I said, “I just don’t think the garters stand any chance at all. I mean, you name yourself after the most harmless snake, and do you expect anyone to take you seriously?”

“It’s just a name,” said the drake. “And, well, I think garter snakes are cute.” He rolled his head at me.

“They are cute. It’s just, a Dim-Fflamio team shouldn’t be cute, they should be fierce.”

I looked up. We’d walked a dozen strides or less from that edge of the market where all the guards were milling, but even that was enough to free up the light from clouds, and let it fall playfully across the gravelly emptiness.

Big buttes and cliffs like afterthoughts gave the land around here structure, but that was just more space for Hinte to go storm off into, or whatever it was. Digrif and I craned our heads all around, peering at the big rocky things. For maybe the fifth time a skink or monitor on the cliff darted about, and I jumped like I’d found something.

Despite the buttes, this place was lousy with trenches and edges. I peered over one, and a long-dead wildcat rotted down there. I held my tongue and walked on.

Digrif was leading the way. At least I could steal away in conversation with him, even if we were aimed at Hinte. What else was there? Trying to be invested, on my own, amongst the guards who glared and muttered at me?

“Hey,” came a voice, and there also came a poke. A wing patted my shoulder. “Cheer up. Everything’ll be fine right when we’re back with Hinte.” The handsome gray drake smiled, and dawn take me if there still wasn’t a shiver from that, slithering up from my tail.

I looked down and away, buried my gaze in one of the trenches around here, and stepped in some direction. Digrif followed after me.

“Don’t believe her act.” he added, late. “Hinte hates being alone. We all do.”

I tossed my head, but watched him from my sight’s edge. He just hitched his wings, and started away, leading again. I sighed. Digrif cared, but he wouldn’t push. No one would.

Then Digrif tripped off a trench edge, fell plop down the ground and you had to laugh. I slinked over and Digrif was fine and laughing too.

I jumped down after him, into a trench big enough to be a gully. I looked around⁠ ⁠—

“Ah!” I yelled and half-fell over.

Crouched and leaning against the trench wall, there was a scarlet cliff-dweller limply holding, in his forefoot, a long aluminum sword. Behind him lay a covered forms⁠ ⁠—⁠ one of the bodies being guarded⁠ ⁠—⁠ while beside the cliff-dweller the pink-scaled drake, his head craned up like a sunflower. On the other side of them, some gravel disturbed like footprints.

Already Digrif had found some kind of bow. “Rhyfel the younger-sofran!”

I hitched my wings and I glanced at the pink drake. “Ceian. You get around quickly.”

“It helps to be going somewhere.” He grinned like it was funny. At least now he wasn’t grinning like Rhyfel in a cheap mirror⁠ ⁠—⁠ but it probably wasn’t out of any newfound discretion.

Rhyfel stabbed the aluminum sword in the ground, and it only leant over a little bit. He nodded at us and said, “Yo Kinri, Digrif. Don’t think I got a chance to say good job with the thieves, but it was. Keep it up and you could be guard material.” Then his voice slipped low, and he muttered something.

Hopping up from his bow, Digrif said, “Thanks!”

I only flicked my tongue. “What was that you said?”

A little smile. “Ah, nothing. Saying we’ll need it, going by the scent of things with the humans.”

A gray-scaled head was tilted. “You don’t think Adwyn-sofran’s plan is going to work?”

“Nah, I don’t.” Rhyfel glanced between us. “And get yourselves out of the sun. It’s cool in the shade.”

A little closer to the high guard, he was saying to us, “Don’t get me twisted, I love the fella, he’s good, but he plays Skirm”⁠ ⁠—⁠ Rhyfel waved a wing⁠ ⁠—⁠ “where you take turns, follow rules, and⁠ ⁠—⁠ let’s face it⁠ ⁠—⁠ no one plays it as good in the cliffs.”

“I don’t know Skirm.”

“It’s just another war game. You play one, you played then all. Point is, Adwyn doesn’t expect much out of his obstacles⁠ ⁠—⁠ definitely not smarts. He fucked up with the thieves.”

“Did you expect any more of them?”

…Was I defending Adwyn? Maybe today’s would turn out as dense and strange as last night. It almost has.

A head turned⁠ ⁠—⁠ Ceian’s. He frowned at me.

Rhyfel licked a brille. “Adwyn called down the storm himself when decided to go shop in the middle of a mission. There’s confidence, and that’s too much of it.”

“I mean, he trusted your guard,” I said softly, looking away, and darting my tongue out. The pink drake now outright scowled at me.

