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Krylovan wasn’t built to accommodate an airship regularly.
Kitsa stepped up beside her. “Never seen one here before.”
“A Republic ship?”
She nodded, lips pressed thin. A shudder slid down Idonea’s spine.
The witches were gathering in cautious clusters. The Templars hovered, restless as they scanned the square. On the far edge, she spotted Elzhbeta. She watched the airship's descent with a stillness that was not shock, but calculated.
A prickle stirred at the back of Idonea's neck.
Lysander scrambled up a ladder onto the stable’s roof. Snow drifted off the shingles as he hauled himself over the edge.
Kitsa pulled at her hand. “Let’s go closer.”
Idonea allowed herself to be pulled, though her stomach tightened with every step. A nearby Templar immediately shadowed their approach, posture rigid.
Above them, thick ropes uncoiled from the belly of the airship, dropping down. Lysander moved with deliberate confidence, catching the first rope and hooking it through a metal ring embedded in the beams. He braced his weight and pulled, calling out to Alcaeus, who strode towards the stables.
Idonea’s gaze lifted to the vessel looming overhead. Its silhouette resembled the Clockwork Crows’ craft, except this one gleamed. Gold filigree curled across the hull in sharp, ornate arcs. It didn't look like something meant for travel. It looked like something meant to impress—or intimidate.
The underside of the ship split open, a wooden platform descended with ropes levering it at each corner. Snow whirled around it, caught in its downward draft.
Kitsa’s breath hitched. “Look, it’s just one person.” She bounced on her toes.
She couldn't feel what Kitsa felt.
Lysander, now crouched near the platform’s landing point, steadied the ropes as it neared the roof. Alcaeus climbed the ladder to stand on the roof with Lysander. The platform came to a rest, but Idonea couldn’t hear what they said.
“Idonea,” Alcaeus called and waved her over.
Her eyes widened. Kitsa’s fingers released her hand, and leant over to whisper, “You’re strong.” Fear tightened slowly beneath her ribs.
She stopped at the bottom of the ladder and glanced up; she swallowed hard. Her eyes darted to the path leading out of town. Two Templars stood with straight backs.
Lysander appeared at the top of the ladder. “Do you need a hand?”
She clenched her jaw and took hold of one rung. The higher she got, the greater the unease settling over her. She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking of what would happen if she fell backwards — of what object would be waiting to impale her.
Hands clamped under her shoulders and pulled her up. She opened her eyes to see Alcaeus’ face pulled tight with worry. She wiped away a single tear and avoided looking back down at the ground.
The man on the platform was another Templar.
“Are you okay?” asked Alcaeus.
Idonea cleared her throat. “What are they here for?”
Lysander stood close, his hand resting near his sword, his face rigid.
“The High Hierophant has summoned your presence,” Alcaeus said. “I’ll come with you.”
She glanced up at the ship. “He can’t come down?”
Alcaeus shook his head. “Be civil, and it’ll be fine.”
“Promise you haven’t told him about the relic?”
“I’ve said it before,” Alcaeus said, “but I’ll do anything to keep you safe.”
