It was an exhilarating morning. The crash of waves swollen from the night’s rain against the dock. The constant misty spray and the nip of autumn air. Even though the sky had cleared substantially, it still smelled like a storm. To Jormand, it smelled like home.

He was waiting on the docks, facing out towards the open, endless sea while Lana talked in low tones with Rianne behind him a few steps away. The sound of the wind and waves let Jormand willfully tune them out. Instead he listened only to their chaotic and reckless rhythm, and he revelled in it. It was the music of home. A home that was not so far away now. It lay just beyond the horizon, calling him like a physical thing. It pulled on him as surely as a hook lodged in his chest. He could scarcely keep himself from walking off the dock into the water and swimming home.

At the end of a wooden dock, the vastness of the sea spread out before him from horizon to horizon, he could pretend that he was home already. Home and safe and free from all the problems that would not let him go. Behind him somewhere on the dock was his brother Ketrim, grievously wounded and grappling with death already. Far behind him in Maerin, his father’s body had cooled and begun to rot somewhere. Behind him, barely hidden by the sea sounds was a token of noble life, scheming even now. But before him, beyond the third horizon where the sun neither set nor rose, was nothing. Blessed and pure nothing. An infinite expanse yet to be seen. That was where he was headed. It was where he belonged.

Soon, perhaps within the day, he would be home again. And home meant ships and crews ready to obey his command. He would stop but for the day and then… Staring out into the wind that fought against him, pushing him back with its invisible hand, he could not help but smile. He would be beyond it all soon. He had never been made for the world of politics and high society, no. His place was out there on the water. And he would be there soon.

A call from behind pulled Jormand from his trance. It was Lana, waving for him to come board the ship. The rest of his travelling companions already had, even Lyra and that little caravanner boy, Allur. He was surprised that they did not stay.

The ship was as impressive as any he had seen. It had two decks, strange for a new blood vessel, but it was still recognizable as one. The sleek, narrow hull that curved upwards in front and back and square rigged mast make it clear, regardless of its impressive size. And it was impressive. Longer and wider than any ship Jormand had commanded, Rianne’s personal vessel was a thing of beauty. He should not have been surprised. From the deck boards to the oars, everything spoke of exacting craftsmanship. The finest wood, the finest cloth for the sails, the finest ropes to tether the ship to shore. Jormand had to grudgingly admit he was jealous. It was flashy, yes, but any sailor worth his salt could see that it was as functional as any ship. And the crew had the look of seasoned sailors.

Rianne watched him board with a smug grin. She knew what he was thinking and he could not hide it. He only wished she weren’t so proud of it. It was dubbed the Gladiatrix in not so subtle homage to its captain. He reminded himself that he was still the better duelist. She still walked with a slight limp from their most recent fight. That doused the flames of jealousy a little bit.

Onboard, the ship was just as impressive. Even with a massive rowing crew and two tiers of oars, there was enough space on the top deck for Rianne, all of her passengers, and a not insignificant contingent of soldiers bedecked in the blue of house Teloway. Well outfitted soldiers, Jormand noticed. Rianne meant to make an entrance upon her arrival in Derranhall. They kept to the bow of the upper deck, out of the way of the crew but able to scan the water for potential aggressors. There wouldn’t be any. Even Jormand himself was not daring enough to take on such a ship for a raid. It was for show, probably for Jormand to see, at least in part. Rianne wanted to make it known that she was a threat if provoked. Jormand would not forget it.

The fact was that Rianne had almost won their duel those weeks ago. They had been nearly evenly matched. In the end Jormand had emerged victorious, but it had been far from easy. Rianne possessed the kind of skill that came from intentional perfection of her craft. More than a common soldier. More than a common duelist. It came from meticulous planning. In his experience, opponents as dangerous as she in the arena were even more dangerous outside. He might be her equal, but he was working with substantial advantage. She only had her skill.

Rianne left Jormand by the side as the gangplank was drawn in. She moved to the stern where Ketrim had been laid down on a stretcher, really just a piece of canvas between two poles, and where the rest of Jormand’s travelling companions waited. Looking at them, any good humor that he had been able to muster was dashed. Not one of them looked to be in good shape. Even though Allur and the three women were unharmed, they all wore those haunted looks of a crew that had only just escaped disaster. Jormand knew those looks well.

