The breakfast table is long and bright. Sunlight comes through the tall windows just like it does in the conference room, but the air here is different. It’s quieter. People are actually leaning back in their chairs.

  I'm not leaning back. I'm sitting upright purely because I don't trust myself to relax right now. Two days of political talks did something to me. My mind feels stalled, as if it’s frozen in place while waiting for the next discussion topic.

  Everyone else seems fine. Better than fine, actually.

  [Alden] “All things considered, I think we made remarkable progress. A framework, a name, and a clear path forward. Well done, everyone. And Wright, thank you for the generous donation of otherworld crop seeds this morning. That will go a long way.”

  King Alden raises his tea cup slightly. Around the table, people nod with the easy satisfaction of people who are good at their jobs.

  I nod too. It’s become an occupational hazard.

  [Selis] "Don't celebrate yet. Do you have any idea how much paperwork this generates?"

  Chancellor Selis sets down her fork and holds up her fingers, counting.

  [Selis] "New nation formation documents. Cross-kingdom trade agreements. Coalition appointments. Harvest credit structures. Every single one drafted in four languages, reviewed by three separate magistrates, and signed by people who are never in the same room at the same time."

  [Mirelle] "Five languages. Eryndor's formal documentation still uses Old Demonic for legal contracts."

  Chancellor Velira smiles pleasantly.

  [Velira] "Tradition."

  [Mirelle] "Tradition is a word people use when they want to make someone else's life difficult."

  [Velira] "Also tradition."

  [Selis] "And the scheduling. Coordinating across four kingdoms with four completely different calendar systems. Rathen's tax collection ends next month. That alone is going to cause problems."

  Supreme Mage Lysara taps her fingers against the table.

  [Lysara] "Selenith operates on the arcane cycle. I've had scribes quit over that."

  [Selis] "At least your scribes quit politely. Mine have started leaving passive notes on my desk."

  [Mirelle] "I received a resignation letter written entirely in footnotes once. Very thorough. The footnotes had footnotes."

  Several people laugh. Even Demon Lord Kaelith's mouth curves.

  I watch them and feel something that might be admiration. These people are staring down a mountain of administrative work and joking about it. That takes a particular kind of fortitude.

  I want to say something. Then I remember last night.

  Sylphaeris had materialized at the table midway through the meal, dropping into an empty seat.

  [Sylphaeris] "I need food and I need to sit down. Don't talk to me about anything important for at least ten minutes."

  She looked tired. Not physically, but the way someone looks when they've been solving the same problem all day and it keeps getting bigger.

  I left her alone. She ate in silence for a while, staring at nothing in particular. Then, somewhere around her third bite, she started talking on her own.

  [Sylphaeris] "I haven't had a moment to myself in days. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to keep an entire world's weather from falling apart?"

  She went on from there. Seasonal wind currents needing manual adjustment, three separate flooding situations, a migration pattern that had shifted unexpectedly, a disagreement between two wind spirits that somehow required her personal mediation.

  I sympathized. I'd also had two days of political meetings. I'd told her so.

  The chancellors had immediately turned on me.

  [Selis] "You sat in a chair."

  [Mirelle] "A comfortable chair."

  [Velira] "With food provided."

  [Eldrin] "And nodded."

  That last one hurt.

  I'd tried to explain that sustained attention is its own form of exhaustion, but nobody had been particularly sympathetic. Even Sylphaeris had perked up to give me a look.

  So I keep my mouth shut while the chancellors trade complaints. I've lost the right to participate in this particular conversation.

  Liora sets down her tea, hands folded around the cup.

  [Liora] "I've been thinking about the otherworld crops. After the harvest and the festival, when we replant, I'd like to give them their own section. A few meters away from our regular crops at least. We still don't know how the magical energy here will affect them."

  [Eldrin] "Wise. We don't want cross-contamination if the interaction is unstable."

  [Liora] "And I was thinking of asking Vesper to put together something that can monitor and record the results. So we have proper documentation of how they grow."

