reach a good outlook, I glimpse the city below. I catch my breath.
Estenzia.
Redbrick domes and wide, clean roads. Curving spires, sweeping archways. Narrow side streets overgrown with colorful flowers and vines. Towering monuments that gleam in the sun. People bustling from building to building, horses pulling carts loaded with casks and crates. Marble statues of the twelve gods and angels, their feet draped with flowers, line the main squares. Hundreds of ships pull into and out of the harbor, fat galleons and thin, quicksilver
caravelas,
their shining sails brown and white against the deep blue of the sea, their flags a rainbow of kingdoms from all over the world. Floating gondolas glide between them, fireflies among giants. A bell chimes somewhere in the distance. Off at the horizon, the misty outlines of a chain of islets appear before the flatness of the Sun Sea. And up in the sky—
I gasp in delight as an enormous creature resembling an ocean ray glides lazily across the city’s harbor, its fleshy wings smooth and translucent in the light, its tail stretched out behind it in a long line. Someone—a tiny speck nearly lost from sight—rides on its back. The creature lets out a haunting note that echoes across the city.
“A balira!” I exclaim.
Raffaele glances over his shoulder at me, his gesture so smooth and regal that one could mistake him for royalty. He smiles at my joy. “I would think you’d often see them shipping cargo in Dalia, given your location near the waterfall arc.”
“Never this close.”
“I see. Well, we have warm, shallow waters, so they gather here in the summer to give birth. You’ll see your fill, trust me.”
I shake my head and continue to take in the scene. “The city’s beautiful.”
“Only to a newcomer.” His smile fades. “We are not like the Skyland nations, where the blood fever was mild and where their few marked people are celebrated. Estenzia was devastated by the fever. She has suffered ever since. Trade is down. Pirates plague our routes. The city grows poorer, and the people are hungry.
Malfettos
are the scapegoats. A
malfetto
girl was killed just yesterday, stabbed to death in the streets. The Inquisition turns a blind eye.”
My excitement wanes. When I look again at the city below us, I notice the many boarded-up shops, the beggars, the white cloaks of Inquisitors. I turn away uncomfortably. “The story’s not much different in Dalia,” I mutter. A brief silence. “Where are the other Elites?”
We come upon a blank wall of stone behind a narrow corner of the courtyard, situated in such a way that you’d never think to stop here unless you knew better. Raffaele runs his fingers along the wall before pushing against it—and to my surprise, it slides silently open. A cold rush of air greets us. I peer inside. Stairs of weathered stone wind their way down into the darkness. “Don’t think of them,” he replies. “Today, it is just you and me.” A strange, pleasant tingle runs down my neck. He says no more, and I decide not to press him for more information.
We head into the gloom. Raffaele pulls a small lantern from the wall and lights it, and the dim glow cuts black and orange shapes into the darkness. All I can see are the steps right before me and the folds of Raffaele’s robes. A pleasure court with so many secret spaces.
After a while, the stairs come to an end in front of another blank wall. Raffaele unlocks this one too. It opens with a heavy groan. We step into a room lit by patches of light from a grating in its ceiling, the glow illuminating motes of dust floating in the air. Moss covers the grating’s bars. In one corner, a table is overflowing with parchments and maps, strange orreries depicting the paths of the moons, and illuminated books. The space smells cool, damp.
Raffaele walks over to the table and pushes some of his papers aside. “Don’t be alarmed,” he says.
I suddenly tense. “Why? What are we doing
Estenzia.
Redbrick domes and wide, clean roads. Curving spires, sweeping archways. Narrow side streets overgrown with colorful flowers and vines. Towering monuments that gleam in the sun. People bustling from building to building, horses pulling carts loaded with casks and crates. Marble statues of the twelve gods and angels, their feet draped with flowers, line the main squares. Hundreds of ships pull into and out of the harbor, fat galleons and thin, quicksilver
caravelas,
their shining sails brown and white against the deep blue of the sea, their flags a rainbow of kingdoms from all over the world. Floating gondolas glide between them, fireflies among giants. A bell chimes somewhere in the distance. Off at the horizon, the misty outlines of a chain of islets appear before the flatness of the Sun Sea. And up in the sky—
I gasp in delight as an enormous creature resembling an ocean ray glides lazily across the city’s harbor, its fleshy wings smooth and translucent in the light, its tail stretched out behind it in a long line. Someone—a tiny speck nearly lost from sight—rides on its back. The creature lets out a haunting note that echoes across the city.
“A balira!” I exclaim.
Raffaele glances over his shoulder at me, his gesture so smooth and regal that one could mistake him for royalty. He smiles at my joy. “I would think you’d often see them shipping cargo in Dalia, given your location near the waterfall arc.”
“Never this close.”
“I see. Well, we have warm, shallow waters, so they gather here in the summer to give birth. You’ll see your fill, trust me.”
I shake my head and continue to take in the scene. “The city’s beautiful.”
“Only to a newcomer.” His smile fades. “We are not like the Skyland nations, where the blood fever was mild and where their few marked people are celebrated. Estenzia was devastated by the fever. She has suffered ever since. Trade is down. Pirates plague our routes. The city grows poorer, and the people are hungry.
Malfettos
are the scapegoats. A
malfetto
girl was killed just yesterday, stabbed to death in the streets. The Inquisition turns a blind eye.”
My excitement wanes. When I look again at the city below us, I notice the many boarded-up shops, the beggars, the white cloaks of Inquisitors. I turn away uncomfortably. “The story’s not much different in Dalia,” I mutter. A brief silence. “Where are the other Elites?”
We come upon a blank wall of stone behind a narrow corner of the courtyard, situated in such a way that you’d never think to stop here unless you knew better. Raffaele runs his fingers along the wall before pushing against it—and to my surprise, it slides silently open. A cold rush of air greets us. I peer inside. Stairs of weathered stone wind their way down into the darkness. “Don’t think of them,” he replies. “Today, it is just you and me.” A strange, pleasant tingle runs down my neck. He says no more, and I decide not to press him for more information.
We head into the gloom. Raffaele pulls a small lantern from the wall and lights it, and the dim glow cuts black and orange shapes into the darkness. All I can see are the steps right before me and the folds of Raffaele’s robes. A pleasure court with so many secret spaces.
After a while, the stairs come to an end in front of another blank wall. Raffaele unlocks this one too. It opens with a heavy groan. We step into a room lit by patches of light from a grating in its ceiling, the glow illuminating motes of dust floating in the air. Moss covers the grating’s bars. In one corner, a table is overflowing with parchments and maps, strange orreries depicting the paths of the moons, and illuminated books. The space smells cool, damp.
Raffaele walks over to the table and pushes some of his papers aside. “Don’t be alarmed,” he says.
I suddenly tense. “Why? What are we doing
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