He knew them from a night spent camped on an unforgiving shore, the wind howling around him and what remained of his crew. They would not fade quickly. They might not fade at all.

Of all of them, Jormand worried most for Ketrim, of course. Few could survive an injury such as his, and it was far from guaranteed that he would. But it wasn’t only death that Jormand worried about. He had known soldiers who survived head wounds, some worse than the one Ketrim had suffered. Not one had ever been the same again. A few regained use of their bodies, but never their minds. Not entirely. Sometimes it was as if another consciousness took control, an entirely new person behind the same eyes.

Even if Ketrim survived, his life would be a hard one. Jormand was sure of it.

The others would survive. Of that he was certain. But they too would have trouble, he thought. Losing comrades in battle was one thing. At least Gisela would be familiar with that, but an ambush like that, with so many lives lost. It was something else altogether and it could shake even the most stalwart of soldiers. Much less common people unprepared for such brutality.

Jormand worried for the boy, Allur, and for Lyra too. They had lost their world, everyone and everything they’d known. And purefolk were not so easily removed from their caravans as other people were from their hometowns. It was more than just a village on wheels. The camaraderie Jormand had seen there reminded him of the most tight knit raiding crews. They were people who understood each other like few ever could. To have that ripped away… Jormand understood somewhat. He had lost dear friends before and he still bore the scars. They would never fade.

He worried about Lana too. Even though she showed little effect from the ambush or their flight afterwards. Something still made him concerned. She and Gisela had done the lion’s share of the heavy lifting when it came to bringing them safely to Tauly and then to Blistimere.

Once, he had questioned her loyalty. She had been a stranger after all, with no ties to his house. He did not have those doubts now. She had practically dragged him, bloody and in a fine rage, away from certain death. Thinking back to it, Jormand hardly remembered what had happened. He remembered a fight in the wagon, the smell of blood and gore, and then nothing. He knew that he’d been sick. The stench had followed him to Tauly. Sometimes he still got a whiff of it, though he knew it was surely gone.

That troubled him. He had spent his youth training to kill, but even when he was hardly more than a boy, he had never reacted like that. It had always been the morality of it that bothered him in the past, before he had understood the necessity of what he did. Never such a physical, visceral revulsion.

He still carried that hammer he had used to butcher the would-be ambushers. It was thrust through his belt in lieu of any sort of proper stowage, but he found it hard to look at as it hung there. Sometimes, especially when shadows were flung across it, he thought he still saw the slick blood, the bits of matted hair and chunks of something he did not want to think about, clinging to it. Dripping down the length of it. It didn’t stop. There was always more and it crawled onto him, covering his hand, then his arm and all he could do was look away, close his eyes, and hope that when he opened them again, it would be back to what it should be. Just a tool. Innocuous and innocent. Just a tool and nothing more.

Jormand knew well that he looked far worse off than the rest of them. He worried about Lana and Gisela but they worried about him too, and they had good reason. His wounds were minor, but many, and they sapped his strength more than he wanted to admit. But they weren’t the worst of it. He had watched helplessly as his old first mate and friend Elyas was cut down while trying to keep his charges safe. He had watched and was unable to do anything. He’d had his revenge on Elyas’ killer. A hammer stroke to the soldier’s head had seen to that, but it did him no good.

He’d been sick then too. Even as he’d rushed to Elyas’ side, bile had dribbled from his chin, mixed with saliva and blood in ropes of filth. The memory was sour and bitter in a way far worse than even the memory of his own father’s death. A remarkably similar memory, but clouded by rage rather than grief. Jormand had had enough of rage now. Enough of grief too. He could hardly bring himself to look at his brother because he didn’t have any grief left. Instead he only felt guilty. Guilty that he felt almost nothing when looking at the failing body of his brother. He was just numb.

That was why he needed to get to Derranhall. His father’s will be damned. He needed to return to the safety of a life not yet bled of feeling. Out on the sea with a crew of his own, he would feel again. He knew that he would. He always had. Knowing that he would be there soon kept him moving. He did not pay much attention to what went on around him. He could trust Lana and Gisela to protect the others. He had one goal and he could almost taste it on the wind.

