Despite the vast fleet of fishing vessels arrayed along the coast, they struggled to find a charter that would take them to the capital. The merchant ships, Jasper discovered, sailed at set times around the lake, making the circuit from the capital to each of the five cities in turn. And they, apparently, had just missed the boat.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he fumed, as they marched down the docks yet again in search of transport. “Look at all these boats. There must be two hundred, three hundred easy, with more out to sea right now, and you’re telling me none of them will take us to the capital?”

Annatta shrugged. “If we leave soon, we can take the road from Qarānu to the capital and still make it in time.”

“Yes, but a boat would be nicer,” he countered. As much as he appreciated Dapplegrim, after a few weeks of riding on a horse - hell, after a few days - Jasper was more than happy for a break. Horses were magnificent, noble creatures. They were not, however, the most comfortable ride in the world for someone who had spent the majority of their life accustomed to cars.

“What about that boat?” Ihra pointed off into the distance and Jasper strained his eyes, struggling to make out the fuzzy outline on the far side of the harbor. “It doesn’t look like a fishing boat, at least.”

“Then let’s check it out,” he agreed.

It took nearly an hour to push their way through the crowd, but as the boat drew into view, Jasper was relieved to see that Ihra was right. It was no fishing boat nor, for that matter, was it a pleasure yacht. Its sides were glossy from a fresh coat of whitewash, and an ivory banner adorned with the rays of the sun fluttered from its mast. The ship's deck was scrubbed clean, and an endless stream of crew raced back and forth along the gangplank, their arms piled high with luggage.

A handful of people were gathered on the deck, each wearing a clean white uniform marked by the same emblem adorning the sails.

Annatta’s face brightened as she saw the group, leaning over to Jasper. “They are Priests of the Divine Warrior. Their main temple is near the capital city, so perhaps we can catch a ride with them. I’ll handle the negotiations - just stay here,” she whispered.

Not giving Jasper time to object, she rode ahead of the two. Reluctantly, Jasper stayed behind, watching with curiosity as the Djinn dealt with the priests. She was like a different person. She had been depressed on their trip, her sobs drifting past the thin fabric of her tent every night, but all of that dropped away as the Djinn charmed the white-robed warriors with swaying hips and coy glances. She returned quickly, an unfamiliar smile on her face.

“I was right - the priests are indeed heading to the capital and have agreed to let us tag along for a small fee. There is one catch, though. They aren’t headed directly to S̆addānu. They’re stopping first at the temple of Tzah-Nūr.”

Jasper frowned. “Where’s that?”

Annatta cocked her head, her lips parted in undisguised surprise. “How do you not know that? Tzah-Nūr is the only temple on the only major island in the lake, and you aren’t familiar with it? Where did you grow up again?”

Glad his ruddy cheeks hid his embarrassment, Jasper dodged her question. “Forget I asked. Will we still make it to the capital in time?”

After another moment of confusion, the Djinn nodded.“Yeah, even if the priests stay at Tzah-Nūr for a few days, we should be fine. It’s a much quicker journey by boat than by land.”

He glanced at Ihra, and his friend shrugged her shoulders. “Why not? Maybe we’ll get to do a little sightseeing along the way.” She opened up her bag of holding, looking back at Annatta. “How much is the fee.”

“Twenty gold coins. Per head." Jasper almost choked. “I thought you said it was cheap.”

Annatta shrugged. “The capital’s expensive, as you should know. Anyway, by the time we pay for inns along the way, we won’t save much going by land.”

Ihra fished the money out, handing it off to Annatta who, after a moment’s quick counting, held out her hand for me. “Per head,” she repeated.

A baffled expression crossed Ihra’s face. “There’s three of us, so sixty coins, which I gave you.”

Annatta shook her head, rubbing Keresh’s head gently. “No, there’s six of us. You, me, Jasper, and our mounts. We need another sixty.”

With more than a touch of irritation, Jasper watched as Annatta carted their hard-earned spoils off to the priests. 120 gold coins for a single trip was madness. Madness! But it was the only ship they’d found willing to take on passengers, so his hands were tied. The last thing he wanted to do was risk pissing off the royal family by arriving late over a few gold coins.

With the exchange complete, the crew of the ship waved them over. The mounts were quickly settled in with the priests’ horses, and they were shown to their room. Singular.

Jasper’s lip curled in disgust as he surveyed the cramped room meant to accommodate all of them. Two hammocks were slung against the wall, but there was no third; somebody would be sleeping on the floor. 120 coins and there isn’t even a bed for all of us.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

But as the ship sailed out of the harbor and the suffocating smells of ripening fish were replaced by a warm, salty breeze, Jasper could feel his spirits lifting. As the bright light of the sun kissed the top of his head, while his hair rippled in the soothing breeze, the horrors of Nahas̆s̆innu faded into the distance, for a time at least. Sometimes, the simple pleasures of life were the best ones.

It took no more than two days for them to cross the sea from Qarānu to the island on which the temple of Tzah-Nūr sat. The western winds blew briskly at their back, propelling them across the placid waters of the lake.

In truth, it was closer to an inland sea. Despite the perpetual crystal-clear water that flowed down from the mountains, the lake was slightly salty. Worthless for irrigating the hot southern plains, the lake still provided a bounty of food from the enormous schools of fish that roamed the ravines and caverns that lined the lake’s surprisingly distant depths.

