“The first time I was here was quite the adventure, let me tell you. Almost no one here speaks any human language. A few know a word or two in Arnorgue or Corunglese, and I met one once who was fluent in Folithan of all languages. Alas, that’s not a language I know. In any case, my point is, I didn’t know their language and they didn’t know any of mine, and Lamdir Paydamat wasn’t there at the time to use her magic to make us understood—”

“I don’t like Paydamat,” Sinitïa said.

Gen’s eyes widened. “Why ever not?”

“Because she—”

Meleng nudged Sinitïa and gave her a quick shake of his head.

Sinitïa scowled. “She...I don’t know. I just didn’t like her very much.”

Gen shrugged. “I think once you get to know her, you’ll like her a lot. She can be very helpful, and she’s much more willing to talk to humans than many other Isyar.”

“What does Lamdir mean?” Sinitïa asked.

“Oh.” Gen cleared his throat. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. It’s a kind of noble title, akin to mayor I think.”

Sinitïa mimicked throwing up. “Ugh, so she rules here?”

Gen twisted his head in something halfway between a nod and a shake. “Yes. No. Sort of. There are four Isyar in Chithishtheny with the same title. Except that’s not quite correct either. Remember how I said Isyarian has some very subtle pronunciation distinctions? Those four Isyar apparently do have different titles, but for the life of me, I can’t tell the difference between them. The distinction is subtler than the one between fomase and fomaze.”

“So we could be mispronouncing her title then,” Meleng said.

“It is possible, yes, but she’s never complained so I assume my pronunciation of Lamdir must be close enough.”

“These are too tight,” Sinitïa said, fiddling with her goggles.

When they had left their lodges, an Isyar had arrived with goggles for each of them. They were meant to protect against the glare of the sun off the snow. It wasn’t as much of a concern at this time of year when there were only a couple hours a day of sunlight. However, during the summer when the days were longer, continued exposure could blind a human. Even now, with only a few thin beams of sunlight passing through the breaks in the hills, it was very bright out. Meleng was glad for his goggles.

“Now, where was I?” Gen said, as Meleng reached for the straps of Sinitïa’s goggles to assist her. “Oh yes, my first visit to Chithishtheny. I had no idea what the proper protocols were. I didn’t know the customs. I was a young first mate on my mother’s ship. She commanded the Lustrous Rose in those days, you see. Anyway…”

Gen continued to drone on as Meleng tried to help Sinitïa with her goggles. He had to remove his mittens to get a hold on the straps, but they were stretched as far as they would go. “That better?” he asked, knowing he hadn’t made any effective changes.

“No.”

“Hold on.” Maybe there was a way he could magically stretch them just a little. The basic equations shouldn’t be hard, but getting the right amount of stretch would be the difficult part. He ran through the calculations in his head and hoped he got them right. He traced the equations onto each strap, then activated the spell.

Sinitïa clapped her hands. “That’s better! Thank you!” She gave him a quick hug.

“Now my mother was an expert negotiator and diplomat, but she had a very imperfect grasp of the language, and as I’ve mentioned, with Isyarian that can cause a lot of problems. She—”

Sinitïa gasped, and Gen stopped.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Gen said.

They had come round the bottom of one of the foothills and a mountain slope rose majestically before them. All along it, structures of ice and stone rose out of the slope, those higher up glittering in the sunlight that had not yet reached the ground. The structures were of various shapes, most with elegant curves, sometimes extending vertically from the mountain, other times horizontally, and still other times in other directions. They were of various different sizes as well, most of them clearly buildings, but there were some with shapes and sizes that couldn’t possibly be buildings. They looked more like sculptures—albeit large ones—in abstract designs, some with gentle curves, others with sharp corners.

The largest structure was one of the higher up ones. Clearly a building, it had a domed roof over the central portion, and two wings that curved upwards, actually rising away from the support of the mountain as if they were literal wings.

“Stunning,” Meleng said.

“I want to paint it. I want to put my easel right here and paint it.” Sinitïa stamped the ground. “But I can’t.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Meleng said. “I promise.”

