Ordadus

Nothing but the faint outline of the moon lingered as Aurelia Marin crept out into her boat on the Argen Coast. The air was cold, biting--she pulled her scrap of a cloak closer to her skin to savor any bit of warmth. Sunlight barely peeked over the horizon, lighting her net as she tied a knot, that against her will, kept coming undone.

She sighed. Her hands were not nimble like the fishermen who'd been training since childhood, instead chubby like the village girls who had only been taught to cook and clean.

But of course, she did the jobs of both.

When the knot finally settled into place, she let out a breath so whispery that not even the seagulls and fish could hear. She was the only one out on the waters this early, the only woman who dared enter a boat without a man before the sun rose. Those women didn't know the best catches swam near the shore before wooden boats spread across the sea-surface. Those women rarely even left their market-stalls and shabby kitchens.

As far as Aurelia was concerned, fishing was monotonous and a means to survival. She'd met men who waxed poetic about the sun and the water, but in her crowded hometown of Darnell, she saw boat walls more often than the actual sea. But the mornings were quiet, almost startlingly so--though she supposed it was better than high tide, when the dock was cluttered with ropes and buckets of fish.

She felt a tug on her net, and deeply sighed once more. Whatever fish was in there would pay for some meager meals in the next couple weeks, and if she happened to have caught multiple, it might be enough for a week of her daughter's tuition.

Lucia. Even the thought of her daughter studying in Nevra Cor was enough to sustain her patience to spend more time out of the water. She pulled on her net gently, and felt a weight that made her heart flutter. More food. And more tuition.

She carefully pulled it out, clearing the floor of her boat the way she'd learned to as a young woman. Bending over the catch made her back ache, but Aurelia knew that this time it might very well be worth it. Quickly sifting through the pile revealed that she'd caught a few small-sized fish, and a medium one. But when she got to the bottom, her heart dropped.

The weight that she'd felt earlier was nothing but a piece of metal--barely enough to sell, and nothing that'd get her much money at the market. Nothing that would have compared to the selling price of a fish that weight. And although there was many a day where she didn't catch a single fish, the letdown of the metal still choked at her like a rope. She pinched herself gently, trying to let go of the pain in her chest by replacing it with a different one--one that could be quantified, rationalized. There was no point in complaining about not having enough--after all, that was the reality of her neighbors, and their neighbors still.

Letting go of her wishes for three meals the next day, she dropped her net back into the water and looked back to the dock.

It was far away by now, just a speck of wood on an expanse of grey. She felt untethered from land--like drifting away was as likely as the sunrise.



When finally she crept back onto shore, Darnell was just waking up. Her day's catch tucked into a rusty bucket she held close to her chest, Aurelia walked, eyes on the dusty road, to her market stall.

Other women, little children clutching their feet, carefully opened up their own stalls, stealing glances and smiles to their friends. A few even dared a quick smile at Aurelia, but she kept her head down. They pretended to understand her, but they never would: Their husbands did the fishing, they were the sellers. Aurelia did both, and although she knew it was her own fault that she did so, it still hurt to see the fishmongers laughing together.

Her stall was at the very end, and she could see the outline of her mother--long-haired and thin, striking in a disturbing way--sitting down, waiting for her.

Even after all these years, her mother still scared her. But she was an excellent seller on the days when Aurelia had to keep fishing into the afternoon.

Aurelia dropped her bucket with a clang onto the rickety table. "Hello, mother," she sighed. "Not a very good catch today."

Her mother peered into the bucket. "Oh, well," she purred. "I'll try to get a good price for it...but when it's so pitiful, it's hard..."

The pit in Aurelia's stomach turned into a fire. No matter how much she did for the woman, her mother would never be grateful. Even so, she just sighed and walked along, down the dusty road towards the shack she called home.

By the side of the road, she saw a group of little children playing a peculiar game, running around, touching each other on the shoulders and laughing louder than she ever thought possible. The only reason they're so happy is because they don't know life yet, she thought. Even her own Lucia had hardened in her teenage years, bubbly laughter turning to stony-faced studying. Sensibility, that's what these kids needed. They'd figure it out soon enough.

Finally, she arrived at her shack, which looked exactly the same as all the others on the road. It was annoyingly far from the dock and market, but it had been in her family for generations.

It looked like it, too. An ancient, worn thing, crafted out of wood that was once pristine but now cracked and susceptible. Aurelia supposed that the stilts it stood on--meant to protect from floods--would be

On the door handle hung an old, rusty bucket, usually used for messages. That day, it held a pile of papers, more than Aurelia had seen in a long time. She reached inside, expecting perhaps an update from her daughter's Nevra Cor school, or heaven forbid another payment request.

Instead, she ripped the seal and unfolded the first piece of parchment to find an announcement.

To whom it may concern:

Our Majesty Queen Ignia Corvinus and her Noble Court have come to a recent decision regarding the fate of the children found on ships wrecked at the Argen Coast.

As you may recall, the previous orders regarding these children were strict, due to the concern that they would not fit into Ordadian society. However, due to recent events, this can be proven otherwise.

These children will now be transferred to Ordadian homes, in the hopes that they will assimilate into society and take on the Ordadian nationality. Your duty as a knight requires you transport the children to Nevra Cor as soon as possible, with as little public knowledge as possible. Their family and homes will be decided from there.

Thank you for your cooperation. May Marra bless you and Ordadus.

Aurelia's cheeks flushed with red. Not for me, she thought, hastily folding it back up and attempting to stick the seal back together. But the contents of that note...they concerned her. She'd always assumed there were no children on the ships that occasionally wrecked near Darnell, and if there were, they had been taken to orphanages. After all, they were only kids, small souls who'd gotten stuck in the wrong current. "Strict"? She could only imagine what that meant.

She rifled through the rest of the papers to find the envelope addressed to her. "To the parent of Lucia Marin", they always said. Yet another soulless letter telling her the exact amount of money that'd come out of her food and clothes. This time, the number made her flinch. Tuition increases. Of course. But she'd long since learned that dwelling on them did nothing. To take her mind off the letter--which she stuffed into a spare pocket on her pants--she decided to return the other papers to their owner: the only knight in town, Solange.

