The rest of our journey was uneventful, but in its own way, it was the most fulfilling stretch of time I had ever experienced.
Days on the airship passed in a rhythm that quickly became intoxicating. Mornings began in a haze of warmth and steam; Lira and I would linger in the cabin, alternating between our studies and our shared indulgences. The hours in the shower or the bed felt stolen from the world outside, a private kingdom of soft laughter and whispered lessons.
Reading had become far easier for me now. Where once letters looked like a jumble of cryptic runes, I could read most texts without much difficulty. My writing, though, was still uneven, my hand cramped, and the strange inconsistencies of spelling left me frustrated. Yet each day the shapes grew more familiar under my fingers.
My mana training had advanced too. I had finally reached the third stage, which, according to Lira, meant I could now manipulate a significant portion of my mana at once, moving it fluidly across my body instead of only to isolated points. This control had given me a strange, almost electric vitality. Even simple gestures felt sharper, steadier.
We left the cabin only for dinner or to explore the ship's bar. It became a ritual of sorts, Lira selecting our clothes for the evening, me sampling something new from the shelves of gleaming bottles. By now, the bartender had introduced me to whisky, rum, and a half-dozen other spirits from across the sky islands. They were different drinks, but bourbon was still my favorite: warm, sweet, with a burn that felt alive. I'd made a mental note to search out new ones in the port city.
One night I even sat at the bar with Valen and the captain, passing bottles back and forth until the ship's chandeliers blurred into starlight. Lira was slightly irritated that I came back too drunk to "ravage" her as usual.
She didn't punish me with silence, though, no, she punished me with intensity. The next day she "assaulted" me from the moment I woke until lunch, and then again in the evening. I slept like a baby that night, my muscles trembling with exhaustion and satisfaction.
The days blurred, but at last the airship descended over the port city of Sale, a sprawling island shaped like a giant wheel, its inner circle a towering city of spires and its outer rings a labyrinth of docks and piers. Sale was not simply a stopover but a hub for the skyfaring world, a place where cargo and people flowed like tides.
When we disembarked, the scent of salt and tar hit me first, mingled with something sweet and metallic; alchemy, perhaps. The docks teemed with people: merchants in bright coats, sailors with tattoos of wings, even a few creatures I couldn't name. It felt nothing like Arcadia's rigid division between the poor rural outer ring and the rich, sealed-off inner dome. Sale was… messy, alive.
We went straight to a hotel Lira said was "academy trusted," a tall stone building with green banners fluttering from its balconies. Inside, the marble-floored lobby buzzed with conversation. As soon as we approached the reception desk, the young woman behind it brightened at the sight of Lira, then gave me a pointed, slightly disdainful look.
"Welcome, Miss Liraelith," she said smoothly. "Will you be requiring two rooms?"
"One room, please," Lira replied without hesitation, "with a double or king-size bed, meals included."
The young woman's smile flickered, her gaze darting between us. Clearly, she'd known Lira before, perhaps as a student of the academy, and never expected to see her return dressed modestly, arm-in-arm with a rough-looking man. She said nothing further, only wrote something into her logbook.
"Understood. I am afraid that there are no more airships travelling to the academy at this moment," she continued. "You will need to book private passage with a skyfarer escort. Would you like me to search for a suitable party?"
"Yes, please. Make sure they are an all-female crew if you can," Lira said coolly. "The last time I was escorted by a group of men, they slobbered like dogs."
The receptionist nodded stiffly. "Of course. The academy also received your communication, Miss Liraelith. They have left no messages for you. However…" She hesitated, clearly reluctant. "Jenson from the Brightwell Trading House contacted you a week ago. He requests you pay him a visit."
Lira closed her eyes briefly, exhaling through her nose. "Gods give me strength," she muttered. "I'll take care of it this afternoon. For now, we'd like to check in."
We took our keys and went upstairs. Our room was spacious and airy, with a huge window overlooking the port. Lira unpacked briskly while I tried not to pry, but after a few minutes curiosity got the better of me.
"What exactly do we need to do at this trading house?" I asked carefully.
She shot me a look that said don't ask. "We'll handle it. Don't worry."
I raised my hands in surrender. "Fine. But before we go there, can we at least stop at a café afterward? Something sweet to take the edge off?"
Her expression softened, and she beamed at me. "I'd love that, baby! But yes, we have to visit the trading house first."
We went back downstairs. Before we left, Lira leaned in close to the receptionist, muttering something under her breath. The girl simply nodded, eyes flicking to me once more.
Outside, Sale unfolded like a living tapestry. We walked arm-in-arm through streets lined with peddlers hawking jewelry, weapons, jars of suspicious liquids, even live animals in wooden cages. The air was thick with the scent of spices and smoke.
None of it appealed to me, until we passed a shop whose windows gleamed with rows of glass bottles, their labels written in looping script. I slowed, but before I could step toward it, Lira tugged my arm firmly.
"I forbid you to drink anything from those places," she said. "The way they produce the drink can often make it poisonous. I know a good store we can go to. You want more bourbon, right?"
Her wink and knowing smile disarmed me. She'd encouraged my newfound love of food and spirits, but always with moderation. And I had no doubt that if I overstepped, she'd "come for my ass" in a way I wouldn't enjoy.
I told her about the potato wine we'd made on the farm at the end of the season. "Only the truly desperate drank it. It caused gut rot. My father…" I trailed off, remembering his gaunt face.
Lira squeezed my arm gently. "Then you'll love this place I know. I promise." Her singsong voice was like honey.
We continued down the street, her pointing out landmarks from her past visits: a tavern where she'd witnessed a bar brawl, a crossroads where a demon had punched someone for calling them a devil. In a port town like Sale, the stories made sense.
After a while, we stopped in front of a squat brick building with an arched stone sign above the double doors. The carved letters were rough but legible enough for me to read.
Brightwell Slave Market.
"Slaves!?" I blurted before we could step inside. "Lira, I… I don't know how I feel about this."
She gave me a sideways glance, unbothered. "I have no desire to keep a slave, except for you, as my nighttime slave, of course." A faint smirk tugged at her lips. "This is the errand we need to complete."
Confused but trusting her, I followed her through the double doors.
Inside, the air was cooler, quieter. A chandelier of glass globes glowed faintly overhead. The floor was polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the rows of benches and the curtained alcoves beyond. At a reception desk, a young woman greeted Lira with a silent nod, clearly recognizing her.
"I am here to collect Mae," Lira said firmly. "Please tell Jenson I am here."
The woman dipped her head and vanished into the back room, leaving me standing beside Lira with a dozen questions I dared not ask.