“My guard was tricked and lied to.”

“Hey, maybe we shouldn’t argue,” said Digrif. “It’s all done, isn’t it?”

Ceian dropped his scowled and nodded at Digrif. “Yeah, let’s cullet the circling talk.”

I spat on the ground. “So. What were you two talking about?”

Ceian flicked a tongue toward Rhyfel. “Asking the big guy here about the past. Pretty slick history. You wouldn’t know.” He glanced at the warm-gray drake and back. “‘So anyway, why does everyone calling you Rhyfel the younger like we’re about to forget? The elder’s pretty old and dead, ain’t he?”

“It’s kinda an odd thing to stress,” I added.

Rhyfel paused for a beat, a long beat, then spoke quiet. “It’s just about your name being synonymous with a traitor. Kinri, you’d know all about it, I reason. Nothing too deep to it.” He tossed his scarlet head. “Just have to distance yourself from it, be your own person.”

“And you still end up feeling like nothing’s changed at all.” I nodded at him.

Rhyfel gave me a real smile and looked close with those too-black eyes, saying, “Gwymr/Frina’s good for that.”

“Good for feeling that way, or good not feeling that way?”

He only laughed.

I growled, but tossed my head. “Of course none of you are going to be straightforward. It’s like Adwyn is contagious.” I pushed gravel for a breath cycle. “So. Adwyn was saying he has you at the table for whatever his schemes are.”

" ‘Course he does. I may look cliff-dweller⁠ ⁠—⁠ well, I am⁠ ⁠—⁠ but I’m Dyfnderi. Mostly cause old Rhyfel’s housename meant we weren’t exactly allowed in Gwymr/Frina with our heads still on. Treason’ll do that.” A savage grin. “Really, I was just tellin Ceian how Mlaen found and dragged me back to the cliffs. It’s a story.”

Before he could continue the first short ring chimed.

So Rhyfel took his sword out of the gravel, and said. “But it tastes like I have to go about now. See you at the gate.”

“Okay.” I looked down, at where his sword had been before my gaze drifted, caught what I’d missed, and I said, “Hey wait, there were three prints in the gravel here, who was⁠ ⁠—”

“I was wondering when you’d notice,” said a voice, jaggedly.

I heard the heavy fall onto gravel behind me, and I didn’t turn. “Guess that’s our search. Hi, Hinte.”

“I couldn’t hide from you, could I?” She stepped forward, and I chose to turn. She muttered something about being narrowly perceptive.

A very small smile sneaked onto my lips, and I replied, “You found me first.” I didn’t like how nostalgic I felt, and I blamed it on Rhyfel.

Digrif was watching with a more open smile, slinking over the black-cloaked wiver. Ceian over there was gawking at Hinte, some smile working onto his face.

“Are you here to apologize?” she asked us.

I met orange eyes. “Nope!”

She turned away at that. The wiver paused there, before she started walking away, toward that ramp-like path out of the gully. “Good,” she said.

It was a thought, untangling breath before I realized I could follow after her.

Digrif was stepping after her too, murmuring, “Hinte doesn’t make any sense.”

I glanced at the dark-green wiver, and then back at him. “I think she likes it that way.”

----------------------------------------

I didn’t really know where to put myself. Where to stand with Hinte had always came easy⁠ ⁠—⁠ maybe I trailed after her, maybe I’d bounce in step beside her⁠ ⁠—⁠ but now I had to think about it, and that was what awkward was.

So I walked beside Digrif. The warm-gray drake was trailing resistantly after her⁠ ⁠—⁠ right now he followed behind her, but he’d sidle forth as if warming up to something before it fizzled out.

After a few of these, I chose to walk up beside her myself. “Hey Hinte,” I started. Digrif wanted to apologize, but I… didn’t know. Was it my fault she hid away? “About earlier, um, you see…"

Hinte didn’t turn. Her strides grew quicker.

At least it wasn’t a long walk back to the alley. The clouds were still drawing in from the east, but it seemed a temporary thing, looking at the horizon.

A little bit of time passed.

“So Hinte, d’you hear faer’s speech?” The warm-gray drake finally found it in him to stay beside her.

“No. It was not worth my time.”

“Hinte! That’s disrespectful. It was the faer.”

“I mean, she’s kinda right?” I started. “It was for the guards mostly. It doesn’t really affect us.”

“Still, it could have been important.”

I shook my head, and told the wiver, “Mlaen mostly just yelled at the guards for losing the bodies.”

“Good,” said Hinte. “Someone needed to place the guard. They’re a mess.”