Luckily, the knight's office was a short walk from her shack. She imagined that if it was a little bit farther, she'd just have tossed the papers away. Little inconveniences like that were an excuse for others to talk, to enjoy the salty air--but to Aurelia, they were just inconveniences.

She dared three knocks on the wooden door, thinking that if she got no response after the third, she'd walk away. But of course, Solange's tall stature and slim eyes greeted her anyway. Her mouth never quite molded into a pleasant expression, but Aurelia appreciated a woman who didn't feel she had to smile.

"What can I do for you, ma'am," Solange said, face and voice both taking on a dull, bored quality.

Aurelia handed the knight the papers she'd found, and immediately, Sol's face went red.

Before Solange could say anything, Aurelia spoke up. "I found these in my bucket today," she said, keeping her expression mild. "I apologize for the seal on one being torn, I thought it was addressed to me. I'll be on my way now." She turned around to leave, but the knight interrupted with a threatening cough.

The letter with the torn seal in her hand, she narrowed her eyes at Aurelia. "Do not speak of what you have seen in this letter to anyone else."

Aurelia narrowed her eyes back. "I have no reason to speak to anyone who would dare worry about such a thing. The government--" She dared a scornful cough at the mention of the Queen and her Court. "--has no reason to worry."

Alone on the quarterdeck, Admiral Magdalena Seneca leaned back against the railing and smiled in blissful awe. Above her stretched the magnificent cloud-white sails of the Gloria Invicta, late-morning sunlight diffusing the rippling canvases with gold. The sounds and smells of the sea embraced her. She was glad to be back.

Maggie turned her face against the wind to watch the bustling activity on deck below. Her remaining eye wasn't as sharp as it once was, but she was able to pinpoint which of the sailors was her son the Commodore, dressed smartly in a deep blue coat with golden trims, lean and quick on his feet like his mother, charming and warm like his dad. "Ensign Varro!" he called out. "Let's give her a bit more sail. Loosen the royals!"

It was a strange feeling to be on the grandest adventure of her life when she had assumed there were no more adventures left to be had, not even small ones. Several years ago, Maggie had resigned to a quiet life in New Solimar's coastal capital where the most excitement she ever saw alternated between meetings with the Fleet Admiral and sea snail hunts with her grandchildren.

Commodore Francis, shielding his eyes from the sun, noticed her watching him from up on deck and waved cheerily. He made his way to the foot of the quarterdeck ladder and placed one boot on the first step. "Regretting coming along yet, Mama?"

Maggie smiled and shook her head. "You couldn't be further from the truth."

Francis shrugged. "I dunno . . . Don't you wish you were stuck in naval council right now?"

A huff of air escaped her nose. "You're right, it's Cilvor."

Every seven days she was trapped in that stuffy admiralty hall, monitoring hearings, but today - blessedly - there were no walls to speak of, only the Argen Sea.

"Solah," she said teasingly, "I don't even want to think about the council."

Francis shrugged. "Who knows, maybe Rufus will ask you to head the new one once we reach land."

Maggie wrinkled her nose. "One thing at a time, Francis. First we find new land. Then we build a port city, maybe a lighthouse. Then we can talk about the luxury of an admiralty hall."

Francis turned away with a chuckle, but before he went back to his first mate duties, he paused and looked up at her. "Y'know what? Dad was right, this air is good for you. You look about ten years younger. Easily."

Maggie knew that last part was false, but there was some truth in what he said. She certainly felt younger than 62.

Sighing, the admiral watched her son march off to help Ensign Roche, the boatswain, wrangle her team of riggers. A whole group of them was gathered around the mast. Some of them were pointing skyward.

She looked up, and was surprised to see a man who was very much not a rigger all the way up in the crow's nest. He was easy to spot thanks to his rose-colored blouse and green hose: Emiliano Achillinus, the eccentric Divitan, speaking animatedly to the team below.

"Mr. Achillinus," Francis yelled up at the man. "We have work to do up there, and we're afraid you'll be at risk."

The man's hands rose in surrender with a smile, but his apology was so lengthy he spoke it the whole climb down. The men overhead, however, stopped paying attention the moment he left the nest.

Oblivious, Mr. Achillinus offered the crew a bow before twirling on his feet and planting his gaze on Maggie: spotted. Alone. His eyes grew wide with excitement, and with long strides, he bounded over to her. His long curly locks bounced behind him.

Sucking in a deep breath of composure, Maggie strode over to the nearest mast and pretended to be busy with her compass.

"The great Admiral Seneca," Achillinus greeted with performative awe. "Your authority and the magnitude of your presence is truly effortless."

Maggie allowed him a tight smile. "Achillinus. How did you find yourself in the crow's nest?"

"How am I to know the life of a sailor if I do not see from their perspective?" Achillinus tilted his head with an innocent grin. "It really is wondrous, this way of life you lead. The intersection of the mundane and the adventure, the true pioneers of the sea--"

"Astute as always," Maggie interjected drily. "And did you find what you were seeking?"

"Oh, you should have heard him!" Achillinus crooned. "Palacio regaled me of the ins and outs -- how to properly tie a knot, raising and lowering the sails, the strict attention, the. . ."

As the young man droned on and Maggie rapidly lost any semblance of focus, she marveled at Lieutenant Palacio's proven patience with the young man's curiosity.

Macedon Palacio, the gunner, was a master of his craft and one of the most respected members of the crew. Moreover, Macedon was an integral part of the greatest voyage New Solimar had ever seen. Why did he waste his time entertaining a pretentious foreigner?

"Palacio enjoys teaching," Maggie conceded out loud, recalling the lively tour of the ship he'd given Francis' three rambunctious children. "I'm glad you found someone on board to humor your research."

There was, indeed, something childlike in Achillinus' wonder. Maggie couldn't help but find it a little bit endearing. It's probably what Palacio saw, too.