  She says it simply, the way she says most things, but something about the word festival catches in the air.

  King Alden looks up from his plate.

  [Alden] "A festival."

  Pope Orell sets down his tea.

  [Orell] "After the birth of a new nation, no less."

  Demon Lord Kaelith straightens slightly.

  [Kaelith] "A cross-kingdom celebration would be an appropriate acknowledgment of what's been accomplished here."

  Supreme Mage Lysara's fingers stop tapping.

  [Lysara] "Public events build goodwill. A joint festival across participating nations would send a clear message."

  [Alden] "Grand stalls, performances, cultural exchanges. Each kingdom contributing something representative."

  [Kaelith] "Eryndor's cuisine would translate well into festival stalls."

  [Orell] "The church could organize blessing ceremonies. It would give the Terravene people something to look forward to."

  They're all nodding now, building on each other, the idea growing with every exchange.

  I glance at the chancellors.

  All three of them have gone very still. Selis's tail has stopped moving entirely. Mirelle's hand hovers above her notes without touching the page. Velira's pleasant smile has developed a slight rigidity around the edges.

  [Aurelia] "It's a nice idea, but isn't it too soon?"

  Everyone turns to look at her. She blinks, apparently not having expected that to come out at full volume.

  [Aurelia] "The people there are still rebuilding. They don't have homes yet. Celebrating before they have roofs over their heads feels strange. Shouldn't we focus on getting them stable first?"

  A beat of quiet.

  [Orell] "That's a very fair point."

  [Alden] "The infrastructure does need to come first."

  [Kaelith] "A celebration held too early rings hollow. Better to wait until there is genuinely something to celebrate."

  [Lysara] "Agreed. Table the festival idea until Terravene reaches a stable baseline."

  The energy settles. The grand cross-kingdom festival folds back into something smaller and more patient.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The chancellors' collective tension visibly decreases. Selis's tail resumes its gentle movement. Mirelle rustles through her papers again.

  [Wright] "Our village festival is still happening after the harvest. You're all welcome to come if you want a break."

  I say it before I've fully thought it through. It seems like the polite thing to do.

  [Alden] "I'd enjoy that very much."

  [Orell] "A village harvest festival sounds wonderful. Count me in."

  [Kaelith] "Eryndor would be honored to send a representative. Myself, most likely."

  [Lysara] "I'll clear my schedule."

  I watch all four of them agree with easy enthusiasm. The chancellors, however, are staring at me.

  Selis's tail is absolutely still. Mirelle drops her paperwork. Velira's smile has returned to its rigid configuration.

  [Selis] "Coordinating the travel arrangements alone..."

  [Mirelle] "Security details for royalty at a remote village event..."

  [Velira] "Liaising with the village on accommodations and scheduling..."

  [Wright] "I'm really sorry."

  [Selis] "You keep saying that."

  [Wright] "I keep meaning it."

  [Selis] "And yet."

  [Velira] "We'll send you the scheduling requests."

  She picks her fork back up. The others follow. The table returns to the sounds of breakfast.

  I sink slightly lower in my chair.

  ---

  The meal winds down slowly. Servants clear plates, tea is refilled, and conversation drifts toward the rest of the day.

  [Alden] "What are your plans now that the talks have concluded?"

  [Aurelia] "I’m going to the marketplace first. Then I want to visit the Crescent Moon auction house. See if they have any useful artifacts."

  [Mirelle] "For the marketplace, I'd recommend the Lower Harbor District. Best variety in the city, good prices, and the vendors are used to dealing with people from outside Respera. You won't get taken advantage of."

  [Alden] "Avoid the Gilded Arcade unless you're specifically looking for luxury goods. The pricing reflects the area rather than the value."

  [Liora] "The morning flower market near the east gate is worth visiting too. There's a dried goods vendor on the corner of the second canal bridge who had a wonderful selection of seeds. The variety was unlike anything we carry in the village. I went back twice."