We walked on awhile, and then we were back at the lip of the market. You started seeing guards again.

“So. What were you doing with Rhyfel?”

“Talking. He is not as tongueless as he acts.”

“Well, of course,” Digrif said. “He’s the high guard! He’s the one who stands between Gwymr/Frina and lawless chaos.”

“You wouldn’t know by meeting him.”

“That’s just because he knows how to have fun instead being all serious all the time.” Digrif drew his wings close. “You two could learn from him.”

"…I’m fun,” I said, and the warm-gray drake smiled. With an alula he poked me, and I bounced a little.

Hinte was saying, “This is a mission. It is serious.”

Digrif didn’t smirk because Digrif doesn’t smirk⁠ ⁠—⁠ but it wasn’t simply a smile. “Well, I disagree⁠ ⁠—⁠ this isn’t a mission. We’re waiting for the real mission to start, the one the faer says’ll go the best among us. You two, probably.”

I laughed, enough that I had to pull a wing over my mouth and Hinte was peering at me.

“Regardless,” she started, “if not to apologize why did you two find me?”

I flicked my tongue, but it was Digrif who replied:

“Because we’re friends,” he said.

Hinte held the drake’s gaze for a while, before her line of a mouth grew very, intentionally flat, and she turned to step away.

“So,” I said, looking between the two of them. “Where are we going now?” I gazed to where the trumpeters had cleared out. “I say we find Adwyn.”

“No.” Hinte turned around to say this. Digrif watched, scratching his cheek.

“Why not?” I asked. “He said he was figuring out what’s up with Mlaen, and doing some scheming⁠ ⁠—⁠ we should find out.” But I saw Hinte was already shaking her head. “Is this about what he said earlier? Maybe he’ll apologize.”

“I don’t want apologies.”

Digrif stepped forward. “Well, how about this: Kinri can go find out what Adwyn’s up to, and Hinte can go back and see what Rhyfel had to leave for.”

“And you?” she asked.

“Well… I stayed with Kinri last time, maybe I can go with you this time?”

Please stay.

Hinte glanced at me first. She said, “Do what you want.”

“It’s only fair,” he said. “Is that alright with you, Kinri?”

“It’s⁠ ⁠—⁠ fine. Maybe he’ll tell me more without anyone else there. We’ve got some kinda alliance thing.”

Hinte still frowned at me. She breathed in, and it felt like a sigh as she softly said, “There are worse dragons to ally yourself with.”

“Like who? Bariaeth?”

“Him, or the Specters.”

“But…" I started, “we don’t know that my brother is up to anything bad. Maybe after I explain my alliance with Adwyn he’ll reconsider.”

“Do you even know what your brother wants?”

I looked up. “Maybe? He always⁠ ⁠—⁠ we always said we would change House Specter, fix it. That was when I was going to be Zenith⁠ ⁠—⁠ and I think that’s part of why he wants to help me back.”

Hinte was still. “And everything⁠ ⁠—⁠ everyone you leave here in Gwymr/Frina?”

“I⁠ ⁠—” I lowered my gaze from the sky. At Hinte, I continued, “Um, I didn’t really think of that part. I⁠ ⁠—⁠ don’t think of this stuff much.”

“Tongueless,” she said. Mouth flat, fangs a touch visible, she added, “Would Adwyn be any different? Think about whom you follow and why.”

Hinte stepped back, turned, then stopped. Looked at me. Said, “I told you I wouldn’t walk away again. May I go?”

“If not my brother, and not Adwyn, who am I supposed to follow?”

“Follow your tongue,” said the black-cloaked wiver.

I glanced at Digrif. “I just want to live a simple life,” I murmured.

A distant bird caw cut through the silence, and I finally said to the wiver, “I’ll be⁠ ⁠—⁠ fine. You two just go find out what the high guard is up to. He probably knows when we’re leaving.”

Hinte nodded at me, still peering too intensely out of those eyes that were orange and not black. Before she left, she spoke.

Her voice was faint like a zephyr:

“To be the winds which know no rest

“And wuther restlessly awhile

“Or sough in quiet is a joy

“And is unknown, to still, dead air.”

----------------------------------------

Above, valiantly, the suns beat light on the clouds, and resulted nothing except igniting a little glow.

But the alley was the same in the sky-light, if darker. And it fit, with the dusk breathing down and with how vacant the area was. The guards for the final task must have been selected or something, because the ranks here had shrunk by at least two thirds.

I padded across gravel riddled with growths that were more roots than spouts, and I tended toward that cliff across from the alley to check among the guards.