"Humor!" Achillinus echoed with a laugh. "Oh, Admiral Seneca. You really do not understand how deep my captivation runs. I really couldn't be happier, out here on the sea. I think we all can taste it: being on the precipice of greatness."

Maggie smiled, a genuine smile this time. He was right.

She looked up at New Solimar's blue-and-gold flag: a sun piercing the intersection of two swords. "This ship we're standing on is the culmination everything New Solimar has achieved in the past thirty years."

"Indeed," Achillinus said.

"We have proven to Velmara that we're a power to be reckoned with. Now it's time to expand our borders. Form new trading routes. Flourish, rather than just survive."

"Did you ever think you'd get to be a part of it? Like this?" Achillinus asked.

"Never," Maggie said, looking out over the endless horizon. "I joined the revolution when I was a kid - a few years younger than you, maybe. Doubted I would live to see a free Solimar. Couldn't have imagined I'd live to see this."

For a rare moment, Achillinus was quiet, and he stared at her with a smile of admiration.

"What do you hope we will find?" he asked.

Maggie had to admit - this Achillinus kid asked good questions.

She lowered her voice slightly. "Have you heard of our legends surrounding the Argen Sea?" she asked him.

The man shook his head and leaned in with his full attention.

Maggie kept her voice low. "Long before Ustana conquered Solimar, the Argen Sea was a place shrouded in mystery, just out of reach of our ships. We felt Mar calling to us, but whenever we ventured too far, the storms would send us right back home." She smacked her hands together, imitating the vicious waves.

"When Lord Goryn attacked our capital," she continued, "our king, King Ordavin, was a yellow-bellied fool. He took his family and soldiers and fled north into the sea, leaving everyone else to suffer at the hands of Ustana and likely meeting his own cowardly end." She paused. "That's where the term 'Ordavin's mark' comes from - do you know it?"

"The mark of a coward," Achillinus answered.

"That's right," Maggie said. "Today, our ships are finally strong enough, and our men finally fearless enough, to answer Mar's call. I'm not sure what we'll find, but whatever it is, it's what she's been hiding for us all this time."

"Incredible," Achillinus said. "I truly cannot wait to see what secrets you uncover. You bear the mark of a New Soliman like no other."

Maggie shrugged, flattered. "Glory favors the fearless."

"And it's surely favored you."



That evening, the officers of the Gloria Invicta gathered in the mess hall outside the captain's quarters, where Ensign Josias and his assistant had prepared a modest feast. Once the essential topics of running a ship had been addressed, the tide of conversation quickly shifted to the colorful Emiliano Achillinus.

"He isn't getting in the way of your work, though, is he?" Maggie asked Lieutenant Palacio.

"Please," Palacio waved his fork, speared with meat. "He's like a pup. Every once in a while, you gotta throw him a bone. Keep him happy."

"We don't need a dog on this ship though," Maggie argued, slicing her steak.

Francis chuckled. "C'mon, Mom, is it really so bad? Is anyone else gonna listen to your history lessons?"

Palacio snorted behind his hand, hiding his peppered beard. Ensign Cordula Roche, the boatswain, hid a grin behind her glass of rum-- although she wasn't really attempting to hide it, because it was still there after she'd taken a swig.

Maggie's cheeks flushed pink. "I was just throwing him a bone, like Macedon said!"

"You've given him the whole skeleton, I'd say," Commander Hebe Morandi, the ship's quartermaster, said with a sigh. "Now he'll keep coming back for more."

"'Don't need a dog,'" Palacio quoted with a smirk. "But you like feeding him with the rest of us."

"I don't mind, really," Maggie said. "But if he's getting in the way of any important work, like on the rigging today, I need to know. I can have a word with him."

"Several words," Palacio quipped.

Maggie noticed Francis elbow Palacio in the ribs, who in turn wiped at his mouth with a napkin and raised an apologetic palm. It reminded Maggie of when the two boys were kids. Macedon lived right next door and was a few years older than Francis, but it was little Francis who was always reining him in.

Josias reached his meaty arms between the two and set a fresh, steaming pot of stew in the center of the table.

"Ladies first!" Francis said, reaching for Maggie's bowl.

"Don't mind if I do," Roche said with another grin-- or perhaps she'd never stopped grinning.

"By order of rank!" Morandi said, tapping Roche's hand.

"Yes ma'am," Roche said dutifully, although Maggie noticed that despite the jest, she'd never made a move towards the stew.

Francis ladled two generous scoops of stew into Maggie's bowl and placed it in front of her. "Order of rank, you said?" He shrugged, picking up his own bowl. "Don't mind if I do."

Just then, the captain's door creaked open.

"Looks like you'll have to wait," Roche quipped.

All eyes turned to see Captain Rufus Cato, the son of Marcellus, and the spitting image of his grandmother, Flavia, Maggie's elder sister. His dark brown hair, deep brown eyes, and cleft chin were the marks of her family. His dark, tanned skin was the touch of his mother. In his velvet blue coat and frock shirt gleaming with golden buttons, he was the picture of strength and poise.

Rufus caught Maggie's eyes, and though he kept his expression stoic and commanding, his eyes betrayed him. He felt it too, and he was beaming.

He was the continuation of their family legacy.

Her legacy.

Not so long ago, Maggie was enjoying a platter of crab cakes with Flavia on the older sister's veranda, both of them rocking contentedly in wicker rocking chairs, when handsome young Rufus appeared on the sandy path below. He was quivering with such uncharacteristic jubilance that his feet hardly struck the ground.

"There you are!" he called out, breaking into a jog.

Flavia, always the blunt one, glanced at Maggie and then back at Rufus. "Whatever do you want her for?"

After climbing the veranda steps three at a time, Rufus leaned down to kiss his grandma on the head, and then he turned to Maggie.

"I did it," he said between breaths.

"You . . ." Maggie's lips stretched into a slow smile. "You don't mean . . ."

Rufus nodded vigorously.

Maggie had seen first-hand the years of toil it took for Rufus to earn his place in the New Soliman naval ranks, and how many nights he chose to spend at home, locked up in his room, studying.