Sinitïa didn’t respond, but Meleng could picture her frown under her scarves.

Gen pointed to the large building. “That’s the council building. It’s a bit of a climb, but the gardens in front of it are to die for. Shall I show you them?”

“I want to see the gardens!” Sinitïa hurried ahead in an attempt at a run that her bulky clothes wouldn’t quite allow. “Come on, Jeanne!” The dog scurried after her. Moments later, she was clambering up the steep trail that led up the slope, Jeanne bouncing about at her feet.

“Be careful!” Gen called. He looked back at Meleng. “Quite the bundle of energy, isn’t she?”

Meleng nodded. “Yes, she is.”

Gen patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, lad, you’re doing a good job keeping up with her. My first love was a bundle of energy, too.”

“She’s not my—”

“He was a sailor on my mother’s ship. We had quite the tempestuous affair. I was exhausted all the time. Alas, it didn’t last long. My mother kicked him off at the next port when she found out about us. ‘Son,’ she said, ‘the man you marry will be an officer or a noble, preferably both, not a lowly crewman.’ It was probably for the best. I doubt I could have kept up with him much longer.”

Meleng pointed to Sinitïa, now getting farther ahead. “Should we…?”

“Oh yes, of course,” Gen said and strode off.

Meleng followed.

The climb was exhausting. Meleng almost slipped on several occasions and had to scrabble for handholds. Luckily, it wasn’t all uphill—or at least, not all steep uphill. There were flatter portions, particularly when the trail passed buildings. There were a lot more buildings than had been visible from below, some back away from the edge, others made of darker, less shiny stone. Most of them were relatively small, single-storey affairs. Homes, Meleng assumed. Very few appeared to have complete roofs. At most, they had only partial roofs, leaving a significant portion of the interiors open to the sky.

Most of the buildings were spaced farther apart than they would be in a typical Arnorin town, which made Chithishtheny seem larger than it actually was. Small gardens of grey and purple plants often filled the spaces between buildings, though there were also occasional statues and just plain regular snow and ice.

As they continued up the slope, Isyar came out of some of the buildings and watched them pass. Many flew out of the open roofs, and then back in afterwards. Sinitïa waved at every Isyar they passed. A few waved back, but most just stared at her, some in surprise, some in awe, even a few in disgust. There were also a few who paid them no attention at all, though those tended to be farther away—perhaps too far to notice Sinitïa’s potential? Meleng would have really liked to see what they saw when they looked at her. Jorvan had described it as a kind of glow, but that it also went beyond that—not a particularly helpful description.

By the time they reached their destination, Meleng had fallen well behind. He bent over and gasped for air as he finally reached Gen. “I wish it wasn’t so steep.”

Gen chuckled. “We are in the mountains, lad. Probably why Isyar have wings.”

They were on a wide ledge, the round, winged Council building at the far end of it. Between them and the building stretched a garden of bizarre plants, some of them like short purple pine trees, others taller and with white flowers. Puffy purple bushes that had been trimmed and cut into geometric shapes were spaced at regular intervals throughout the garden, and the grey roots with flat leaves Meleng had seen elsewhere twined between and around all the other plants.

Along one length of the garden—the side that bordered the continuing slope of the mountain—stood periodic displays of statuary, some with their own small gardens surrounding them. Sinitïa was already at the closest of these. It was a statue made of packed snow, and depicted an Isyar with his wings spread and a small, lizard-like animal at his feet.

Gen patted Meleng on the back and strode up to Sinitïa. “Now, this remarkable statue was sculpted before Chithishtheny was founded. It’s believed to be at least three thousand years old.”

“Who’s it of?” Sinitïa asked.

“No one,” Gen said.

Meleng huffed over to them. “No one?” He peered closely at the statue. The details on it were precise down to the pattern of the fabric of the Isyar’s robe.

“So they say,” Gen said. “Apparently, the sculptor wasn’t trying to represent any actual individual, just a generic Isyar I suppose. Personally, I think they just say that because no one remembers who it was supposed to represent.” He chuckled.

Sinitïa reached a hand towards the statue, but didn’t touch it. “It’s beautiful. I want to learn how to make statues out of snow.”

