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good of both estates. He might be ornery, but she knew he understood that.
    As they reached the great house, Elliot quickened her pace. There were two horses on the lawn, giant, chestnut-colored things with glossy black manes and powerfully muscled legs. So these were the Innovation horses Elliot had negotiated for on top of the rent money in order to sweeten the deal for her father. Each horse was tethered to a strange, three-wheeled contraption the likes of which Elliot had never seen except in drawings. They must be the famous sun-carts, for each sported a pane of shiny, golden mirrors on the back. The Post housekeeper, Mags, was waiting on the porch, wringing her hands as the horses trampled the grass.
    “Miss, they came early. They’re already in the parlor.”
    “Thank you, Mags,” said Elliot, bounding up the steps two at a time. “Take care of Mr. Boatwright, please. I have to go in to my guests—”
    “Miss Elliot,” said Mags, laying a hand on her arm as she passed. “Perhaps you’d like to go change first? Put on a nice dress?”
    Elliot stopped and looked at the Post in confusion. Were these Cloud Fleet people so very fine? Were they out exploring the wilderness in lace?
    “It’s just that—” Mags looked pained. “In the parlor—”
    But time had run out, for a man appeared in the doorway and filled the air with his booming voice. “Did you say Elliot? Is this Miss Elliot North?” He stepped into the light and Elliot resisted the urge to step back. Every bit as giant as his horses, the admiral was red all over, from his thinning, combed-over ginger hair to his ruddy complexion to his deep scarlet coat. Elliot had never seen such a color on a piece of fabric. It looked like the flowers in Ro’s garden.
    “I have been looking forward to meeting you, my dear girl. Nicodemus Innovation, at your service.” He inclined his head in a move that was almost, but not quite, a bow.
    “Admiral Innovation,” she said, collecting herself. It wouldn’t do for a North Luddite to be rendered speechless by a Post’s jacket, no matter how red it was. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you. I’ve been making the final preparations to your lodgings—”
    He waved his hand. “Don’t worry a bit. The sun-carts make great time when the weather’s as clear as today’s. Even my horses could hardly keep up. We haven’t seen a flicker of your father yet, but your sister Tatiana’s been, ah, entertaining us while we waited for you.”
    Elliot could only imagine. Well water perhaps, from tin cups? She wouldn’t put it past her sister.
    “Come in and meet the Fleet,” he said, bustling her into her own house.
    “The whole Cloud Fleet is in my parlor?” Elliot asked with a smile. “Very impressive, sir.” In the hall, she could smell freshly baked cream biscuits and peach and chamomile tea. If this was Tatiana’s doing, it was also very impressive. Perhaps she owed her sister an apology.
    “Nah, not all of them,” said the admiral. “Just the ones I like best, you know.” He laughed and pushed open the door. “My wife, here—Felicia.” The woman was as tiny as her husband was giant, with black and silver hair that curled around her freckled face. She nodded to Elliot and opened her mouth as if to speak, but the admiral was already steering her away. “And over there you’ve got the Phoenixes—captains both.”
    He gestured vaguely to two blond young people who were sitting near Tatiana with cups of tea in their hands. They looked over at her, and Elliot found her steps faltering under the intensity of the girl’s gaze. The female Phoenix—Andromeda, the admiral was telling her—looked to be about Tatiana’s age and had the most unusual eyes she’d ever seen, a light, glistening blue, like sunlight on seawater, and so clear it was as if Elliot could make out each speck in her iris despite the shade in the room. The male Phoenix—Donovan, according to the admiral—had eyes that matched,