Maggie's voice lowered to a whisper. "The Invicta? She's yours?"

"She's mine," Rufus said in quiet disbelief.

Maggie rose and hugged him, laughing in delight. "Praise Mar," she said over his shoulder. "I knew you would."

"And you're coming with me," he added.

She froze.

Rufus pulled back from the embrace, and Maggie's one eye widened in astonishment. Rufus wasn't one to kid, and his sincere face confirmed it. Marra.

He really meant it.

"By Sol's dying light she is," Flavia quipped. "Your Aunt Maggie's sailing days are over."

As quickly as it had soared, Maggie's heart fell. Flavia was right.

"Not anymore," Rufus said, firmly. "Especially on a journey like this one, every captain needs his admiral."

Rufus understood what Maggie was reluctant to admit was true. She couldn't stomach the quiet life. She needed the tang of salt in her nose, the cold wind on her skin, the purpose that only the sea could give.

Somehow, he knew that.

He didn't need her, of course. He had his uncle, and Palacio, and all the others who rounded out the crew of officers seated around the mess hall table, waiting for him to take a seat.

But she needed this.

"I'm not too late for supper, am I?" Rufus asked his crew. "I was just wrapping up the books and combing over maps. We're nearing uncharted waters."

"My favorite phrase," Roche murmured excitedly, quiet enough that Maggie could barely hear.

"Not at all late," Morandi promised, with a respectful tilt of her head. "Please join us, Captain."

Rufus sat beside Maggie, and everyone waited as he poured himself a bowl.

"You all realize, we're about to make history, right?" Rufus said with an edge of excitement.

Maggie's chest swelled with pride. And she was right here, with the people she loved, to see it happen with her own eyes.

Francis pushed his chair back so he could peer past Rufus into his quarters, where Maggie knew the captain's impressive collection of maps and calculations were spread across his desk. "Are we really that close?"

"This is where we push the line," Rufus said, tapping the table with one finger, like he was pointing at one of his maps. "Every ship -- the Divitan navy, the Ledros navy, the fleets of Faciuls -- no one has come as far as we have, my friends. In this very moment, we are passing the furthest point that our world has ever known."

Roche pumped her fist. Palacio slapped his arm around Francis's shoulders, and the two of them laughed. Josias leaned out of the kitchen window with a smile. Even Morandi looked pleased with a proud nod.

"And even better still," Rufus continued with a growing grin. "Sir Augustine just told me, he spotted a murre."

Maggie gasped. A murre! If that fowl-infatuated noble had caught sight of a bird, that meant dry land was within reach - a few days away, at most.

"He did?" Roche exclaimed. "Oh, and just when I'd gotten my sea legs back!"

"When?" Maggie asked. "When did he see the murre?"

"Just before you lot sat down to eat," Rufus smiled. "Who knows? In a couple days, we could be stepping on new land. Creating new borders."

"I'll drink to that." Palacio said, lifting his glass. "To New Solimar!"

A chorus of cheers echoed the toast, and the room filled with raised hands and clinking glasses. Rufus turned to Maggie, holding out his cup.

"I've never been more proud," Maggie said, clinking hers with Rufus'. Of her grand-nephew, of her son, of her country.

WC: 2664
Collab with @soundofmind & @Silvern

Duskar, Sordmar XV
One of the most enchanting occurrences in life is serendipity. There is always ambition, in the shape of an arrowhead - or a captain - pushing us towards progress, and discovery, but I believe it happens by chance. Choice and chance - there is always probability as a part of the dance. And what are the odds that we find ourselves here, turning at the edge of the map, and for all we know, the end of the world?

What is it, then, that we are about to stumble upon, by accident, fate, or fortune? The Admiral's vision is a banner of glory. Captain Cato sees a bright future. Their eyes turn to the skies like visionaries, but I search for sandy shores and the people who populate them. They seek expanded borders, but I seek a different vice.

Stories.

Somewhere, that murre has a home, and that home has a populus. How many more tongues are there to learn? How many dances, dishes, and songs? What makes the heart of this land beat like no other? Whose hearts have learned its rhythm?

I long to learn the tune. I see a future bathed in coastal immersion. I want to know them, see them, breathe them. I want to sail back home with a story never told, one that every ear will itch to hear. It's upon fate, I long to stumble. And today, we've spotted a murre.

And a storm.

Serendipity.

- Emiliano

The fibres of his desk rattled to the sound of the crew. Their footsteps pounded overhead, above deck, where the winds began to blow. The captain's quarters were a refuge from teasing sailors and rude raindrops, but nothing shielded him from the sway of the ship as the wind whipped again, like a streak across the window. Emiliano looked up with a sharp jolt, quick to steady his pen to keep from marring his page with streak marks.

This was not the first torrent to afflict their journey, but it was the first to capture his attention.

Far off in the swirling, black clouds, streaks of lightning cut through the sky, reaching down to the ocean waves. The shock pulsed, rippling the field of gray with reflective white that stretched over the waters.

The ferocity was awe-inspiring, and Emiliano only wished he could capture it as an image in his mind. Left without the means, he only had words. He scrawled away, but the captain's door flew open, stopping his pen.

"Shattering" was his last word written, and an apt description of Cato's entrance.

Emiliano's hand planted over his heart as the Captain marched to his desk, rifling through papers.

"Sol blind me!" Emiliano exclaimed. "The storm has possessed you!"

Cato paid Emiliano no mind as he lifted a book from his desk, only to drop it back down with a heavy thud. He ripped a drawer open.

"What in Sol's name are you searching for?" Emiliano asked as he got to his feet, out of Cato's way.

The Captain was sifting through maps, but even Emiliano knew that was fruitless. This whole venture was adventure, and turning back now was well out of the question. What would've sent him into such a panic?

Cato slammed the drawer shut and planted his hand on the desk, inches from Emiliano's master thesis, leatherbound, and still left open with his pen in the spine.

"Have you been moving things on my desk?" Cato accused.

