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cloth that surrounded her.
    Now their rig flew over Spillwind’s Hope. The pilot moved his hands along the woven suspension lines that stretched from the canopy to their harnesses. No doubt he was casting spells within the lines.
    An instant later, the canopy changed shape and banked the kite into a sharp turn. Here the air was rising in turbulent surges. By cutting a tight circle within the upward draft, they began to recover the altitude lost during their fall.
    The wind was cold and strong but didn’t blow too loudly. She easily heard the hierophant when he said, “Once high enough, I’ll edit this rig into a jumpchute. It can pull us to the wind garden, but that’ll deplete its text. I can’t take you back without refitting.”
    Francesca cleared her throat. “Do it.”
    The pilot’s hands halted on the suspension lines, fouling the kite’s circular path. They fell a few feet before he made several movements that restored their path. The action tossed Francesca’s long braid about.
    The pilot turned to her. “Fran?”
    â€œCyrus,” she said, staring straight ahead.
    He seemed about to say something more but then returned his attention to the suspension lines.
    They turned another circle. As the sanctuary passed before Francesca, she saw a commotion among the lofting kites. The yellow kite that held Deirdre was descending the final few feet to its minaret. Francesca watched the kite vanish into the Savanna Walker’s cloud of blindness. Again she shivered.
    A sudden upward gust tossed them higher and pushed her against Cyrus. She didn’t look, but from the corner of her eye she noticed that he was editing the harnesses so as to put more space between them. She said, “I thought you were off becoming an airship captain.”
    â€œI was,” he said curtly.
    There followed an uncomfortable silence. “Then why did you come back?”

    â€œI was a first mate on a cruiser flying out of Erram, but they offered me a promotion to air warden here. A warden has a better chance of making captain.”
    â€œOh.” She paused. “And how long have you been back?”
    â€œA fortnight.”
    She started to ask why he hadn’t told her of his return but then found herself asking, “Did you marry her?”
    He moved a hand along the suspension lines. “No,” he said just loud enough to be heard over the wind. “And are you a full physician now?”
    â€œI am. The training was very demanding.”
    â€œI’m sure.”
    Something entirely different occurred to Francesca. “Cyrus, can I ask you a strange question?”
    He laughed. “You can’t make this conversation any stranger than it already is.”
    â€œWhen we were together … did you ever notice if I wore an anklet?”
    He looked over at her.
    â€œAround my left ankle,” she said. “Did I have a small silver chain?”
    â€œSure. I remember that.”
    â€œYou do? God-of-gods, why didn’t you tell me?”
    He studied her face as if trying to figure out if she was joking. “Why would I tell you about your own jewelry?”
    â€œDid we ever talk about the anklet?”
    â€œI was wrong, Fran; you’ve made this conversation even stranger.”
    â€œJust tell me. When did you first see it? Did we talk about it?”
    He paused. “I think I asked about it once when we were first together. You never replied.”
    Francesca felt her blood go cold. She had been bound by the demon—or by something with powerful texts—almost as soon as she had arrived in Avel.
    â€œWhat happened back there?” Cyrus asked.
    She took a long breath. It was a question she would like answered as well. They were almost as high as the tops of the Auburn Mountains.
    â€œFran?” Cyrus asked. “Is the sanctuary truly under attack by a foreign deity?”
    Again, she didn’t answer. Could she trust