Starsinger

Prudence

The islands sloped up from the grey-blue sea like the backs of enormous whales, breaching. Strange, grasping trees clung to the dark earth, their ochre flesh laid bare by pale peeling bark. Twisted trunks and branches grew in the shape of the ever-present wind.

The Virtue Isles. Aaron watched the rocky shorelines as the Drake slowly picked her way through the narrow channel. Domed clay roofs topped the low stone buildings that staggered up every unsteady slope, clustering in the rare flat spaces where an overhang might offer some protection from the ocean's sourer moods. And everywhere movement, tiny dots that must have been people, clambering up and down steep cut steps and scurrying across low-slung rope bridges.

Long ago the islands had all been barren, nameless lumps of land used only by smugglers to stash cargo as they sailed around the northern coast of Re Vlynn. When the brutal wars of the Division tore through the empire, the desolate islands became a refuge for families seeking to escape the destruction. The refugees named the islands of their rocky asylum after the virtues they had needed to survive, names like Wisdom, Dignity, and Courage. There were dozens of islands, some so large it would take several days to cross on foot, some too small for more than a handful of homes to cluster.

There were no kings in the Virtue Isles, no rulers or leaders or even true laws. Since the Division, the Isles' people had been wary of crowns and courts, shunning the idea of monarchy and choosing instead to govern themselves as so-called free states. Aaron remembered his schoolteachers shaking their heads, bemoaning the triumph of mob rule and the wild lawlessness of these islands named after the best aspects of humanity.

"Sure, but that's what makes it fun." Katrina grinned wide, flashing her sharpened incisors. The captain, her first mate and her passengers were assembled in the castle, reviewing their plan.

"Prudence is one of the middle islands," she said, tracing its curved, oblong shape on the map before them. "Bigger than some, but less land for growing things than most. A bit of a hard-scrabble place, so naturally, it's great for business. Folks who've got nothing of their own have to get clever."

"So they can take something from somebody else," Raelyn muttered. She sat stiffly, her rib nearly healed after a fortnight of flat seas, but still tender.

Katrina's smile had no warmth. "That's the way of it, sweetling."

Aaron and Jace locked eyes. All sorts of shady dealings took place in the Virtue Isles. Rogues had nothing to fear from laws or watchdogs – only the unpredictable wrath of the people themselves could threaten them.

"Good," Sapphire said bluntly. "Right now clever is what we need."

"Yes, your mysterious quest. Red here hasn't been too specific about what exactly you loves are searching for, beyond sputtering the words ancient and powerful a few dozen times, but if it's anything illicit or magical..." Katrina jabbed her finger at a dot on the southern tip of Prudence. "Isaiah Mori is your man."

"He's a fence," Matty explained. "Top of the game. In the past two octades he's cornered nearly all the big trade that goes through the Isles. If he doesn't have it, he'll know who does."

"How do we get to him?" asked Delia.

"The same way everyone does." Katrina smirked. "Wine, dine, and deal."

That night, Aaron found himself marching with the rest of their team behind Katrina and Matty as the freelancers waltzed into the glittering ballroom of Isaiah Mori's overgrown mansion.

Ballroom was a generous classification – with both wood and marble scarce on Prudence, nearly the entirety of the fence's sprawling estate was built from the common black rock that lined the isle's shores, leaving the cavernous room feeling damp and earthy. Thousands of suspended candles strove to combat the natural darkness of the stone and instead leant the ballroom a shifting, shadowy appearance.