It felt like not a single damn fish in the ocean wanted to bite lately. Portia’s bare feet hung over the dock, her fishing pole cast as far beyond the wave breaks as she could manage. Her tackle box sat next to her, filled with hand-spun lures—mostly hers, two were by her pops, but she didn’t dare use them—and a spread of different baits. Pops’ harpoon rested behind her, just within arms reach should [Fishermen’s Sense of Danger] activate.

Five years it’d been. She missed him every day. All time did was make it easier to fall asleep at night and leave the bed in the morning. Elona made a habit of checking on her, frequently bringing her food and ensuring that there were enough supplies in the house. That job should have fallen to Portia’s mother, but her grief over her lost husband forced her final steps into the ocean, never to be seen again.

She looked at her forearm and traced the fresh ink with the tips of her free hand. A traveling merchant with a background in skin painting had dropped onto Ni Island a month before, offering her services and wares. It had hurt like hell, but the anchor bearing Pops’ name brought her a small amount of solace that they wouldn’t be apart forever. Emilio. One day, the waves would carry her back to him, like Mom.

For now, here she was. Fishing beside her father’s boat. She’d recently found rot at the base of the mast but didn’t have the Bells or carpentry knowledge to replace it. More than likely, she’d have to cut it off, store the sail, and use the rowers they kept for emergencies full-time until she could afford a new one.

“Everything’s gone to shit since you’ve been gone, Pops,” Portia murmured to the boat. “What in Saoirse’s name did the Royal Guard want with you?”

There was a bit of coin in ferrying girls to San Island. Enough to pay Elona and keep the cookfire going. She wasn’t comfortable enough to make the trip to Shi or Ichi yet. As it was, the fishcats were crazier every time she saw them—some even leaping out of the water and into her boat. Emilio had taught her how to spear them with a harpoon, and she could take two at a time now instead of finding herself overpowered by one when she was a kitten. Still had the scar to prove it. But if she was coming back to Ni on her own and a whole swarm attacked? She didn’t stand a chance.

As every day passed without a new man showing up, more and more Ni Island girls were leaving in favor of the other islands. She’d taken a handful to San while the others preferred to wait for the monthly Nyarlothep merchant ship or the heftier boats that sometimes swung by from Shi and Ichi. She liked the latter, as it gave her a chance to talk shop with other sailors. The merchant ship usually docked on the other end of Ni Island, and she didn’t have much of a reason to bother traveling that far.

The sudden swelling of the waves snapped Portia from her idle daydreaming. She looked up to see a large vessel headed toward her dock—a catamaran by the looks of it. As opposed to her single-hulled boat, this one had two with a hell of a lot more room for passengers between it. The sailing speed was impressive despite the gentle breeze in the air. As remarkable as it was, the damn thing was headed to the same side of the dock as her sailboat.

“Shit!” Portia leaped to her feet and fervently reeled in her line. To her immense relief, [Fisherman’s Sense of Danger] didn’t trigger, and her lure returned unharmed. She set the pole on the dock and frantically waved her arms over her head. “Hey! Not that side!”

A dark-haired girl at the wheel shielded her eyes and spotted the hopping Portia from a distance. She looked from side to side at her catgirl crewmates, pointing and muttering instructions. The boat jibed, veering against the wind and stopping a few meters from where Portia stood, perpendicular to the dock.

“Yǔ xī, have we arrived?” a deep voice called from below deck.

“Almost.” Now that she was closer, Portia could see the girl’s hair was a deep black that shimmered blue in the sunlight. “It’s just, er…”

“Just tie up on the other side! What’s the problem?” Portia called.

A pale young man appeared beside Yǔ xī with hair the yellow of the feathers in many of Portia’s lures and pointed ears. Portia blinked. Yeah, those were nothing like Pops’ ears; these were long. He wore polished silver armor emblazoned with a golden emblem, a red cape flapping behind him.

“We took damage on the port side on our way over. One of my girls needs to check it out,” Yǔ xī called.

“You could have warned me that you were comin’!” Portia cried. “Coulda forgone this whole shit show!”

“You have quite a mouth on you for a kitten,” the man stated, his stare cold.

“I’m not a kitten!” She was thirteen, dammit. Old enough to be on her own for five years. “Just pull forward, and I’ll sail out and let you dock.”

“You couldn’t simply pull your canoe onto the sand?” he asked, gesturing to the beach. “There’s plenty of room for such a tiny boat.”

Canoe?! “That would damage the rudder on my boat, you chowder-headed bastard!” That insult was a favorite of her father’s, though it tasted bitter-sweet on her tongue. “Just wait a damn minute.”

He glowered down at her but didn’t say anything else.

Portia tossed her harpoon in her boat, untying it from the dock and raising the anchor. The wind was in her favor, and she opened the sail to an easy breeze. Even if it was a short spurt of sailing, the first few seconds after leaving the dock always made her heart race and set her troubles free. Though, this time it was cut short by the yellow-haired man calling out something about moving faster.

Wonder how fast he’d sink in that armor.

Once she’d skirted her boat around the catamaran, Yǔ xī steered their ship into the empty dock. Portia followed soon after, retying and anchoring herself on the opposite side. She picked up her harpoon and hopped out, closing her tackle box and collecting her fishing rod.

“Where’s your island’s man?” The man in armor had collected himself and stepped away from the catamaran. A dark-skinned catgirl with long black hair tied high on her head stood beside him, her lower face masked in black.

Portia flinched. “Dead. You’re five years too late.” Her ears twitched with irritation. “What do you want with him?”

He sighed. “Though it means nothing to you, I wished to discuss a potential pact. I see that is not to be.”

“Too bad. No man here. Just us catgirls to defend ourselves.” Portia raised her harpoon to prove her worth as a fighter. Though, the truth was that she was still a novice compared to Emilio.

“This island looks abandoned. What are you defending yourselves from?”

“Roaches, obviously,” Portia snapped. “And there are plenty of people still here. They just live in the cities.”

“Alright. Where’s the nearest city, girl?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. “I’d like a meal before we leave for San Island.”

“Wait. You’re San Island’s man? Cailu?” Portia laughed, a sound that echoed from her belly to her throat. “That’s rich.”

The masked girl beside him narrowed her eyes, her hands shooting to her hips. Cailu held a hand up, staying her. “Why do you laugh?”

“Every time I ferry a girl your way, the others in port gush over you. You don’t look like much to me.”

He sneered, annoyance flashing in his gaze. “You will lose that tongue if you continue to waggle it.”

Portia let her laugh die out before continuing. There wasn’t a single part of him that was like her father. He had no sense of humor, no warmth in his gaze, no patience for the unexpected. Emilio had warned her about men like him. In the depths of that unbreakable façade, there were almost always a few chinks in the armor.

Despite the frustration on both of their faces, Portia flashed them a winning smile and readjusted the tools in her arms. “I’ll tell you what. Let me put my gear away, and I’ll show you to Junonia. Less wandering around for you.”

Cailu searched her face for a long time, then nodded. “If you lead us astray, Naeemah will take your tongue. Understood?”

She had to stifle another laugh. Did he ever breathe in all that heavy armor? “Sure. And, when we get there, why don’t we play some cards?”

“I’ve a fair hand at card games,” Cailu replied, allowing some of the tension to leave his neck and shoulders.

“Great, I’ll be right back.” Portia dashed back to her house, replacing all of her tools in the small storage closet in the kitchen. If he was as rich as he looked, she just might be able to win enough Bells to fix her sail after all.

I’ll keep fighting, Pops. You don’t have to worry about me.