***

Rianne’s ship was a thing of beauty, massive, excellently crafted, and crewed by the most seasoned of sailors—so she had been told, on multiple occasions—but all that Lana could think about was when she would be able to disembark.

Skulking around the harbor in Maerin, Lana had seen her fair share of ships. Probably more than most people, save for sailors of course. She’d been fascinated by them, those strange contraptions of lumber and rope, so elegantly able to navigate even the roughest seas. Once she had thought that she might board one and ride it off to a better life, away from Maerin. She’d thought about it often enough, but she’d never been able to muster the courage to even try to stow away. Ships were always attended by soldiers or at least armed sailors, and she saw firsthand how poorly they treated interloping beggars. Bodies surfaced in the canals of Maerin regularly, and not all of them were accidental.

She had imagined that ships would feel as elegant aboard as they looked from land, but now she was learning that she had been woefully wrong. The massive wooden beast, named the Gladiatrix by Rianne, lurched and jumped over the smallest waves, heaving and rocking with so much vigor that it seemed like it was trying to launch its passengers from off the deck. It was terrifying.

Lana’s companions, Gisela, Lyra, and even young Allur didn’t have an issue with it. Far from it. Gisela’s frown that she’d worn since their escape in the forest even softened when seaspray came up over the side of the ship and Allur’s apathy was shaken when he watched a school of odd, large fish play in the wake of the Gladiatrix. It only made Lana’s clenching stomach worse to see the others completely at ease. They didn’t even seem to mind the chill that lingered even after the sun was long risen, made more noticeable by the sea wind.

And that was not even to mention the captain. Rianne stood in the middle of the top deck, a spyglass held to her eye, her fiery hair whipping in the wind, and a foolish grin perpetually on her face. Lana didn’t think she was actually doing anything, none of the workings of the ship were located on the upper deck except for some ropes and pulleys that attached to the massive sail. Rianne hadn’t lifted a finger to help the sailors who managed those.

And then there was Jormand. He hadn’t joined the rest of them where they sat at the stern, out of the way of the crew. He’d hardly moved since boarding. He just stared off towards the northern horizon with a wistful look. Not much different from Rianne, only without the spyglass. Lana would have preferred if he joined them. She didn’t know just how injured he was still, but he certainly shouldn’t be standing upright on the ship as it heaved and shook, not when he might still be unbalanced from his injuries. But it didn’t seem to bother him. His legs made up for the ship’s motion seemingly without a thought, keeping his upper half more or less stationary. It was remarkable really, and made Lana more than a little jealous. Her stomach chose that moment to remind her of exactly why she was jealous with a particularly violent clench. It was good that she was near the side of the ship, she decided.

Crew members broke around Jormand and even Rianne gave him a wide berth. It was no mystery why either. Even without his customary snarl, he looked intimidating. The blood-flecked bandages that covered a substantial amount of his body did nothing to help with that.

The lack of a scowl on his face worried Lana even more. He certainly wasn’t friends with Rianne and so shouldn’t be so at ease on her ship. Come to think of it, he had probably knocked his head a few times during their escape. He had been somewhat distant since then.

It took no small amount of strength for Lana to lift herself from the comfort of the deck boards and onto her feet. The swaying of the ship threatened to knock her over at any moment, but she stoically pressed on, taking one shaky step after another until she managed to reach Jormand. She grabbed hold of one of his arms to steady herself. He hardly seemed to notice.

“Why don’t you come sit with the rest of us.” She said to him in as calming of a tone as she could muster while the ship still did its best to cast her off the side. She tugged on his arm to start him moving and he followed along, blinking away his strange look.

When they got back to the rest of the group, Lyra had gone, but the others still huddled against the side of the ship. She left Jormand in Gisela’s capable hands. The two of them promptly began reminiscing about sailing. Lana could only shake her head. Why anyone would ever voluntarily board any sort of boat was beyond her.

Right then, a particularly violent shake sent her down to her knees. No, she most certainly did not understand the appeal. Not at all. Grumbling to herself, Lana made sure she was steady before trying to regain her feet. At least the journey would be quick, or so Rianne said.

No one else was fazed by the ship’s motion though, and as Lana surreptitiously stood again, she noticed where Lyra had run off to.

