Jiro paced his room at the inn and went over the things he learned about Alet. She couldn't remember her past, not even her name. She was strong, her strength incomprehensible. She was too young, but Eskolar Kida's description had been right—a young female soldier at the age of six over her first decade.

He always had certainty in his tracking abilities. He followed the trail, and he found her. But this was different from what he was used to, unlike tracking a nouse where he could tell what he was searching for by its prints. Alet was not one of the animals he learned about in field guides, and he doubted her identity even with proof.

He stopped pacing and decided to try to talk to Alet again, getting dressed and going to the tavern below, where he found the tall tavern maid standing behind the bar.

"Beautiful blue skies," she greeted him when he landed at the bottom of the stairs.

Jiro never learned her name, but sometimes he heard Piriu call out the girls—Alet, Kiracka, and Atar—but he wasn't sure who was who, except for the first.

"Beautiful blue skies," he greeted back. "Is Alet around?"

"Gone out," the maid answered. "Don't know where."

He considered asking Piriu, but he thought otherwise. The conversation he heard between the innkeeper and the tavern maid still disgusted him. He couldn't bear to speak with the man with such thoughts in his head.

He could wait for Alet to return, but he'd rather go out to find her.

He headed to the market first, where he saw her that day he followed her—grateful that she didn't slit his throat. The feel of her cold knife was still fresh in his mind, and the small cut she made on his neck, though heeled, remained a faint white line.

The market was bustling as usual. People nudged him from every direction with their elbows or trades as he made his way to the same spot he'd seen Alet. It was near the stall selling knives and other small weapons.

Jiro wore his salakot on his head, keeping the rim over his eyes and making it difficult to look around. But it kept his face from burning under the hot sun and kept him hidden from other Aradacko who could be nearby.

Mariko had tried to kill him in Kata—he could never get it out of his mind. Though he wished he could stop hiding, he wasn't about to let himself become prey again. Lax was a thing he couldn't afford, especially since he was not trained to defend himself.

He came to the stall that sold knives, but there was no sign of Alet, and the market had become busier—crowded with too many people, smelling of sweat.

He took a stroll around, keeping alert for the other flyers but staying focused on his search for Alet. Where would she go?

He followed a trail that led him away from most engagements, and he was glad for his height. If not for it, he would have drowned between the shoulders of men and women engrossed only in making money.

When he reached the edge of the bazaar and came into a residential area, he came across some children playing on the dirt road. They ran around the street without care, dust billowing in their haste. Their shouts and their laughter mirrored the market's noise, imitated by younger voices.

One child, a girl, swept by Jiro and nearly knocked into him, then ran off again without an apology—not even a glance.

A woman who stood in front of a house nearby sighed and shook her head. "These children are a punishment from the old kings," the woman said, looking to her neighbors. "We'll never get any peace around here," she mumbled as she swept the grime off the steps to her front door.

Jiro admitted that living on this street would be annoying. This was not how he grew up. The Aradacko children didn't upset the houses on the cliffs because they were down below on the grounds, still learning how to make their Lifts. Living on the face of a tepui was quite peaceful, and he wished some of that peace for the woman now—a place where she could be alone would do good for her wrinkly frown.

Alet liked to be alone, too, Jiro recalled. She had told him so when they first met on the roof of the inn. She liked being up there so she could be away from everything. He smiled at the memory—Alet allowed Jiro to stay as she sat on the roof to keep him company.

Then Jiro had a thought.

Where would Alet go in this city to be alone?

And Jiro sprinted to the shore.

He passed through a line of stalls canopied with dusty fabrics and raced between tightly knit houses. He made a small Lift on his feet—gliding—only his toes touched the ground, and he ran faster. His hand grabbed the rim of his salakot to keep it from falling off his head.

The sun stayed high when he reached the shore, but the darkness of the island of Bickra glazed the beach with a gloomy ambiance. At first, Jiro guessed that Alet had gone to the island, but he saw her on the shore—a figure sitting on the blackened sand, a few steps from the soft waving water.

She curled into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest. And as she watched the sea, the wind blew her hair from her face. Her Dakawa eyes looked far, and Jiro wondered what she could be thinking.

He stopped on the ruined dock to study her. Her bare feet dug shallow on the sand, sandals removed and set aside. Her trousers soaked to the knees, and the sleeves of her tunic rolled up to her elbows.

The shore was empty like the first time he had visited here. Empty and dead.