Emiliano raised his hands. "Captain, I wouldn't touch--"

"Mar's fury," Cato cursed, ripping a map out from under Emiliano's thesis. Emiliano plucked it up before it could fly to the floor.

The Captain was marching out.

"What's wrong?" Emiliano asked.

"Go back to writing," Cato said.

The door shook behind him, but so did the sky. A roar of thunder cut to Emiliano's bones, and while going above deck seemed a foolish pursuit, he sensed the only thing he'd gain from staying cooped up was greater ignorance.

He closed his book and set it back on the desk. With a deep breath, Emiliano walked out and was soon met with the faint drizzle of sea salt and water speckling his face. Squinting out into the open sky without the barrier of glass, Emiliano's eyes tracked the Captain, the Commodore, and the Admiral, marching on the deck and barking orders.

This was a protocol he'd seen before. Batten down the hatches, tie up the sails, and prepare for bad weather to pass them by. Despite Cato's former flurry, things seemed collected above board. It was just another routine.

"Admiral!" he called out when Admiral Magdalena Seneca passed by.

She did not seem willing when she turned. "What is it?" she said brusquely.

"What has the Captain in a tailspin?" Emiliano widened his eyes in pleading. "Should we be worried?"

The admiral's face softened. "No, there's no reason to worry. There's a lot hinging on this moment, is all."

"What, great admiral, is hinging?"

Whatever warmth had painted Admiral Seneca's expression washed away as quickly as it had come. "Surely you know what the murre's presence means," she said, the bridge of her nose scrunched.

It was a fair enough question, but so was her unspoken request. He understood the time and place weren't the best, and he was trying her patience.

"Of course, of course," Emiliano appealed, lifting his hands. "My apologies. I'll get out of your way."

Because he remembered the last time. She'd been watching him like a hawk.

The admiral gave him a curt nod and then strolled across the deck, silver ponytail whipping in the wind. She was done with him.

And yet, watching the crew come together was a special sight, even amidst chaos. There was nothing they could do to control the storm, but they were experts, and Admiral Seneca had lived through dozens of them. For all his curiosity, Emiliano knew when to step back and let them do their job. This was one of those circumstances where he knew he'd get in the way, and shouldn't.

A warm admiration burned in his chest as he leaned on the railing. It was good that he'd grown used to the seas. Years of travel along the coast acclimated him to the rocking waves, and he gripped the rails of the quarterdeck firmly.

For a moment, he closed his eyes.

The wind ran through his hair, and the sea salt bit his cheeks. He could taste it in his mouth. That, and something tangy. Metal. Electric.

A not-so-distant boom rattled his eardrums, and then he felt a hand clap onto his shoulder.

"Hey, sonny! Enjoying the lightshow?" Julian cackled cheerfully at his joke, the older man's wrinkled eyes sparkling as he watched the crew scurry back and forth.

A flash of light split the sky in two. The burst lasted a second, making Julian's wild hair stand on end.

"Though frightening, it's compellingly wondrous," Emiliano said with a smile. "I've never been this far out at sea in a thunderstorm."

"Look at them all running around," Julian said, pointing a finger out at the deck in front of them. He laughed. "Like chickens with their head cut off, right?" He elbowed him playfully.

"I think there is more order to their scrambling than that of dying poultry," Emiliano chuckled. "Were they truly set in a panic, we wouldn't be mere observers."

"Ah, the ol' observers' argument," Julian said, then clapped his hand on Emiliano's shoulder again. "You're absolutely right, sonny. Maybe we're all just chickens with our heads cut off. And still, there's order to that, isn't there?"

Julian sighed blissfully, like he'd just said something extremely profound. For someone less educated, however, he was refreshingly eager, even if his rationale was rudimentary.

"I suppose that's up to perspective. Chaos is as much a natural order as it is a state of mind," Emiliano said.

Julian tapped the side of his own head with a finger. "Bingo. You know, I think you're gonna be alright, kiddo."

Emiliano smirked. Julian had a way of saying things that left much to be added.

"Indeed," Emiliano said, looking down at the deck.

The Captain had climbed to the crow's nest with Palacio, and the amount of gesticulation between the two was almost concerning. Between the map, the swirling clouds, and the calming chaos below, Emiliano felt a strange knot pull taut in his stomach. Over the roar of the ocean, he heard Captain Cato roar.

"Land ho!"

The admiral had taken the helm. Magdalena followed Cato's lead.

They were changing course, cutting through the storm.

The electricity in the air ran like a current through Emiliano's veins. He looked to Julian with a smile, pulling wide.

"Land!" Emiliano declared. And he felt giddy.

"Get ready," Julian said with a grin. "Your legs'll be wobbling like a chicken's when we get off this boat. Have you ever been to sea before?"

"Many times. But nowhere like this." Emiliano said, casting his eyes to the shadow on the horizon. "You?"

"Oh, I've been all over," Julian said, reassuredly. "I consider myself experienced."

"Is this the furthest you've ever been?" Emiliano asked.

"Like I said, sonny." Julian smirked. "I've been all over."

The ship lurched as the sailors opened the sails, and the rudder cut through the waves. Emiliano and Julian braced against the rails and slid into each other, nearly losing their footing as droplets of rain slicked the deck. The Captain and the Admiral were busy at the helm, fighting the storm, but it was Lieutenant Palacio who came their way and scooped them up.

"You two," he ordered. "Time to go below deck. It's going to be a rough ride."

Knowing his place, Emiliano let himself and Julian be hurried out of the rain. Just as the droplets turned heavy, Palacio shut the door overhead, and they gathered in the cargo hold.

"Dig in for a long night," Palacio said.

But Emiliano's eyes were locked on the porthole. As the waters pulled away, once again he could see above the waves, just enough to catch the shadow.

Julian yammered about his extensive seafaring ventures as Palacio turned to leave, but Emiliano found himself lost in a vision. Sandy shores called to him, and wherever Cato placed his flag, Emiliano had his pen.

Ready to write this story.

Ilaria stood and peered out of the cave entrance for about the thousandth time. No sign of Felix yet. She sighed and flopped back down onto the blanket she had spread on the sand.