She was standing next to Rianne, swaying with the ship like any of the sailors. She was probably trying to thank her for the passage but they already did not have much favor with Rianne, what with Lana having tricked her and the simple presence of Jormand and his brother. Lana knew that she had to get over there. She had enough experience with nobles to know that they did not react well to commoners trying to speak with them unprompted. So she forced herself to make the arduous march to the mast, each step nearly sending her sprawling again. But she made it, eventually.

By the time that she did, Lyra had already said her piece and was on the way back. She waved to Lana as she passed, as relaxed as you please, rolling with the ship like it was second nature. Lana had to suppress a glower.

She was about to turn and follow Lyra back but her plans were foiled when the ship shook once more and she leaned the wrong way. It tossed her to the railings on the side where her stomach decided it had finally had enough and now was the time to give up the fight and she vomited into the sea below. She was lucky to be near the side. It let her avoid the worst of it as she could hardly keep herself upright. At least the ship was moving fast enough that she did not have to smell it for long.

Behind her, Lana heard a giggle as she propped herself back up from being doubled over the side. She froze and couldn’t bring herself to turn around. Partly because her stomach was still as upset as before but more so because that giggle had come from Rianne.

“First time?” Rianne asked as she leaned against the railing to Lana’s side as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She even smiled.

Lana nodded, scrubbing her chin with the back of her hand. She didn’t trust herself to open her mouth at the moment.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.” Rianne said with a grin. She could see Lana’s discomfort, it would have been hard to miss. At least she wasn’t bringing attention to it. The evidence was all over the side of the ship but that would be washed away by the sea with time.

Lana shuddered. She didn’t know if she wanted to get used to this. It felt like the ship was actively trying to pitch her off the side and into the water. Far better to never set foot on one ever again, she thought. The speed of travel was a great advantage, but it wasn’t worth this!

Lana eased herself down onto the deck planks once she was reasonably sure that her stomach could handle it. Rianne took a seat beside her, much more fluidly. She folded her legs under her in her flowing trousers like it were the easiest thing in the world. Lana just let herself drop. She couldn’t trust her limbs to move correctly. She was fine tuned to every movement, a habit from her previous life, and it did not take well to the sea where there was always more to take in than she could handle.

The two of them sat like that for a while, Lana trying to regain control over her own body through sheer force of will and Rianne fiddling with her spyglass and studying it intently. She seemed anxious, and Lana could understand. It was Lana’s fault that Rianne was in such an awkward position, but she couldn’t feel badly about that. She had done what was necessary to get to where she was going. And there wasn’t any real danger to Rianne from Jormand or his brother, Lana was sure of it.

But still the silence lingered. Lana finally got ahold of her rebellious insides, it helped to look out over the ship to the horizon, she found. Rianne was still playing with her spyglass, spinning it around with one hand idly. The bronze casing caught the light from time to time, throwing bright flashes into Lana’s eyes.

Eventually, Rianne spoke, in an uncharacteristically subdued voice. “You’re not really a lady, are you.” She said. It wasn’t a question and Lana did not reply. She had hoped that Rianne wouldn’t find her out, but it had only ever been a matter of time. She couldn’t mimic the mannerisms, the knowledge, she just did not know what to do to keep up the appearance. Galier had guided her well while he was able, but she’d forgotten most of what he said within hours if not minutes. Days and weeks spent on the road had only eroded the act further. Then she showed up in Blistimere looking like the beggar that she was. What had she expected Rianne would think?

“How long have you known?” Lana asked, hesitant to speak now that Rianne knew her true self. Nobles did not like fraternizing with commoners in her experience and she knew to be careful, as much as it bothered her.

Rianne chuckled wryly and shrugged. “Since last night, maybe. I thought I had to be wrong when I saw who you were travelling with. I really thought you were a suitor for Jormand when I first met you…”

Lana felt herself blushing. Her face was already ruddy enough from her heaving and coughing but still she bowed her head to hide it. There was no reason for her to be feeling embarrassed. She certainly wasn’t a suitor, not for Jormand! Maybe she had begun to see him as a little more than a bloodthirsty beast, but nothing like that!

“...But no lady would be seen in that.” Rianne gestured to Lana’s stained and dirty shirt and trousers and laughed lightly. Once somewhat pretty, and far nicer than any laborer’s clothes, they were certainly not fit for nobility anymore.