  Aurelia is already nodding at each suggestion like she's building a route in her head.

  [Wright] "I'd like to see the auction house too, actually."

  [Alden] "Then you're in luck. The Crescent Moon is holding their main event tonight. It draws consignors from across the continent."

  He sets down his tea.

  [Alden] "I keep a private room there. You're all welcome to use it."

  [Aurelia] "Thank you, really."

  [Wright] "That's generous. Thank you."

  [Alden] "Think nothing of it. Enjoy Mariselle."

  Chairs push back. People begin to move. The formal rhythm of the past two days dissolves into something more like a normal morning.

  Outside the tall windows, the city is already busy.

  ---

  Mariselle doesn't feel like a capital city. That's the first thing I notice when we step out through the palace gates.

  Most capitals in manga felt like centers of power. Heavy architecture, wide ceremonial avenues designed to make you feel small.

  Mariselle just feels busy. Cheerfully, purposefully busy.

  The streets slope downward toward the harbor in long, gentle grades. White stone buildings catch the morning light along both sides of the road, two and three stories tall with covered walkways at street level. Banners hang from upper windows in sea greens and blues and a particular gold that catches the light well. Trade flags from other kingdoms appear between them.

  Canals run alongside the main roads, narrow and dark and moving, with small flat-bottomed boats carrying crates between districts. Stone bridges arch over them at regular intervals, iron lanterns hanging unlit from the railings. The water carries the smell of salt and spice and something baking somewhere nearby.

  Liora is already moving with the confidence of someone who has spent the last few days learning the layout.

  [Liora] "The main market road is this way. There's a covered section further in."

  Seraphina has slowed beside one of the canal bridges, one gloved hand resting on the railing as she looks back at the building faces.

  [Seraphina] "Late Coastal Mercantile style. The colonnaded walkways are practical, but they've preserved the decorative tilework. Most trading cities abandon that eventually. It's a shame, really. Character is so rarely worth the maintenance cost to the people holding the purse."

  [Lucien] "The column spacing on that row is irregular. Renovations at different periods. The newer sections have better load distribution."

  [Seraphina] "I wasn't asking for a structural analysis."

  [Lucien] "I know. I added it anyway."

  [Seraphina] "Why."

  [Lucien] "It seemed relevant."

  Seraphina looks at him for a moment.

  [Seraphina] "It wasn't."

  She steps off the bridge and continues walking. Lucien follows.

  The Lower Harbor District opens up around the next corner and any thought of architecture disappears.

  The market runs along both sides of a wide cobblestone street, stalls covering the walkways and spilling into the road, leaving just enough space for carts to pass. Vendors call out from behind tables loaded with cloth, spices, preserved foods, tools, rope, pottery, and things I can't immediately identify from a distance. The noise is constant and layered.

  We stop at a spice stall first because the smell makes it unavoidable. Rows of open jars in deep reds and yellows and earthy browns, each labeled in small neat script. The vendor watches us approach with the patient expression of someone who has assessed thousands of customers.

  Liora starts asking questions immediately. Within two minutes she and the vendor are deep in a conversation about which spirit stones enrich the soil with the most natural energy for a particular dried pepper variety, whether the coastal magical energy affects the potency of the harvest, and how the plant fares near the water channels.

  Eldrin stands beside her with the mild expression of a man who knew this was going to happen.

  Further along, we pass a tool stall. Lucien stops dead.

  Excavation tools, specialized picks and brushes and shallow scoops alongside standard hammers and chisels. A display case to one side holds what appear to be measuring instruments.

  [Lucien] "Those calibration levels are pre-Restorationist manufacture."

  He says it the way other people might say they've found a large sum of money on the ground.

  [Seraphina] "Lucien."

  [Lucien] "The precision tolerances on early Restorationist tools are significantly higher than modern equivalents. If those are authentic, they're exceptional."

  [Seraphina] "We're browsing."

