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Prince Lonago went east until the road became a pier, and stepped onto the ship at its end. He sang down the wind to set them sailing sunward, and they came to an ancient city, peopled with soft accents and clever lies.

Lonago learned there to sing other things: riddles and flattery, counterpoint and intrigue. His voice cracked and warbled, then settled again into subtler tones. But there were only so many homes in the city. None of them were for him.

The wind that took him west was fitful and hesitant, like a lover with a catch in her throat.