“I-I’m sorry…” Lana managed. Rianne did not seem to be particularly angry with her, which was a good sign, but truth be told, she did feel guilty for lying to her. Rianne had been more than kind to help them, especially after Lana had tricked her to bring Jormand and his brother along. It had to be done and she would have done so again, but Rianne seemed genuinely affronted. When Lana looked up and looked her in her brilliant green eyes, there was betrayal there, a darkening that hurt more than outright anger could.

“Who are you?” Rianne asked, her voice full of confusion and even a little sadness.

Lana let the question hang. What was she supposed to say? That she was a beggar, a cutpurse, and a thief? A mugger who skulked in the shadows of Maerin to prey upon people like Rianne? She couldn’t bring herself to say that. It wasn’t who she was anymore. Now she was something else. She wasn’t sure exactly what, not quite yet, but… She was not the same frightened waif that Galier brought back to the Captain’s Cat that night. Since then she’d been to banquets, fought imperial soldiers and rode on a warship. Those were not things that a beggar could do. But how could she say all of that to Rianne?

“No one important.” She finally said, turning her head away to stare at the decking. The boards were smooth and even, no splinters in sight. Clean except for the little dots of spray that were flung high enough to make it onto the upper deck. It was better than looking Rianne in the eye. “The party where we met was the first I’ve ever been to. I was helping…” She almost said that she had been helping Galier to spy among the nobility, but stopped herself. The two of them were not friends and she was learning more and more that knowledge was often best kept hidden in the world of aristocrats “...a friend to locate someone. I never expected to see you again. I’m still supposed to be there.” She looked back up at Rianne who, to her shock, was smiling. Smiling!

“Life has a funny way of giving us what we least expect.” She said, any hint of offense at Lana’s lie now gone. “I am glad to have the chance to meet you again though. I told you when we first met that the tides were changing in Maerin and since then, I have only become more convinced of that. These are strange times and women like us would do well to stick together, so I am glad that we’re in the same boat.” She grinned at her own joke and continued on. “It seems my father has cast his lot in with house Derran. That is the only conclusion I can draw from captain Henriot’s letter. That is why I am going to Derranhall. It is not what I expected from my father, but like I said, life is strange that way.” She stared out to the horizon, her face adopting an unreadable expression.

“I fear that whatever is to come, it will be bloody. Be careful, Lana, you keep strange friends.” With that, she stood and offered Lana a respectful nod. “Don’t leave too soon after we arrive in Derranhall. I’d like to speak with you again before you do.” She said, then she walked off, shouting to a sailor who was lounging against the mast to get back to her post.

Lana remained where she was a little longer, mulling over what Rianne had said. She didn’t know what Rianne meant about the future being bloody, but she sounded deadly serious about it. Lana was inclined to take that advice to heart. Their path to Derranhall had been bloody thus far and there was no reason to believe that would change when they arrived. It was dour to think about and slowly it sunk Lana deeper into a foul mood, not at all helped by the gradual return of her nausea.

***

Jormand glanced over to Lana from time to time where she sat with Rianne. The two of them were chatting pleasantly enough from what he could tell, but he knew to be suspicious. Rianne had done them a favor by granting them passage, but he was under no illusions that they were friends or even allies. Political tensions ran deep in noble life and Rianne and her father had never forgiven Galier for the ugliness that had happened between them. And now Galier was a member of house Derran, even more so than Jormand himself for the time being. He would have to keep an eye on Rianne until they arrived. After that, it would be someone else’s job.

Lyra had returned to the group at the stern and was playing with Allur, who seemed reinvigorated by the sea air. That was good. The poor boy had seen things that no child should ever see. Jormand’s stomach still threatened to empty itself when he thought of the assault on the caravan, so, much like Allur, he found a distraction.

He talked with Gisela about sailing and life back home. She was as exhausted, both mentally and physically, as much as he was if not more so, but she lit up when talking about home. She might not have the same memories as Jormand, but there were commonalities and sharing those was a precious thing. You just could not explain the feeling of waking up on the deck of a trusty ship on a freezing spring morning, frost touching your lips gently before the sun rose and melted it away. But more than that, she did not judge him for what he had done back home. She was like him. She had spent her early adulthood on raiding ships. Narrow, spearlike vessels with only one purpose, to plunder other ships. It was an unspoken commonality among most northerners. Even the southern new blood thought it a barbaric practice. Even Jormand’s own best friend, Galier, who had been on no small number of raids himself didn’t like talking about it anymore. But it was a part of him, as it was of Jormand.

