.”

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  She sips at her tea. “So you’re dealing with the combined might of the seers and the theracants.”

  “Not just that. Nerimes is no ordinary seer, and neither is Miyara. They have powers they shouldn’t.”

  “What powers?” she asks, the afternoon sun casting bands of light and dark across her face through the lattice wall.

  “The ability to let only certain information through a blind. Or for Miyara to disappear from her sisters’ blood connection—things seers and theracants swear are impossible. Almost like they have your vitality magic, or some other hidden power. I was hoping you might know something about it.”

  “Your father’s papers, you mean.” She looks as though she expected this. Maybe he left instructions about me, like he did with the theracants.

  “Yes. Do you have them?” Unbidden, my hand goes to my chest, where I keep my father’s letter. His words there echo what the ancestors told me in the water, that the chronicles are key to defeating Nerimes and stopping the floods. Having his own annotated version would save me years of study. Years we might not have.

  Hiana tugs at a diamond pendant hanging from one ear. In addition to the coins around her neck, the woman is decked in jewels. “Unfortunately, I do not.”

  I suck in a breath. This was the one thing I was counting on—that even if Hiana didn’t want to help me, she’d have the chronicles. Have the information I need to make a plan.

  “Do you—know where they are?”

  Hiana sets her cup down with a clink. “I may, but let’s cut to the chase. I am a busy woman, and I believe you are a straightforward girl as well. You’re here for my help in avenging your father and taking back your city.”

  “I—yes. I am.”

  “Good. That is something I’m willing to do, given certain assurances.”

  I viciously ice the relief that spreads in my chest, coming from the same place as that ache about doing all this alone. As good as this sounds, I still don’t know if I can trust her, father’s ally or not.

  “What assurances?”

  A black-liveried waiter arrives just then, carrying with him one of the tall smoking devices I’ve seen around the café. It is a beautiful curved vase with water in the bottom and a woven hose coming from one side, extending down into the water. I wait impatiently while he fusses with placing the cloveleaf and coals just so in the top of it, glancing at Hiana. Meanwhile she gazes placidly, and my question hangs in the air like a guillotine.

  He finally leaves.

  “Tell me,” Hiana says, taking up the ornate wooden mouthpiece and drawing in smoke, “do you have ambitions, Aletheia?”

  It’s not the answer I’m expecting. “I want to defeat Nerimes.”

  She blows smoke, smelling of clove, but something sweeter as well—jasmine?

  “And do you want it with all your heart?”

  The thing that I want with all my heart is to get Gaxna free, but Nerimes is a part of that. “Yes.”

  “Good. I have been paying attention to your city for some time now, even before Nerimes’ rise to power and the events at his wedding. Serei has so much potential, but its divisions hold it back.”

  She proffers the smoking tube to me and I take it, seeking a moment’s connection with her hand to read her thoughts, but her glove prevents it.

  “Here, we settle our disputes in council,” she goes on, “with the amaranthine presiding and all of us with status able to say our part. It isn’t ideal, I know, to base political power on wealth, but at least we all sit at a common table. This tribalism, this split between man and woman, has held your city back for centuries.”

  “What are you proposing?” I don’t add that I agree whole-heartedly. I still haven’t heard what kind of ‘assurances’ she’s looking for.

  “I am proposing they be united.”

  “And you’re the one to do it?”

  “I’m the one to make it happen. You are the one to unite them: a female seer, child of the rightful Chosen of Uje. Friend of the theracants.”

  Too many emotions stir in my chest at this. Of course I want to unite my city, and the tribalism is stupid. But I can’t help but feel she’s selling this all to me, rather than just agreeing. And if she is, I need to know the cost before I buy in.

  “Speaking plainly,” I say, “what would you want to get out of it?”

  “Position. Influence. Serei is a hub of trade even more than Dahran, especially with the increase in Seilam Deul activity. If I ever want to become an amaranth, I need an edge the others don’t have. It would all be behind the scenes, of course. There are methods we could adopt, for legal assurance.”