Gen gestured around them. “There’s certainly lots of snow here for you to practise with.”

Sinitïa pointed to the lizard at the statue’s feet. “Do Isyar keep lizards as pets.”

“That’s not actually a lizard,” Gen said, “though it does look a bit like one here. If you see a real one, you’ll know it’s not a lizard.”

Sinitïa bent over to look closer at it. “What’s it called?”

Gen knelt beside her. “It’s called...now, you have to be careful with the pronunciation here. Get it wrong and you can end up saying the Isyar word for dragon. But if I have my pronunciation right, it’s called a frirrdund.” He rolled the middle r’s.

“Firr-er-er-dun,” Sinitïa said.

Gen shook his head. “No, it’s more—”

“Frirrdund,” a voice said.

An Isyar had approached behind them. His wings hung at odd angles, withered and useless, though he otherwise looked in peak condition. Indeed, he was the most muscular Isyar Meleng had ever seen. Instead of the typical Isyar gown, he was dressed in a form-fitting fabric similar to what Fevionawishtensen had been wearing, but a darker grey colour.

Gen took a step away. “Oh dear.”

Sinitïa looked up. “Firdund.”

“Frirrdund,” the Isyar repeated.

Gen gave the Isyar a quick nod, then placed a hand on Sinitïa’s shoulder. “We should move on.”

“Why?” Sinitïa stood up. “Furrrrrdund.” She grinned at her overemphasised r’s.

The Isyar shook his head. “Frirrdund.”

Gen stepped between Sinitïa and the Isyar. “Yes, thank you. If we head over this way, your Highness, there’s another statue almost as old and with a much more interesting story. We—”

Sinitïa pushed past Gen. “But I want to learn how to say it. He’s helping me.”

“What’s the problem?” Meleng asked Gen.

About the garden, other Isyar had stopped what they were doing and were staring in the group’s direction. But it wasn’t the usual awe and surprised directed at Sinitïa. It was disgust.

“Furrdund.” Sinitïa tried to roll her r’s but was unsuccessful.

The muscular Isyar smiled at her, but also glanced furtively about. There was an elderly Isyar with a cane approaching, and the muscular Isyar started to back away.

“No, don’t go,” Sinitïa said.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Frirrdund,” the Isyar said one last time, then turned and started running.

“Ptip!” the elderly Isyar yelled. He raised his cane, which stretched outwards, past Meleng, Sinitïa, and Gen, then wrapped around the fleeing Isyar’s legs, pulling him off his feet.

“What are you doing?” Sinitïa grabbed the cane, but it shrank back to its normal size, whipping past her hands. She screamed and stumbled back. Her mittens were ripped right through, and blood was staining the tattered remains.

Meleng tried to rush over to her, but something grabbed his feet. It was the icy ground itself. It held him firm while the elderly Isyar stomped past him, yelling in Isyarian.

The muscular Isyar had gotten on to his hands and knees and was whimpering in Isyarian. He appeared to be begging for forgiveness from the elderly Isyar.

“He was just trying to help me!” Sinitïa screeched. “Meleng, tell him!”

Meleng gulped. “I...I don’t know Isyarian.” The ground had let go of him though, so he hurried over to Sinitïa’s side.

“We should get those hands tended to,” Gen said, trying to guide both of them away, but Sinitïa refused to move.

“I don’t understand the problem,” Meleng said.

Gen sighed. “I’m so sorry. I should have warned you, but it slipped my mind. I’m a terrible guide.” He looked over where the elderly Isyar was still yelling at the Isyar begging at his feet. “The one with the bent wings is called Itra, but he’s more commonly called a ptip. It’s something of a slur against Isyar born without the ability to use magic.”

“I didn’t even know that happened,” Meleng muttered, as he pulled Sinitïa’s tattered mittens off her. Only one hand was cut, and it was only a small one.

“It’s rare,” Gen said, “but it happens. He’s not supposed to talk to anyone, but he often tries to talk to visitors because we’ll talk to him out of ignorance.”