Jormand understood what disturbed people about it. Truth be told, he was starting to understand it more and more, but raids were a fact of life for people like him. In Derranhall and settlements like it, not enough food could be grown for winter. It just could not be done. Even with preserved meat and hardtack, food stores would run low before springtime. There was no other way to feed your people than to take what you needed from others. Often at the point of a sword. It was gruesome work. Even if you did not kill for it, you were dooming those who you took from as certainly as if you had. But it was you or the sailor at the end of your blade. The both of you would not survive the winter, and the choice was in the hand that held the sword.

Jormand got the feeling that Gisela did not overly like him and he was used to that. He knew that when people looked at him, they saw a savage man. Not the kind of person most would want to be friends with. Not the kind of person he would want to be friends with. He’d built that man intentionally. Or rather, his father had. He was the product of a childhood spent killing and being given no quarter, not even by his father, and it left him as hard and bare as a cliff face. As threatening too. He knew that was what Gisela saw. Even as they spoke and laughed over stories of their youths, she cast him sideways glances when she thought he wasn’t looking. Most were aimed at the viciously beaked hammer at his waist.

He had begun to think of it that way. The utilitarian curve of the chisel-spiked end looked different than most hammers to him now, even though it was not. It was not because of what it could do, but because of what it had done. A murderer looked much the same as any other man, but he was different for what he had done. Jormand regretted that he kept it in plain view. Perhaps Gisela would have given him a chance if she did not have that reminder.

Jormand tried to steer the conversation in hopes of showing to Gisela that he wasn’t the monster she undoubtedly thought he was. At first he told her about how he had met Lana, but that brought him to duels which would only remind her. He didn’t know why he did it. He had never cared before what people thought of him. Well, aside from Galier, but Galier knew enough about him to not judge his actions too harshly. Gisela didn’t.

Then he brought up the only other thing they shared. The journey that had led them here, to Rianne’s ship. Before the massacre of course, even before the caravan. He mentioned how in the evenings, Gisela had played her lute when he and Elyas sang. He missed those times, so peaceful and hopeful, spent in blessed ignorance of what was to come.

Gisela smiled too when it brought it up, but sadly, in remembrance of a time gone by and unreachable now.

“I left my lute with the caravan.” She said, unwilling to speak of exactly why that had been necessary. “I regret that I couldn’t help more people and I regret that I waited so long to flee, but it's funny. I regret leaving that more…”

Jormand nodded along, resigned to feeling numb once more. Happy reminiscing could only last so long. Perhaps if she had gone back for the lute they would have some distraction, but as it was, they were left to stew with their own thoughts.

“It wouldn’t be the same without him.” Jormand said, hesitant to use Elyas’ name for fear that his mind would dredge up images he had already seen too much of. Gisela nodded silently. It was hard to say with the near constant mist from the sea, but he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

“He was a good man.” She said, her voice choked and thick with unshed tears. “A good soldier and a good sailor and a better man than any of us deserved.” She barely got through it all before she could no longer hold back and began to cry. Quietly, but no less genuinely.

“That he was.” Jormand mumbled, feeling his own tears beginning to build in force. Elyas had been loyal beyond what duty necessitated. He’d been by Jormand’s side through good and bad, victory and disaster. He had been one of very few who knew something of the depths of the things Jormand had done enforcing his father’s will but he had remained loyal through it all. In many ways, Elyas had filled the gaps that Martim left. Acting as advisor and stabilizing force throughout much of Jormand’s life. And now he wasn’t.

In some deep, dark part of himself, Jormand felt betrayed. Elyas had had no right to leave him now, when he was as directionless as he had ever been. He needed guidance and had no one to turn to. He traveled with a soldier, a beggar, a child, a caravaner, and an invalid, none of whom offered any of the wisdom Elyas would have. Jormand needed that firm hand that he could rely upon, now more than ever. And it was gone.

He sniffed hard to hold back the tears. His lips were salted enough without them, but within the numbness cracked and out seeped the sorrow he had not felt before. It was a strange thing that memory once happy could be colored so darkly by one single instance. Now it was rendered excruciating to think about anything that had Elyas touched.