The roar of the ocean was amplified within the enclosed space of the cave, so she had to rely on keeping an eye out to see if anyone was coming rather than hearing any footsteps. Not that there was much sound to be heard in sand, anyways. They had picked a spot on the beach primarily for the fact that no one would know that the princess of Ordadus was meeting regularly with the leader of the Cambios rebels. As if they were friends.

It probably wasn't even a minute later when she pushed herself to her feet and walked over to the edge of the cave to look outside again. She sighed.

"Where is he?" she muttered. She caught herself biting her lip and had to stop herself. Her etiquette teachers from her youth would have given her the most scathing looks for giving in to a bad, nervous habit. "He's not the type to be late like this." Not the type to make her wait for so long.

Ilaria forced herself to sit back down and not get up for at least the next five minutes. What if something happened to Felix? Or, more likely, what if he decided that he didn't want to meet with her anymore? Perhaps he had grown tired of her. He was convinced that they couldn't see eye to eye on the political climate of Ordadus, so perhaps he was officially cutting ties. It would make sense. He was someone who had, truthfully, suffered as a child due to some of the queen's policies, while Ilaria was a symbol of everything he hated about the nation. How had she ever thought that she could try to be like a good older sister to him?

Even if he was just late, she was sure that Felix wouldn't want anything to do with her anymore if he knew what she had only just found out a few weeks ago. Her heart twinged as she thought of her older brother, Valens, holding the hands of his bride at their wedding ceremony. It felt jarring to her to see him bearing such a soft expression as he looked at her. Of course, it wasn't the same, but he never looked at Ilaria with any semblance of warmth. How ironic it was that Valens could love Cecilia and not have a care at all for his own younger sister.

Cecilia. Ilaria pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in them. They had known each other for years. Cecilia Bellona was beautiful, accomplished, impeccably well-mannered, and, most importantly of all, she was fiercely loyal to the queen. She was the perfect young Ordadian noblewoman--only, it turned out that she wasn't.

Ilaria hesitated, feeling as if her tension was choking her almost as much as the incredible urge to voice the world-shattering truth that kept echoing in her mind. She mustered all of the royal restraint that she had in her and whispered it in her heart over and over instead.

Cecilia is Lydia Costello. Felix's twin sister. A foreigner. An imposter.

Valens had found out the truth and eventually accepted her anyways. He (as well as the queen, on a separate occasion) had explained that she was part of an experiment, one posed to see if foreign children shipwrecked on their kingdom's shores could be assimilated into Ordadian society.

"Even Cecilia has better ideas to fix our country's problems than you do," he had said afterwards. Cecilia--Lydia--who was since raised with a silver spoon, was a success. And Felix, who was given nothing, was a failure. And this resulted in a new law the queen prepared to pass regarding shipwrecked foreign children.

Ilaria felt tears coming to her eyes. If only she could have prevented it. None of it seemed fair. After their parents had been killed, Felix had been separated from his sister and left to suffer in poverty and neglect all alone until it festered into years of hatred. And now, Ilaria was forced to hear the truth and she couldn't say a word to him. How could he stand it if he knew? And it would turn the sharp blade of his hate towards her, too.

Then Ilaria would really be all alone.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by the scuffle of a pebble skipping over stone. Ilaria looked up to see first a pair of light-footed leather boots stepping down into the cave, followed soon after by a familiar face.

"Sorry, princess," Felix quipped as he moved to join her. "I had to find no less than the finest sugar cubes for Acantha."

She could tell right away it was a false excuse for the cause of his lateness, although he probably had come by with sugar cubes. The usually high and proud line of his shoulders slumped lower today, and there was a distant weariness in his dark eyes that wasn't usually there. Even still, the corner of his lip curled up into something that was more smile than smirk-- an expression not just anyone managed to get out of him.

As if noticing that something was off with her, too, Felix slowed in his steps as he joined her on the blanket, his brow furrowing. She could feel the weight of his gaze on the side of her face.

"...Is something wrong?" he asked slowly, in that low tone that she knew meant he was ready to throw a punch at anyone she might name as the reason for her distress. He was always so kind, too kind. Better than she deserved.

Ilaria sniffed and swiped at her eyes, hating how she still struggled to keep her emotions in check when they threatened to overwhelm her like this. "No. I just have a lot going on with my duties. It's really nothing, I'll be fine." She forced a smile. "I'm sure Acantha can't wait for those sugar cubes. You really spoil her too much."

At that, Ilaria's faelk stepped over, feathered hooves scattering pebbles, and nuzzled her face for a brief second. Acantha was an especially beautiful faelk - tall and lean, with pearl-colored horns - and a remarkably affectionate one, too. She bent down and nosed at Felix's pockets, her ice-blue eyes wide and curious.

"Yeah, I knew you missed me," Felix murmured to the faelk, reaching under her purple and silver caparison to scratch at her oatmeal fur. He dug into the bag he'd brought with him and took out a handful of sugar cubes. Acantha happily dived in, reins jingling as she munched.

Ilaria's mouth softened into a real smile as she watched them. She was feeling better now, less anxious. But there was always that small, nagging worry that tugged at the back of her mind.

"How is your mother?" she asked. She leaned back on her hands and kept watching cube after cube of sugar go into Acantha's chomping mouth.

At that, Felix hesitated. His hand lowered slightly, as if his thoughts were elsewhere, causing Acantha to lean further.

"Sabina's a strong person," he said finally. "She doesn't give in easily."

"I see," said Ilaria. He wasn't being completely forthcoming with his answer, so his adoptive mother's condition must have worsened. But there wasn't much else she could do for him. She didn't want to pry either, knowing how prideful Felix was. "If you or she are in need of anything, please don't hesitate to let me know. I'll do my best to provide assistance."

"I don't know what that would be," Felix said, and she caught the hint of something heavy in his voice-- something more transparently desperate that didn't sound like it belonged there-- even as his face turned stonier. "There isn't anyone on this island who can help her in the way she needs."

