“What’s going on?” Isyllt gestured toward the wharf. More soldiers had appeared around the crowd.

The woman’s expression grew pained. “A protest. They’ve been there an hour and we’re going to lose a day’s work.”

Isyllt raised her eyebrows. “What are they protesting?”

“New tariffs.” Her tone became one of rote response. “The Empire considers it expedient to raise revenues and has imposed taxes on foreign goods. Some of the local merchants”-she waved a hennaed hand at the quay-“are unhappy with the situation. But don’t worry, it’s nothing to bother the Kurun Tam.”

Of course not-Imperial mages would hardly be burdened with problems like taxes. It was much the same in the Arcanost in Erisín.

“Are these tariffs only in Sivahra?” she asked.

“Oh, no. All Imperial territories and colonies are subject.”

Not just sanctions against a rebellious population, then, but real money-raising. That left an unpleasant taste in the back of her mouth. Twenty-five days with no news was chancy where politics were concerned.

The other officials emerged from the cargo hold a few moments later and the captain grudgingly paid their fees. The woman turned back to Isyllt, her expression brightening. “If you like, meliket, I can take you to the Silver Phoenix myself. It will be a much shorter route than getting there from the docks.”

Isyllt smiled. “That would be lovely. Shakera.”

Adam cocked an eyebrow as he hoisted bags. Isyllt’s lips curled. “It never pays to annoy foreign guests,” she murmured in Selafaïn. “Especially ones who can steal your soul.”

She tried to watch the commotion on the docks, but the skiff moved swiftly and they were soon out of sight. A cloud of midges trailed behind the craft; the drone of wings carried unpleasant memories of the plague, but the natives seemed unconcerned. Isyllt waved the biting insects away, though she was immune to whatever exotic diseases they might carry. As they rowed beneath a raised water gate, a sharp, minty smell filled the air and the midges thinned.