Taking a deep breath, Jiro mustered the courage to walk up to her, hoping not to startle her. He stepped off the boards and strode on the black sand, feet sinking after each other.

Alet didn't turn to look as he came close behind her, but as if she had sensed his presence, she asked, "Are you following me again?"

Jiro didn't stop, he continued until he aligned with her, and he sat down on the sand, crossing his legs and facing the ocean. The dampness of the cold sand seeped through his trousers.

They sat there for a long while, watching Bickra—a shadow floating in the blackened sea.

"Yes, I'm following you," Jiro said after a long while. Her question had already rolled away with the waves, but his answer brought it back up. He stole a glance at her, and she smirked.

Her head turned to him, green and blue eyes staring. "You're lucky I'm not in the mood to cut any throats today," she said before she turned away.

"Are you alright?" Jiro asked, and he heard her inhale a deep breath and then sigh.

"I think I was with him when I saw the light. I don't remember much of anything, but I remember his face and his name." Alet's voice was low as a whisper, and it blended with the hushing of the water. "I saw the beam of light flash into the sky. Then I was looking into his eyes. They were so blue." A short laugh escaped her lips, and she shook her head. "Maybe I only imagined it all."

Jiro swallowed. He guessed she was talking about Kapitan Garvan, but he didn't know what to say.

"Tell me about the flyers," Alet said. Her tone changed, and she spoke with more vitality.

He looked at her as she propped her chin on her knees. "Well, we can fly." He smiled and let the wind blow his salakot off, tumbling on his back and hanging by its lace over his neck. The humid breeze ruffled the curls of his hair.

Alet raised a brow at him. "You've already established that fact," she said, unamused. "How can you fly?"

That was a difficult question to answer. He never asked why the Aradacko could fly. It was a natural thing. It was like asking the sun why it rose every morning. "Centuries ago, all Darackans could fly, but that slowly changed, and before the line of the old kings ended, families were birthing Wingless. That's what we call people who can't fly but are born to flyer families. They still have the silver eyes," he pointed at his face, "but their children won't. The color of our eyes signifies our power. The number of flyers kept dwindling over generations, and only a few of us are left now. The last of our kind are living in Aradack. It's an island in the north."

"I've heard of that. I also heard that you people don't leave your island unless you're a Wingless." A wrinkle formed between her brows. "People talked about flyers fighting here during the war. You mentioned the Rakitt Maharlika. What are they?" Alet asked.

Jiro reached for the hilt of his kampit hanging from his side. Alet watched as his hand moved. "The Rakitt Maharlika are warriors. Rakitt is the old Darackan word for sky. So they are like the Sky Warriors. We were a powerful nation when the old kings still reigned, and Daracka was an old kingdom. The Rakitt Maharlika were the greatest force of the army, and Daracka was untouchable." He unsheathed the blade, and Alet flinched, but she didn't move. She only kept her eyes on the sharp edge.

"And your father was a Rakitt Maharlika, you said?"

Jiro raised the knife, fitting the hilt on his palm. The blade caught his reflection—its sharp end bowed in a deadly curve. "This was my father's. It's a kampit. Only given to a Rakitt Maharlika. He had a high rank among them."

"Are you one of them?"

"Me?" Jiro gave out a nervous laugh. "No. No, I'm not." Then he placed the knife back into its sheath, tucking it to his belt and reminding himself that it was not his. He clenched his jaw at the thought and looked away from Alet, trying to hide the sudden change in his mood.

But if Alet saw anything different, she didn't give it notice, not saying a word about it. When he fell quiet, so did she.

For a time, Jiro had forgotten why he was looking for Alet. He didn't intend to console her about the loss of her memory. He only wanted to ensure she was the soldier he was looking for, and after this conversation, he was convinced. The next thing he needed to do now was to bring her to Kazima, to the Kahani.

"What's in it for you," Alet asked as if she read his mind.

"What?"

She pushed herself from the sand and stood up. She picked up her sandals and let them dangle from her fingers. "Why are you looking for me?" she asked. A cold familiar stare returned to her face.

Jiro stood too, and he towered over her. For a moment, he doubted her identity again.

She had the build of a fragile young girl. The wind blew her hair aside, showing her Dakawa eyes and the peak of the scar on her temple. Her cheeks flushed as she raised her chin to meet his gaze.

"The Kahani hired me," Jiro finally said. "She's the one looking for you. There are others like me. Our order is to find you and take you to Kazima."