Sinitïa pulled her hands away from Meleng. “Well, it’s not fair. He was just trying to help me.” She moved forward. Gen tried to grab her arm, but she slapped his hand away and marched straight up to the elderly Isyar.

“Your Highness, I wouldn’t recommend…” Gen shook his head and sighed. “This will not end well. That’s one of the other Lamdirs.”

“He was just trying to help me,” Sinitïa hissed.

The Lamdir went quiet and turned slowly to face Sinitïa. He peered up at her, his eyes narrowed. Behind him, Itra scrabbled to his feet and hurried away.

“Sinitïa,” Meleng said, “maybe we should listen to Gen. We don’t know how powerful…”

Sinitïa shushed Meleng, then said calmly to the Lamdir, “I know you probably can’t understand me, but you don’t have to be so mean to him. He was just trying to help me.”

The elderly Isyar harrumphed softly and reached up at Sinitïa.

“See? We just have to be friendly.”

The Lamdir’s fingers began tracing something on one of her scarves. Meleng couldn’t make out the exact symbols, but he doubted they were anything good. “Sinitïa, look out!”

The scarf sprang to life, pulling itself tighter around Sinitïa’s neck. Sinitïa screamed, but the scream cut off as she began to choke and gasp for breath. She clawed at her neck.

Meleng rushed over to her, threw off his mittens, and tried to get his hands between the scarf and her neck. Gen did the same, and they struggled with the scarf while Sinitïa gagged and gasped.

Maybe there was a way he could undo the spell? What would the right equation be? Damn, he wasn’t even sure what sort of equation would make the scarf behave this way in the first place.

Gen had pulled out a knife and was trying to cut through the scarf. Sinitïa’s face had gone pale and she was unable to make any sounds beyond a gurgle.

Meleng let go of the scarf and rushed at the Lamdir. “Let her go!”

The Lamdir raised his cane, which stretched out again and whacked Meleng across the side of the face. He fell over, the other side of his face slamming into the hard ground. He groaned and looked up. The Lamdir raised his cane again and swung it down.

Something spun past and sliced the cane in two. The severed piece fell on Meleng’s chest, but without the force it would have otherwise had.

Somewhere behind him, a voice yelled in Isyarian, and the elderly Lamdir yelled something back. The two began yelling back and forth at each other.

Meleng crawled along the ground towards Sinitïa and Gen, not bothering to even look at his saviour. Gen was seated on the ground, cradling Sinitïa in his arms. She was free of the constricting scarf. It lay in a couple pieces on the ground.

When he reached them, she let go of Gen and threw herself into Meleng’s arms, and sobbed into his shoulder. “Why are Isyar so mean? They’re supposed to be kind. They’re supposed to be angels.”

“Alas, my dear,” Gen said, “reality rarely lives up to the stories. But many are kind. That one saved you.” He nodded towards their saviour.

Meleng looked over to see who had come to their rescue. She was a tall Isyar, almost as tall as Meleng, and young-looking. Her wings were spread wide, and they twitched as she glared at the elderly Isyar. The shouting between them had stopped.

Sinitïa sniffled. She pulled off her goggles and wiped her tear-filled eyes. “Who is she?”

“No idea,” Gen said. “Never seen her before.”

Their rescuer said something, this time softer, but the elderly Isyar still heard her. He hissed something in reply, spread his wings, then flew away. Their rescuer raised her hand, her forefinger and pinky extended and pointed towards the retreating Isyar. After a moment, she smirked, lowered her hand, and folded her wings. She walked over and knelt beside Meleng and Sinitïa. She held out her right hand, palm out. “Lamdhir Chiansamorkin.”

Sinitïa looked at her and sniffled again. Meleng tried to reach his left hand out, but he couldn’t get it out from under Sinitïa.

“I mean you no harm,” Chiansamorkin said. Her eyes were looking straight into Sinitïa’s.

Sinitïa detached herself from Meleng and placed her right palm on Chiansamorkin’s. “Princess Sinitïa Alessia Deanna Folith. You have beautiful eyes.” She lowered her hand again.

Chiansamorkin smiled. “Thank you, Princess. You are beyond beautiful. An absolute marvel.”