Ilaria felt her shoulders droop. It was the one thing she couldn't do. "I'm sorry."

Felix was silent for a second, and for a minute, it seemed like he was itching to change the subject. But finally he sighed, reached for his bag again, and shifted a little closer.

"She tries not to let on that she's sick," he said quietly. "I think most people still haven't figured it out. So on days like this when it's more apparent, that's how I know it's getting worse."

Silence fell between them. The only sound was Acantha's chewing. Ilaria sighed and pulled her head away by her bridle. "That's enough for you."

"Come on, princess. She deserves the best."

"She's probably eaten a whole month's ration by now. And I told you to stop calling me that," said Ilaria.

"My deepest apologies, your royal highness. I'll make an effort to use your full title." Felix searched through his bag again, taking out a basket of stuffed yellowtail fish. "Hopefully this will appease you."

"You're just being difficult now," grumbled Ilaria, though she took a fish and immediately bit into it. The flavor of herbs and spices spread over her tongue. It was still warm, too. The flesh was so soft it practically melted in her mouth. The breadcrumbs within the fish also had the perfect amount of chewiness. The perfect comforting food to eat on a day like this.

"I'll overlook it just this once," she said after she had devoured nearly the entire fish. "You'd better watch yourself, Costello."

When she looked at Felix again, some of her enthusiasm for one of her favorite coastal foods faded. She studied him. How had she not noticed the resemblance between him and his sister all this time? They had the same tan skin, the same dark, curly hair. The most significant difference was that Cecilia was always smiling and Felix was nearly always scowling.

"You know," she said, looking down at the fish bones in her hands, "my brother finally got married last week."

Felix raised an eyebrow as he reached for a fish, exactly as unfazed as she'd expected him to be. "Tell his wife I'm sorry."

Ilaria laughed, though more unease began to creep in. "And the young lady he married--she's a very nice person. She reminds me a lot of you, actually."

The familiar frown was back as Felix finished a bite, though it seemed more mystified than anything-- like he couldn't understand what she was saying this for. "I assume you mean something like a quick temper or a rebellious disposition by that. Certainly not the 'nice' part."

"She's actually--" Ilaria cut herself off before she could make Felix upset by mentioning loyalists. Even if the one in question was the sister he didn't realize was alive. "I mostly meant your looks. But you are nice." One of the nicest people she knew, and nicer than she deserved.

"You're just about the only person in the kingdom who'd say that, princess." Felix brushed the compliment off without hesitation, and Ilaria knew the comment about looks had flown right over his head just as quickly. Of course it had. Why would the hint register, when he'd accepted long ago that the sister he'd came here with was dead and he had told her as much? "It's not like my wanted posters are raving about my kindness."

"No," said Ilaria. "But I think you'd be happy to hear that the queen has just passed a new law regarding foreign children who are shipwrecked in Ordadus."

This was, evidently, news to Felix. His frown was suddenly less self-assured as he snapped his head around to meet her gaze directly. "A law?"

"The children will be allowed to live in an Ordadian family so they can integrate into our society," continued Ilaria. "They'll be taken care of, and they won't have to be alone." And they wouldn't have to be killed.

Felix pursed his lips. Although he had to approve of the idea, she knew it didn't go far enough for him-- not when every survivor since him had been an adult.

"Very compassionate," he muttered. "They didn't want another me, did they?"

Ilaria's heart twisted a little. "Felix," she said, "I'm sure that's not what the council was thinking."

He was, in fact, one of the reasons the queen's council members had explicitly mentioned when debating over passing the new law, but Ilaria couldn't bring herself to say that to him. It would probably only make him more upset as it was.

"The reason doesn't matter anyway." Felix sighed bitterly, shaking his head. "It's... it's a start. I'll give them that. The problem is that they're going to call it a day for the next decade and a half."

Ilaria found herself shaking her head. "They won't," she replied. She hated how unsure and weak her voice sounded. "I'll make sure of it. I'm--I'm their future queen, after all."

They probably wouldn't listen to her. The young Lord Valens Livius certainly wouldn't, at the very least, and he'd instigate other young officials to oppose anything she said (unless she was parroting the queen, of course). But then, was there any official who thought Ilaria was ready to take on foreign policy?

Felix ducked his head and looked away in a manner that was very unlike him. He didn't shy away from things-- not eye contact, and certainly not his own side in a debate. But maybe she wasn't used to seeing him this... worn-down.

"Just don't let me be anyone's last hope," he muttered. "That's no good world to live in."

Ilaria's fingers twitched. She suddenly had an overwhelming urge to squeeze his hand or to embrace him tightly, but she closed her hand into a fist. Maybe it was just the way that she had not had any affectionate physical contact with anyone, not even family, for years, and she often found herself wishing for it recently. Like a weakling. Queens didn't conduct themselves in such a manner, if her aunt was an example.

She probably wanted to just comfort Felix. Her poor, always-strong Felix. She doubted that he still remembered how she had called him her little brother when they had first met years ago and promised to protect him from then on. And how she had failed. He was angry at all of Ordadus, and he felt forced to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. And Ilaria could not do something as simple as make him feel better.

She opened her mouth and then shut it again. There were some words that came to her mind, but none of them sounded like the right thing to say at the moment. She sighed and blinked tears away as she stared out at the ocean. The sound of the waves flowed over her like the water washed over the shores, and she felt her heartbeat calm.

She grabbed another fish and began to eat it. "These are so good," she mumbled through a mouthful.

"I'll pay your compliments to the chef." Just like that, the weariness hanging over Felix like a dark cloud was tucked out of sight, hidden for some other time. That smirk pulled at his lips again. Both of them knew he wouldn't be passing any praise along to someone who didn't know they were meeting, but neither of them needed to say it aloud. "You'd think they were starving you at the Keep."

Ilaria laughed between her mouthful of fish, though it didn't sound completely genuine to her own ears. "Maybe they are," she replied.

She let her eyes wander back to the horizon. The sun light scattered in countless sparkles on the rippling and rolling surface of the ocean, glittering like brilliant white crystals and blinding her eyes against the intensity of the reflections. She pictured a ship approaching Ordadus from there. Sailing towards their destruction.