"Why is she looking for me?" Something vicious grew in Alet's eyes.

"We were only told that she wanted to commend you for your great service during the war," Jiro explained, threatened by the savagery that came to her eyes.

"And you believe that?" she said.

Jiro blinked and thought. "I don't doubt the Kahani," he said, but it was a lie. He was unconvinced that the intent was only to commend Alet for her service as a soldier. There had to be more to it.

"You're a bad liar," Alet said. Her eyes narrowed, and she raised her chin higher, daring. "And what if I don't want to go to Kazima?"

Jiro hadn't thought this through. He never realized that Alet could elude the Kahani's wishes. "But you're a soldier. You must serve."

Alet snorted a laugh. "I'm no longer a soldier, and I serve no one. Especially not some rotten royal who left her soldiers to die," her voice rose, the viciousness in her eyes now reflecting in her tone. "I was washed ashore with no clothes and no memory, but no one came looking for me then. I was on the streets begging for months. No one came for me then," she snarled.

Her words struck him. She was so young, and yet she had gone through so much. "I'm sorry," he said, and something in the way he said it made Alet jerk back as if he burned her. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Alet huffed another laugh of disbelief. "What are you sorry for?"

"I didn't realize that you—" suffered so much. he couldn't say it. "I'm sorry. I share your sorrow."

"I have no sorrow," Alet said, her voice cold and sharp.

Jiro didn't believe her. The lie was evident in her eyes. Though it was brief and mixed with her rage, it was there. How could she be as hard as a rock about it? The fury in her face faded, and she returned to being a stone.

"But don't you at least want to know why the Kahani is looking for you now?" Jiro managed to ask.

She gave an uncaring stare. "No," she said and stepped back. Turning from him, she began to walk away.

Jiro followed her. The sand squished beneath his boots, and his legs exerted effort. He created a Lift under his heels to ease his strides, and he came to walk beside her on the black sand. "Don't you want to know your past?"

Alet stopped and turned to face him; her brows rose with surprise. "What do you mean?" she asked, pronouncing each word heavily.

Jiro stopped abruptly, diminishing the Lift in his legs and burying his boots deep in the sand. Alet glanced down, but then she ignored it and looked up at him again.

"Well," he said, trying to figure out what to say. "There must be a reason why the Kahani wants you at the palace. It must relate to who you were in the past. Maybe you're a long-lost princess."

Alet laughed.

"Alright, I heard what I said. Of course, you're not a princess." Jiro wiggled each of his boots from the sand to free his legs.

Alet stopped laughing and stared.

"But think about it," Jiro continued. "Maybe your parents had been petitioning to look for you for years, and the Kahani only approved it recently. Or maybe Kapitan Garvan is alive but crippled, and he can't go out to look for you, so they hired us."

Alet's eyes widened. The wind stilled, and her hair fell on her face, hiding her green eye and the scar on her temple.

He finally got his feet free, and before she could speak, he added, "There has to be a reason." His voice was firm. "Think about it."

They stood facing each other on the black sand. Alet parted her lips like she was about to say something, but she clamped it shut, looking down and shaking her head. She pressed a palm to the back of her neck. "Piriu would never let me go," she said.

Her answer surprised Jiro. "Why are you worried about what he wants?" He heard the hint of anger in his voice.

"He saved me," Alet said, still rubbing the back of her neck. Then she dropped her hand, and her shoulder slumped. "He found me when I was begging on the streets. He saved me and gave me a room to sleep in and food to eat. He gave me work."

"I think you've paid him more than enough for that," Jiro said, unable to hide his revulsion. A flash of Tatri's face came to his mind, but he shook it away. No, Alet is different.

Alet hesitated. Something boiled over her face—fear. "What do you mean?" She asked eventually, but how she stared at him showed she knew exactly what he meant.

"I know what he does to you," Jiro admitted, trying to calm his tone. The more he stared at her face, the more rage gripped him. She was not even a woman yet. She had gone through war. She served the kingdom with her life. Yet her situation now was her only prize. She deserved better.

Creases grew between Alet's brows, and she set her lips in a determined line. The wind blew again at her hair. Her eyes—one as bright as the blue sky and the other enchanting as the turquoise clear waters of the sea. The scar on her temple peered with anger. "I'm not going to ask you how you know." She inclined her head in a single nod. "Meet me on the roof tonight."

.