Rysn’s eyes flicked to a purple hordeling hiding on the wall, near where it met the ceiling, shadowed. Strange, how she saw the contrast of shadows much more starkly now. And . . . why did Drlwan’s voice sound more musical?

“I think,” Rysn said, “I shall select the most boring, most mundane trade expedition I can find, Captain.”

That satisfied Drlwan. Rysn settled back—a single gloryspren fading overhead—and thought upon those words. Mundane. Boring. She had an inkling that neither would ever accurately describe her life again.