  I search for words, wishing I had Gaxna’s quick tongue. “It sounds great, but there are people better suited for this, and I’m not trying to rule Serei.”

  Her lips quirk. “Ambition indeed. What are you trying to do?”

  I hand the smoking tube back, needing to keep my mind clear. “Did you read the papers my father gave you?”

  “Ah,” she says, drawing deeply and exhaling a fragrant cloud. “The flood. The end of all times, and coming sooner than anyone thinks.”

  I sit forward. “You know about it? And you believe it?”

  “I do, for what it’s worth. Which is part of why I’m willing to risk so much on you. All this”—she gestures at the bustling café, the city beyond the latticework wall—“all this is temporary. We know Dahran’s seven towers were built long before any people naming themselves Daraanese lived here. For all our wealth and pride, we’re just little creatures huddling in the ruins of a civilization ten times our betters, and even they didn’t survive. If another flood is coming—and your father convinced me it is—then we have to be ready.”

  I get that same feeling again, that relief that someone else knows. “So, you’re with me? You want to stop it too?”

  “I do. And this is the best way to do it—consider how much more power you will have to do whatever needs to be done as ruler of all Serei. What better position could there be?”

  Uje, but I wish I could read her thoughts. I reach for the smoking tube and she again evades my touch, albeit with grace.

  “That’s the problem,” I say. “I don’t know what needs to be done. I know it’s coming—I saw that in the water—and I know my dad saw some hint of a way out in the chronicles, but I have no idea what that is. Maybe I could get it done as queen of Serei, or whatever we’d call me. Or maybe I’d have to sail off the edge of Vyna, or go on a quest through Bamani, or—until I see the chronicles, there’s no way to know.”

  Hiana sighs. “I wish I could give them to you, but we will likely have to take Serei first. From that position we should be able to get most anything we’d want.”

  “But you said you knew where they were?”

  Her face goes sour for a moment. “I do, though it’ll do you no good. The Tower of Many Names.” She nods at one of the sky-piercing towers beyond the latticework, this one wrapped in vibrant cloth banners that stream behind it in the wind, giving it an undulating appearance.

  I frown. “An amaranth stole them from you?”

  “An amaranth in name, yes.” Her face darkens. “Whoever or whatever it is that Nerimes and Miyara belong to, we have it in Dahran too. And I believe they heard clink somehow of what I had. The papers were stolen from me months ago, and only in the last few weeks have I become certain they were the ones to take it. Not that it does us any good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean there is no way to get in there and get out alive. Trust me. I have the best spies and assassins in Dahran at my service, and they have all refused.”

  “Have you tried thieves? I trained as one in Serei.” My leg starts to bounce. This is something I can do, something concrete after six weeks of powerlessness and frustration. Plus, Gaxna taught me well—I’ve snuck into the palaces of the wealthiest merchants in Serei, and dropped unseen into the middle of Nerimes’ wedding ceremony.

  “It’s not just the tower,” Hiana says, raising a hand as if to placate me. “The guards up there are loaded with vitality. You would be captured, or worse.”

  I hold back the retort that no one in the world fights like Ujeian monks, vitality or not. “I’ll look into it,” I say instead. “There may be strategies or forms to use to counteract their advantage.”

  “There is another way,” she says, looking pained. “It would cost me politically, but if those papers are so important to you, I may be able to get them through back channels. Coffers know there are plenty in this city who owe me favors.”

  I hesitate. It’s not a bad idea, but something in me says she is trying to dissuade me from stealing the papers directly. That she wants to be the one to get them for me, so I owe her something. So I agree to her plans to take back Serei.

  Which, father’s ally or not, doesn’t sit right with me.

  More importantly, what she’s talking about could take days, or weeks. This has already taken too long. But there’s no need to say any of that.

  “That would be great,” I say. “If you’ll look into it, I’ll do more checking on the tower. And thank you, Caghdan-djo. Can you meet again in three days?” Enough time for me to get the papers on my own, if it looks doable.

  “My pleasure, Aletheia,” she says, standing. “In three days then.”