“If you aren’t ready to face some of those decisions,” Lowe continued, his tone becoming more measured, “then you should be on your way.”
Zhenya blinked rapidly, comprehension dawning on her face. “I—I’ll go see if Eunny and Ollas need any help with the tea crate.” She hurried off.
Calya faced Lowe, suspicion narrowing her eyes. “What was that?”
“What?” His face remained impassive.
“Are you a?—”
“Nocren?” someone cut in.
In unison, Calya and Lowe turned to the newcomer. He was another Sentinel, as evidenced by his ranger leathers and the bow-and-arrow sigil engraved onto his cloak pin. The cloak itself wasn’t the standard forest green but a deep crimson. Though his boots were more for comfort than fashion, the black leather worn and creased from use, the dark shirt and trousers beneath the leather guards spoke of high quality.
Amber eyes peered out from beneath a strong brow. His white skin was tan enough to suggest some time spent outdoors. Something about his straw blond hair, long enough to be pulled back into a half-tail, suggested Rhellian origins, but the red undertone cast doubt on such heritage. A few stray locks framed a serious face, though his expression was neutral enough as he regarded them.
“Kelse,” Lowe said, chin dipping in greeting.
The blond Sentinel offered his hand to Calya. “Rhydian Kelse.”
She returned the handshake. “Kelse, of the Kelse Emporium?”
He smiled politely. “Indeed. Though I’m here in more of a split role today.”
The Kelse Emporium, headquartered in Rhell’s capital, was one of the finest perfumeries in the Empyrean Territories. Their signature scents sold for hundreds to thousands of gold crowns per bottle.
“Calya Helm,” she murmured.
“Of Helm Naval Engineering?”
“The very same.” She tried not to preen at his recognition. “I believe we handle the logistics for your Graelynd distribution.”
Rhydian nodded. “Yes, several accounts.”
“Are you here playing the ambassador?” Lowe asked.
A humorless laugh came in answer. “Unfortunately. I heard Ezzyn was around here?”
“He’s already on the ship,” Calya said, motioning to where Ezzyn could be seen on deck, consulting with the captain and Anadae over some sort of list.
“I should speak to him before you need to leave.” Rhydian hesitated, glancing at Lowe, then toward the ship. “Did I see Zhenya here?”
There was a long pause broken only when Lowe murmured, “She’s already left.”
Rhydian’s smile was more akin to a grimace. He nodded farewell to them both before leaving to hail Ezzyn.
Calya watched him go, then gave Lowe a sidelong look. “Not just an air mage. You’re a diviner.” Not a question but a statement.
He nodded once, the motion short, almost terse.
A diviner.
Calya frowned. “I don’t put much stock in auguries.”
She’d run across a few mages claiming to have such gifts. The hacks peddled no more than guesswork with sparkles, and the serious ones couched their forecasting in caveats. Based on the wary look Lowe gave her, Calya was willing to consider him one of the latter. Serious. But for something that was supposedly so predictive, diviner’s wisdom came with too much uncertainty for her taste.
A singular current of wind swirled quietly around them. Just them; no excessive flapping of the shelter’s canvas awning. Intangible, yet it felt like a hint of a caress.
Calya met Lowe’s gaze, raising one hand as if she could cup the sliver of air circling them. “Can you see what waits for us in the Landing?”
