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The closer I look, the more the Order’s world reveals itself. People in long dark coats too warm for this weather navigate the throng. A circular imprint or hole in the fabric at their neck gives them away. Draguns. Greedy Traders posing as finely dressed world travelers are scattered throughout the crowd, making eyes at anyone willing to meet theirs.

Jordan reaches for my hand.

I don’t take it, but I walk faster, keeping in step with him. Workers covered in grease stains haul carts loaded down with goods to and from waiting ships. Each cart is branded with some kind of symbol. Three thorny branches woven together. A smudged dollop of paint. Several symbols I recognize, but some I do not.

“Where are those going?” I ask Jordan, pointing at a cart full of shipping crates marked on its side with thorny branches and a dark sun.

“Brotherhood business. That’s not your concern.”

Farther along the harbor, the cave’s entrance is more visible. A line of gondolas drifts across shallow teal water toward a gaping entrance in the solid rock. Long crystalline formations with sharpened points line the rim of the cave’s mouth, leaving an open space only large enough for a small boat to pass. I crane for a better view.

“I didn’t anticipate so many people,” I say.

“Something has to fund our research.”

Snooping here is not going to be easy. Jordan pulls me aside, out of the way of the crowds.

“Where do you want to set up?”

“Up there somewhere,” I say, scanning the wilderness around the mountain beyond the town.

“Tourists aren’t allowed to stay on the island overnight,” Yagrin adds. “After sunset, Aronya’s a whole different place. There’s a nice bed-and-breakfast for Marked patrons in the mountains.”

“You’ve been here before?”

He nods but doesn’t offer any more details. “We could track on the be—”

Jordan cuts Yagrin off. I take their bickering as a chance to slip into the stream of people rushing by us. I want a close look inside that cave. That has to be where the magical stones are mined. Down the harbor is a gaggle of people waving line starts here signs.

“Excuse me,” I ask a fellow in a bright turquoise-and-gray tunic as he fans patrons in his direction. Oralia. “Do you offer private tours?” I fiddle with my fleur-de-lis earring.

“Fratris fortunam,” he says under his breath. “You’ll need to access our evening schedule, madam.” His lips pucker in a smile. “Is this your first time to Aronya?”

“It is.”

“From Second Rite enhancers to commemorative Cotillion gifts, retail shops to the mines, we have it all.”

Jordan shoulders his way through the crowd toward us.

“I’m dying to see all Aronya has to offer, especially the Sphere.”

“You and so many. Tourism has been up with all the nasty rumors about the Sphere cracking.” He glances at a pocket watch.

“Do you expect magic to all be gone imminently?”

“What is magic for, if not to be used until the very last drop,” he says out of the side of his mouth.

I wait for him to guffaw, but he doesn’t.

“Magic serves the user, after all.” He swipes two fingers in the air, left, then right, and it reminds me of House of Oralia’s sigil—two smeared dollops of paint.

Unsure what to say to that, I move things along. “Are you able to lead my tour?”

“Meet me at Betty’s bauble shop at sundown.”

“It’s a plan.”

“What’s the plan?” Jordan is behind me. I wave at the tour guide and lead Jordan away before saying, “I was asking some questions about the Sphere. The rumors of it breaking have increased tourism. People know what’s happening.”