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Idonea cleared her throat. “A daemon took her.” Her mind strayed to the faint trace she sensed outside, how familiar it was to the daemonic.

“Well,” Safira said, tipping her head to one side, “that is something one does not hear often. Though, there have been whispers.”

One of the crew members walked into her cabin with two plates: chicken fricassee served with jasmine rice. The scent made Idonea’s mouth water. He also set down two wine goblets and a corked bottle of red. Without a word, or thanks from Safira, he left.

“Whispers?” Idonea asked.

Safira shrugged. “Current fluctuations, an increase in Nexis activity. And now you say you hunt a daemon.”

Idonea’s brows furrowed. It had to be connected. The daemons were aware of the relic, and they were stirring.

“What kind of Nexis activity?” she asked. The more she knew, the better she’d be prepared.

Safira uncorked the bottle and poured generous amounts into both glasses. She pushed one towards Idonea.

“Sightings of lesser nobles,” Safira said, “Thralls and Shades gathering near Nexis veils.”

Idonea took a shaky breath. More daemons meant less room to move, and less room meant mistakes. Mistakes got people killed.

She eyed the goblet and after Safira took a sip, she picked up the glass and pressed it to her lips. A fruity fragrance of dark berries and forest herbs greeted her nose. She took a tentative sip and let the wine run over her tongue. It had notes of black pepper. Even after she swallowed, a pleasant aftertaste lingered.

“Well?” Safira prompted, her eyebrows raised.

Idonea took another sip, savouring the taste. “It is pleasing. Thank you.” She was used to the Sunfire Amber that was common in Draugaros, with its ripe apricot and honey flavour.

“See,” she said, “isn’t bad. They call it Dawnfire Red.”

“Your first mate—”

“Kerem.”

“Yes, your first mate, Kerem, said we’d arrive within a few days,” Idonea said.

Safira propped her elbows up on the table and rested her chin on her folded hands. “Yes, the Bogomir Republic is unkind to witches. Especially Rivens.”

“I have no intention of handing you over for smuggling me in.” Idonea took another sip of wine.

Safira pushed her chair away and stood, sauntering over. “Of course you wouldn’t. But you’ll go in under the guise as an engineer. The Republic Octopi and those Templars never give such workers a second glance.”

Safira refilled Idonea's glass. "You know what the Republic actually runs on? Roots. Old, black, poisonous roots that grow in places nothing else will. They call the harvest Eitr. The Templars say it's blood from the dragons, that the roots grew from where the wyrms bled into the earth at the Sundering. Whether that's true or just temple poetry, I couldn't tell you. But the substance is real, and the Republic can't function without it."

"Every shackle uses it. Wards too." Safira drank. "Templar weapons. Republic engines. Half the damn country runs on Eitr." Her smile thinned. "And the roots don't like ordinary people touching them."

Idonea knew of Eitr, poisonous venom roots. Nellith had spoken of wyrm blood hardening into roots through the earth, but it was the first time she'd heard it being used, or grown.

Up close, Idonea spied the brass pin upon Safira’s blouse, her pirate clan mark. A circular cog enclosed a skeletal crow with a clock for one of its eye sockets. Even those in Draugaros knew that symbol, the Clockwork Crows. Stories of how they’d crushed pirates who ferried slaves, sending many airships tumbling into the waters below.

Safira’s slender finger slid under Idonea’s chin, forcing her eyes up to meet hers.

“Lesson one. Walk as if nothing bothers you.” She gestured back to the table. “You should eat before it chills.”

Idonea’s fingers curled into her palms. Her physicality had no bearing on the power that shimmered underneath her flesh. Others had underestimated her before.

Safira watched Idonea eat, but they stayed in silence.

“Head back to your cabin,” Safira said, as Idonea took a large gulp of the wine. “Kerem will fetch you tomorrow. Then we’ll start.”

Idonea laid her napkin next to the plate. “Thank you.”