  [Lucien] "I'm also browsing."

  [Seraphina] "You have that look."

  [Lucien] "I don't have a look."

  Seraphina turns to me with an expression that communicates volumes without words. We leave Lucien examining the levels and continue on.

  ---

  Vesper appears at midday, her hair disorganized and her jacket done up on the wrong buttons.

  [Vesper] "There you are. I've been walking for hours. My feet are unhappy with me."

  [Wright] "Have you been sleeping this whole time?"

  [Vesper] "Mostly. I got lost twice trying to find everyone and wandered into an enchantment district on the west side. Their artifacts have a different approach from what we use in the village. More maritime focus. Preservation and navigation."

  She holds up a small journal, already nearly full.

  [Liora] "Are you hungry?"

  [Vesper] "Extremely."

  We find a row of food stalls set back from the main road where the awnings overlap into a continuous shade. Wooden benches run along the front, occupied by vendors on break, dockworkers, and people who look like they've simply decided to stay for a while.

  Lucien has rejoined us by this point, carrying a wrapped parcel with the careful attention of someone transporting something irreplaceable.

  [Seraphina] "You bought them."

  [Lucien] "They were authentic."

  [Seraphina] "Of course they were."

  We eat at the benches. Grilled flatbread folded around spiced fish and pickled vegetables, served on oiled paper. Small clay cups of a cold, slightly sour fermented citrus drink, common on the docks apparently. One stall over, someone is doing whole roasted shellfish on an open grill, and the smell eventually pulls most of us into a second round.

  Vesper eats like it's her last meal and then opens her journal again, sketching while still occasionally reaching for food.

  The afternoon carries on like that. Stalls, side streets, things that catch someone's attention. A glassblower's workshop visible through a wide window. A textile merchant with bolts of patterned fabric. A bookseller operating out of what appears to be a converted boat shed, shelves built directly into the hull.

  Liora finds the seed vendor at her canal bridge corner again and comes away with a carefully wrapped bundle she holds like it contains something precious. Which, to her, it probably does.

  Sylphaeris materializes between Seraphina and Lucien without warning in the middle of a market street. A nearby vendor lets out a startled sound. Lucien gives her a very level look.

  [Sylphaeris] "I need to not think about weather patterns. Where are we?"

  [Wright] "Mariselle. Harbor district."

  She takes in the stalls, the canal, the distant gleam of the water.

  [Sylphaeris] "Good. I'll take it."

  She falls into step with the group as naturally as if she'd been there all day.

  [Seraphina] "How did things go? With the flooding?"

  [Sylphaeris] "Resolved. Mostly. The wind spirits worked it out after I told them the alternative was me solving it myself, and they know what that means."

  [Liora] "What does it mean?"

  [Sylphaeris] "That I'd solve it without any regard for whose territorial borders are technically where. That tends to motivate people."

  She spots a stall selling small glazed pastries and changes direction immediately.

  [Sylphaeris] "That smells good. Don't let me think about work."

  Nobody does. It isn't a difficult request.

  The sun is getting lower, the light shifting to amber. The market is still busy but more leisurely now, vendors recounting stock, customers moving without urgency. A few of the lanterns on the canal bridges have been lit early, their reflections broken and shifting in the water below.

  [Eldrin] "We should head back soon. Dinner first, and then the auction house tonight."

  [Vesper] "What auction house?"

  [Wright] "The Crescent Moon is holding their main event tonight. King Alden offered his private room."

  Vesper's eyes sharpen.

  [Vesper] "Artifacts?"

  [Wright] "Probably."

  [Vesper] "I'm coming."

  We turn back toward the palace, the harbor behind us, the city still moving around us. Sylphaeris is on her third pastry and looking considerably more like herself. Lucien carries his parcel with the same careful attention as before. Seraphina has paused at one last stretch of decorative tilework and is taking her time about it.

  The city hums along at its own pace, not caring that we're in it.