The airship docked in what looked like the middle of nowhere.
It settled onto a stretch of plain grass, just big enough to hold the full size of the airship without touching or crashing into any nearby trees.
As soon as Ryn stepped off the plank and onto the grass, the smell immediately hit him. Salt laced the air, making his hair stick—something the nobles, including himself and the ladies, absolutely hated.
Even the grass felt different underfoot, tougher and shorter, as if the ground had grown used to being trampled.
The coast wasn't visible from here, but he could tell how close it was anyway.
Taylor dropped down behind him, already focused on the ship. She crouched near the hull, fingers brushing along the etched panels set into the metal.
"This spot's fine," she said. "We won't draw attention."
Ryn glanced back at the vessel. "Why not land closer?"
Taylor didn't look up. "Because we won't be leaving from here."
That made him pause.
