Tab Vidler stared out over the Quentaris battlements towards the new sky-city hanging in the air, halfshrouded in cloud. It had appeared with the dawn on Quentaris's port side three days before. Tab could make out guards patrolling the parapets and sailors scurrying over its burgundy sails like insects. They were so close that Tab felt sure if she threw a stone she could hit one of them, but so far nobody on either side had thrown anything – not even words.

Verris's marines stood watch at the City Wall, while in the Archon's Palace the Grand Council squabbled over what to do. The new sky-city was smaller than Quentaris, but more nimble. It was easy to see how easily it moved. Still reeling from the assault by Tolrush, Quentaris was too weak to defend herself against further attack, let alone start one. Meanwhile, Quentaris, moored to the world below by a great anchor, drifted gently on the tide of the wind, and its people held their breath.

‘If they were going to attack they would have done it by now,’ Tab's friend Philmon muttered under his breath.

Tab could hear the long groans of the masts and the flapping of the vast sails above her. Somewhere in the city behind her a blacksmith hammered with the rhythmic clank of metal on metal. Merchants murmured as they traded with one another. Even the children played hooey in the squares in hushed tones.

‘Why are you whispering? It's not as though they can hear you,’ Tab snapped.

Philmon stared at her, surprised. ‘I have to get back to work, anyway,’ he mumbled, and slouched away with his hands in his pockets.

Tab rubbed her forehead. She was ashamed of being peevish with Philmon, but her head hurt. She had been casting about for an animal to mind-meld with for days, but all she was getting was a crackling noise. The fuzz inside her head made her irritable. She was also plagued with the fear that her skill had only been temporary – that she might never be able to do it again. What would that make her? Just an ordinary rift orphan. What would she be good for?