With my stars, you already knew it wasn’t that simple.

Back at the cliff, most of those guards were still standing around like weeds that listened: Jarce, with the twisted horns, idly clawed the gravel and was grinning at the speaker; the big wiver beside plain-dweller smiled too, subtle, and leatn against the wall; Ceian, somehow already back over here, bounced on his feet, grinning almost savagely (I knew he hadn’t gotten over it); and the prefect was still here, tapping toes, frowning, and looking around as if waiting for the speaker to quiet.

That speaker was Gwynt, black tongue waving, and his wings moved in emphasis for his voice, which sounded half-comedic, half-storyteller, like someone in the cadences of a long joke.

"…And he said, the houses are falling!” Gwynt finished in a high-pitch. The other guards chuckled loosely.

I tended closer; Ceian scowled, but Gwynt smiled me over.

Wrinkling my snout, I said, “I don’t get it.”

“She says,” Jarce started, “having not heard half the⁠ ⁠—”

“Yeah,” Gwynt interrupted, “The high houses are pretty irrelevant these days. You wouldn’t have heard of them.” The interrupted drake only tossed his head.

Jarce was looking at Ceian, muttering, “Who’d have thought when you need daddy Dwylla and his coffers to keep your life together, you don’t know what to do when he’s gone?”

Gwynt chuckled at him. Glancing at me, he said, “Right after Dwylla alighted, everything seemed fine, but after some generations pulled by things got worser and worser for the high houses. There ain’t much left of them, these days. They say you can still find the last scions in bars wailing that the houses are falling!” He clicked.

The big wiver snapped out her wing. “It ain’t Dwylla’s fault, it’s Mlaen’s. Dwylla did right by this place. Mlaen meanwhile is selling this town part by parcel to the gray scales.”

Gwynt now. “Mlaen’s just trying⁠ ⁠—”

“Mlaen ain’t trying ash. Have you seen prices of anything these days? Have you seen what the sifters have to deal with just so their bosses can turn a smidge more profit? And don’t get me started on what they’re selling. I was in the market today and saw a mountain-dweller glass vase. Glass! Can you imagine the nerve they must have, to sell glass to us!”

Gwynt sighed. “Don’t mind this wiver here. She gets worked up on the slightest breeze.”

“I ought to get worked up! This is significant, and Cyfrin ac Dwylla will be so much better off once that red tyrant is off the throne. Bariaeth will lead so much better.”

“Uh, is that the old name of the town? I thought it was recognized as Gwymr/Frina.”

The wiver gave me a grin I didn’t like the taste of. “My voice must have slipped.”

“Nah, you just got too much to drink at the Dadafodd,” said Ceian. “Next thing we’ll see is you in a Dychwelfa gown, singing the glory of Dwylla, I’ll bet my toe.”

Gwynt nudged Ceian. “Don’t do that.”

I flicked my tongue, glancing around. “So uh, this might be a weird thing to ask, but… why was Dwylla so special? Dragons talk about him like he was a⁠ ⁠—⁠ deity.” I saw the prefect perk up, frill flaring, now listening.

“They say Dwylla had two eyes,” Gwynt started.

“I should hope,” replied the prefect.

“Yeah, but you see, one of these eyes was pure black, and the other was pure white. They say he can look right at you and see all of the good and evil in a dragon.”

“And not just that. He was⁠ ⁠—⁠ radiant. A plain-dweller, but with white scales!”

I said, “Like Bariaeth?”

“No no, not like Bariaeth. Dwylla had pure white scales, like the clouds⁠ ⁠—⁠ like a sun. He was something noble. The treasurer is a cheap replica.”

“He says he’s Dwylla’s scion.”

“Then the blood is dirty.”

Ceian muttered, “That ain’t the only part of him that’s dirty.” Jarce laughed him; Gwynt smiled.

“Anyway,” I started, shaking my head, “have any of you seen Adwyn?”

“You checked the alley? Saw him smirk his way over there with the treasurer himself.”

My frills flared, and I lowered my head. He laughed, but instead of mocking you found something inviting in the curl of his frills, something friendly.

“I’ll⁠ ⁠—⁠ go do that.”

He smiled me off. But before I turned in full, he added, “Oh, that’s it⁠ ⁠—⁠ I’ve seen you at the Makao, haven’t I? That inn on the north side?” I nodded. “Small town, ain’t it. Say, you up for some cards later today, after all this? I drop by there for some Wicked Licks most days, me and some friends.”

“That sounds⁠ ⁠—⁠ nice.”

* * *