Sinitïa beamed and wiped her eyes. “You think so?”

“Such incredible power.” Chiansamorkin turned her gaze to Meleng.

He hurriedly pressed his palm against hers. “Meleng Drago.” Her eyes were unusual, dull red and splotchy. He wasn’t sure why Sinitïa described them as beautiful.

She removed her hand, stood up, and went through the greeting ritual with Captain Gen.

“Apologies, Lamdir,” Gen said, “but I...”

“Lamdhir,” she corrected.

“Apologies again, Lamdhir. I was only going to say that I don’t recognise you, and I’ve met the Lamdritta before.”

“I’m new, only recently raised to my position.” She reached a hand down and helped Sinitïa to her feet.

“The old guy was a Lamdir too?” Sinitïa said.

“Lammdir.” Chiansamorkin offered her hand to Meleng. “Lammdir Griholbovroh. He is a…” She paused while she helped Meleng to his feet. “I think the word in your language is ass. He is an ass of the worst kind. It is long overdue time someone challenged him for his position.”

“Why don’t you?” Sinitïa suggested.

Chiansamorkin chuckled. “Thank you, Princess Sinitïa Alessia Deanna Folith. Believe me, I would if I could. I am considerably more powerful than he is and he knows it. Unfortunately, we practise different disciplines. I can’t challenge him. I already have the equivalent of his position.”

Sinitïa frowned. “Oh. I don’t like him.”

“Few people do.”

“You’re the first nice Lamdir we’ve met,” Sinitïa said.

“Lamdhir.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m not very good with the differences. I can’t really tell…”

“It’s fine,” Chiansamorkin said. “I understand the difficulty our language presents to non-native speakers.”

“I’ll get our friend Jorvan to help me,” Sinitïa said. She put her hand over her mouth and gave a light gasp. “Sorry, I mean Jorvanultumn.”

Chiansamorkin’s eyes widened. “You know Jorvanultumn?”

Sinitïa nodded. “He’s our friend.”

“He’s here? In Chithishtheny?”

“He might still be at the ship,” Meleng said. “We’re not sure. But yes.”

Chiansamorkin’s wings began twitching. “Oh my. I didn’t expect him back for a couple years at least. Does Fevionawishtensen know?”

“She does,” Meleng said.

Chiansamorkin nodded and put a hand to her cheek. “That’s good, that’s good.”

“You know Jorvanultumn?” Sinitïa asked.

“Oh yes. We grew up together.” Chiansamorkin rubbed her forehead and began to pace, her wings still twitching. She muttered to herself in Isyarian.

“Are you okay?” Sinitïa asked.

“Better than you can imagine,” Chiansamorkin said. “Sorry if I look otherwise. I should let him and Fevionawishtensen have time together first. It would be inappropriate of me to go see him first. Princess Sinitïa Alessia Deanna Folith, I need a distraction. Might I have the honour of showing you around Chithishtheny?”

“Um…” Sinitïa looked at Gen. “Well, Etiënne here was…”

“I am aware Captain Etiënne Gen has been to Chithishtheny many times,” Chiansamorkin said, “and he could probably give you a decent tour. However, I’ve lived here my whole life. I’m sure there are things I can show you and tell you about that he has no knowledge of. No offence, Captain.”

Gen raised his hands. “None taken.”

“You don’t mind?” Sinitïa said.

Gen shook his head. “It’s fine. Go have fun.”

Sinitïa beamed. “Okay!”

Chiansamorkin moved round behind Sinitïa. “Raise your arms. If you don’t mind, that is.”

Sinitïa looked confusedly at Meleng, but raised her arms as asked.

Chiansamorkin put her arms around her and clasped her hands over Sinitïa’s stomach. “Now hook your arms over mine.” She looked to Meleng and Gen. “Please stand aside.”

As they moved away, Chiansamorkin spread her wings. “Hold on tight,” she said to Sinitïa, who grinned broadly. Chiansamorkin looked at Meleng and smiled. “I’ll have her back in a few hours.” Then she leapt into the air and flew with Sinitïa over the gardens and into the distance.