The Pearl-Sovereign did not groan as its keel tasted the shoreline of the first
island; it let out a sound like a heavy sigh, a metallic exhalation of a vessel
that had traveled beyond the borders of the "Next" and into the "Never-Was."
I stood at the prow, the humid, ink-scented air of the Isles of the Unwritten
clinging to my skin. The sky above was a vast, unblemished sheet of vellum,
devoid of the familiar stars of the North or the golden radiance of the Southern
sun. It was a flat, unmoving grey that seemed to wait for someone to draw upon
it. Around us, the ocean had ceased to be water; it was a pearlescent, viscous
fog that pooled around the ship's hull, making the Living Silver shimmer with a
ghost-white intensity.
Aidan was awake in the silk sling against my chest. His gold and black eyes were
wide, tracking movements in the air that I could not see. He was vibrating—a
low-frequency, rhythmic hum that I felt in my own marrow. He was the only thing