Jormand and Gisela were left in a brooding silence, each wrapped in their own minds, oblivious to those around them and the Gladiatrix continued on its path, sailing northward. The wind picked up at its roar along with that of the waves was all that filled Jormand’s ears.

Jormand was roused from his dark stupor when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Small fingers dug into his tender flesh painfully, jolting him back to the here and now. He looked up to see Lana standing—if it could be called that—with much of her weight leaned against him. Her lips were pressed together with grim determination and her cheeks were flushed to a dull red. Her hair was stringy with the sea water and whipped about her head, leaving streaks of salt to dry on her face. Out from a mask of strain, her light brown eyes shone clear and bright.

Happy for the distraction, Jormand smiled up at her, feeling the pressing darkness retreat a little now that he had something else to focus on. She smiled back hesitantly. He could read anxiety in every line of her face. Whatever she had spoken about with Rianne must have been worrying her.

Jormand gestured to the deck beside him and Lana took a seat, dropping herself down without a hint of decorum. Jormand could not help but chuckle to himself. She was by far the least prepared person he had ever seen set foot on a ship. He knew of a few others whose bodies did not take well to the constant motion, but never someone so entirely helpless. The smallest movements almost sent her sprawling to the deck and she looked more than a little queasy.

Once she’d settled onto the deck, she turned to him with a worried frown that cut off his mirth effectively.

“Rianne knows I’m not a lady,” She said in a quiet voice,

Jormand shrugged, the weight of his anxiety already lifting. “It was only a matter of time.” He said, “She won’t do anything drastic and we’ll be in Derranhall soon.” She didn’t seem convinced, continued on, “You’ll be safe there.”

“That’s not all,” She said. Her voice got even quieter, like she was worried the rowers below might hear her. “Whatever that letter the other captain is carrying says, is important. It's why Rianne is going to Derranhall. She said her father swore fealty to your house or something.”

“What?” Jormand asked, dumbfounded. House Teloway had comparable influence to house Derran and more importantly, had always sided with the old blood in the past. Most of that influence came from trade deals across the Phoenaxian sea after all. Jormand couldn’t think of many reasons why Broderic Teloway would suddenly change his tune so drastically. “Are you sure?” he asked, careful to keep his voice down. He understood why Lana was so intent to do so now.

“I think so. I can’t be sure but that's what it sounded like. Jormand, I don’t understand what this means, but she seemed upset. She told me to be careful. She said that she thought whatever was about to happen was going to be bad.” Lana’s eyes had gone wide, seeming to take up half of her face. She was frightened, as well she should be.

“I don’t know, Lana.” Jormand said, shaking his head. In truth, he didn’t. It was unprecedented, what Broderic Teloway had done. Especially with the power vacuum that currently concerned house Derra. “I just don’t know. I know as little as you do, but I think we might both do well to take her advice.”

Lana nodded, but she did not look like her fears had been assuaged at all. Jormand couldn’t blame her. His mind was awhirl with the possible implications of these events. Why would lord Broderic do something so drastic? What was happening down in Maerin to prompt this? More than that, he was suddenly very concerned for Galier. He would have been the one to accept Broderic’s oath and that made him the center of whatever it was that was happening. Galier possessed a bright mind and enough political acumen for two lords his age, but he was still new to it all and had few allies of his own. The world of politics in Maerin could be a dangerous one. Just one more thing for Jormand to worry about.

“So what do we do?” Lana asked, her voice smaller still. She sounded how Jormand imagined a mouse might if it could speak.

“We wait.” Jormand said simply. “Whatever is happening, we will know more when we arrive.” And he would be able to be free of it then. It would be a problem for the others, for Ketrim if he recovered. Jormand would wash his hands of it all.

Lana was shivering, though from fear or cold, Jormand could not tell. The autumn chill had deepened already and even though it was not uncomfortable yet for Jormand, Lana would not be used to it.

He gestured for her to move closer and wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders. She smiled gratefully and snuggled against him, glad for the warmth. Once again, she reminded him of a small creature, so frail compared to him. He knew that exterior belied a fortitude stronger than iron, but he could not shake the image of a dormouse curled up in its burrow.

“Be patient,” He said soothingly, “We’ll be there soon.”