There’s a pitch to the deck, a tilt that never quite rights itself, and she knows the edge of the world is near.

Not a true edge, no, but the sharp sudden push of a moon hung too low that rips at the sea like a knife. There’s a standing wave where the water finally hits the point where the moon pushes hard enough to keep it at bay. She can see it, the white crests a lighter smudge through the heavy mists that haunt the edge.

On the other side… Well, no one is really sure, which is why they’ve put to sea in a bright-metal boat, hoping the second moon’s pull is stronger than the first moon’s push. They Gods that broke the moons are the same Gods that set the dragons on their eternal rounds. Call it a hunch, a dream, a foolish wish, but she’d betting that somewhere beyond the ice green wall was the key to whatever had sent the dragons mad.