The priests largely kept to themselves, but the ship's crew was friendly enough, happy to chat with Jasper over the long hours he spent on the deck enjoying the sun and the spray of the sea.

Temples in Corsythia were a dime a dozen. Every city had at least a few, and Jasper had seen more than a few magnificent ones in his brief sojourn in the land. But the temple of Tzah-Nūr broke his every expectation. Eschewing the domes and brightly colored walls of the vaguely Romanesque architecture so common in the land, Tzah-Nūr proved to be altogether different. Surrounded on all sides by a massive walled courtyard, a single square tower soared above the lake, its sides gently sloping in, save for the series of balustrades that encircled it at regular intervals. At the top was a large, open-air temple in which a great fire perpetually burned. It was essentially a lighthouse, just at a far grander scale than he had ever seen.

A bustling settlement had sprung up around the temple, although, judging from the sea of white robes with sunburst emblems, the majority of the crowd seemed to belong to the same order as the priests. But the true marvel of the island was not the temple that guarded its harbor, but the caves that lay below. Succumbing to Annatta’s relentless pleading, the priests let them enter the sacred salt caves - once they had purchased and donned the robes of pilgrims, that is.

Millennia of mining had delved deep into the heart of the earth, but no monsters lurked in the shadows here - indeed, there were no shadows to be seen in the caves. Thousands of rune-enchanted sconces lined the walls, their lights reflecting off the white and pink crystals that had been left behind by the miners. Elaborate sculptures had been carved into the salt, decorating the many chambers, halls, and chapels which were guarded by the priests, while in the depths below, miners still labored.

Ihra, as it turned out, had been right. It was indeed a lovely sightseeing trip. By the time they left the island on the third day, after a day spent relaxing in hot springs that overlooked the salty lake, Jasper no longer regretted spending the 120 coins. They had been worth every cent.

But as he sailed toward the capital, he couldn’t quite shake the worry that ate at his heart. Jasper didn’t know what to expect from the capital city, from the royal family, from the cult of Nahrēmah. And frankly, he was worried he was going to screw it up. His lack of knowledge was a real Achille’s heel, and he could already tell that Annatta was suspicious of him. How was he going to bluff everyone? He could only trust that Lord S̆arrābī had a plan.

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

Lord S̆arrābī paced back and forth in his study, his fists clenched tightly at his side. His eyes drifted back to the report he had just read.

It couldn't be. It simply couldn't.

Reluctantly, he picked up the letter again, racing through the few simple questions.

Love played second fiddle to duty when one was royalty but, despite that, he had loved Da'iqta a great deal. His baby sister had always been a bit headstrong, a hopeless romantic whose dreams were filled with running away from her duties to live a life of adventure beyond the mountains. At his intercession, she had been allowed to join the cult of Nahrēmah in the hopes that the group's battle junkie lifestyle would fill her desires.

It had been a terrible mistake.

She had met that seraph bastard there, his honeyed words filling her head with nonsense. And then, the inevitable had happened. Dai'qta had hidden her pregnancy as long as possible, but such a secret could not stay hidden forever. The dumb bastard who knocked her up no doubt thought his meal ticket was punched, but their father would never allow the union. She had been shuffled off to a small town in the south of the province, while S̆arrābī was away dealing with a monster infestation bothering the outskirts of Ya'aqir.

It was only when he had returned that he learned of his sister's death in childbirth and, with her, the child as well. Unable to do anything further, he had made sure the seraph paid the price.

All that was in the past, though, or at least it had been until the king summoned him a few months ago. S̆arrābī had been upset when the king detailed his plan to pass off Nahrēmah's protege as S̆arrābī's nephew, but he had lived with it. Duty came first, and he shared the king's worry about the empire's situation. No matter what the southern nobles might think, the Djinns' security depended on imperial armies. If the empire fell, they would not last forever on their own. So, he had made his peace with the king's proposal, despite the shame it brought to Da'iqta's memory.

Then he had met the lad. It had been all he could do to keep his composure in the meeting.

Nahrēmah had told them that her protege was a summoned, someone who, despite his Djinn appearance, was not really of their world. It explained why the king was interested in claiming him; the summoned were stronger their most, especially if taken from a world where magic was barely used.

But Jasper was the spitting image of his sister. Her face stared back at him; his eyes danced with the same flicker of annoyance when S̆arrābī tried to tell him what to do, the lad acting with the same obstinate refusal to just obey orders that his sister always had. Shaken, S̆arrābī had caved to Jasper's demands, giving him the freedom to make his own way to the capital, a concession he had almost instantly regretted.

He had tried to dismiss the questions. After, it simply wasn't possible. The Djinn, despite his appearance, was a summoned. But as the lord made the journey back to S̆addānu, he found himself unable to shake the tiny sliver of doubt that had crept into his heart. Was the king playing some sick game with him? Could it really be his sister's son?

Eventually, he succumbed to his doubts, quietly dispatching one of his agents to the town where his sister had died. He just needed to be sure. But not now he was less sure than ever. The agent had quietly arranged for the tombs to be exhumed. He needn't have bothered though. Both graves were empty.

With a sigh, S̆arrābī settled into his chair, staring dully at his agent's letter. Maybe Jasper was really his nephew, maybe he wasn't, but one thing was now clear.

He had been lied to from the start and maybe - he could barely allow himself to think the thought, but hope bloomed in his chest nonetheless - Da'iqta wasn't really dead. But if she wasn't dead, then where had she gone?