Not all was lost, she reminded herself. At least if there were any children, they would be spared. But deep down, she hoped that no one would find their way to the shores of Ordadus. If they did, their lives would change forever, and not in the way that any of them could ever imagine or want.

There was nothing Ilaria could do to save them.

Julian Fidelis hated birds.

He hadn't always hated birds. He'd admired them from afar for a long time, imagining sprouting wings and flying away from his problems, rather than fleeing on foot or by boat like he was usually forced to do. Now though, he hated birds. Sir Augustine the Fourth never shut up about them.

"Oh!" the old man had cried out far too many times, clinging to the railing of his balcony as he pointed a finger towards the sky, "Will you look at that? A spring-tailed gull! Julian, write that down! A spring-tailed gull, this far north, oh, my!"

Julian had been the nobleman's inspiration for going on a sea-faring voyage-- "To discover new birds!" Julian had promised, before he had waved his hand through the air in vague promise. "Oh, think of all the new birds!" Really, the ocean was the last place you wanted to go if you were looking for birds, but by Sol, if Julian wasn't so damn tired of hearing about the birds. He'd begun to dream about them when sleeping. They pecked his eyes out, or tore off pieces of his flesh and swallowed them heartily down. The blasted creatures simply would not leave him alone. He couldn't stand them.

He was nearing his time to move on, he thought, as he stood below deck on the ship that rocked back and forth unsteadily with the stormy waves and winds outside. He didn't stay in any place for more than a year, and sure, he still had around four months to go, but he'd nearly finished draining the poor fool of his money. As soon as he was dried up, Julian would be gone like a flash of light in the night, never to be seen or heard from again. He'd get a few luxurious weeks gambling on horses, eating the finest dining the region had to offer, traveling via private carriage to the next place he'd set up shop, and then he'd do the whole thing again.

Blasted birds. He hated them. Maybe he should try to move somewhere where there weren't any birds, if such a place existed. And he should target a less chatty nobleman, next time. Oh, Julian was so tired of hearing Augustine talk about the damned birds.

"Julian," the old man called from down the hall, as if summoned by his thoughts. "Julian, what in the heavens is going on out there?"

Julian smoothed his salt-and-pepper hair down with one hand, then moved towards the voice. "Oh, Sir Augustine," he lamented, "it seems we're caught in a terrible storm, now doesn't it?"

"Oh, my," the elderly man said, one hand grasping the doorframe to keep himself steady, another landing to hover over his heart. "I do hope the birds will be alright."

"The poor birds!" Julian cried out. "I hadn't even thought of the creatures, goodness! Imagine being out in a storm like this, flying through the air!"

I hope they all get struck by lightning.

"Imagine, indeed," Augustine said miserably. "Well, we're not faring off much better, it seems. Does everything seem alright up there?"

"We're in the hands of a sturdy and capable crew," Julian reassured, though in his mind, he pictured everyone on deck as a chicken, running around headless. He'd mentioned it earlier to Emiliano, who had brushed him off, but it seemed to Julian the perfect metaphor. A headless chicken didn't mean the chicken had no prior knowledge or experience to handle the situation--it just meant the situation was thoroughly and utterly flubbed. Oh, Julian had no doubt that he would make it through the storm, if anyone did at all, but he did not have the same faith that anyone else would. Mainly because he knew without a doubt that if anyone survived, he would make sure it was him, and he would not be making sure it was anyone else, thank you very much.

With a jolt, as if brought on by his thoughts, the entire ship lurched forward, and both Julian and Augustine slammed to the ground at the sudden halt. Damn. He'd thought too soon. Above deck, the chickens bawked at each other about rocks and waves and other storm-y things.

"Oh, dear Julian," Augustine cried out, pushing his flabby arms against the ground to push himself up. "What in the heavens has happened?"

Julian wanted to say that he had also just been knocked to the ground, and how was he to know any more than him, but he refrained and instead said, "I do believe something in the storm has happened."

"Goodness," Augustine said. "Oh, goodness, oh, goodness."

"Do not worry, Sir Augustine," Julian said assuredly. "We must keep our heads, lest we become chickens."

"Oh, to be a chicken," Augustine moaned dramatically. "Good Gods, help us live through this night."

Julian wanted to strangle him. Around his ankles, water pooled, and he watched as it seeped higher and higher towards his calf in slow, sweeping ripples. "We should get above deck," he said instead. "It seems there's been some sort of leak."

He pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the bruises he could already feel developing along his arms. He hadn't always bruised this easily, and yet, even in the darkness, he could imagine the array of colors that would soon blossom against his skin. He hated aging. As Julian extended a hand to help guide Sir Augustine to his feet, a small voice in his head wondered why he was helping him move at all. He could go above deck and easily say he'd gotten trapped in one of the rooms below. What would be the benefit though? If Julian got free of this boat and Sir Augustine died here, so be it, but there was no reason to keep the poor fellow down here for his death. Besides, the thought of not helping him up felt odd. The others on the boat might notice, for one, and that wouldn't help Julian in the slightest.

"Where's the stairs? I can't-- ah!" Sir Augustine fell forward as the ship rocked heavily again, and then ground to a complete stop. Julian barely managed to stop both of them from falling flat on their faces again.

"We must have run aground some sort of large rock," he said. "Otherwise, we'd still be rocking with the waves."

"Good heavens," Augustine said again as the two of them pulled their way up the stairs, leaving behind the rapidly soaking hull. A flash of lightning filled the sky, followed quickly by a deep and resonant boom that chattered Julian's teeth.

He'd decided he also didn't like the ocean, or boats. He hoped the ocean killed all the birds and then went off and killed itself too.

"Ensign Roche!" the Admiral bawked at the frenzied roost. "Get those lashings off the tenders! I want those boats in the water! Now!"

Julian had no idea what 'the tenders' were, but given the fact that she immediately followed it up with a sentence about boats, he had to assume they were not, in fact, chicken related, and were actually likely his next form of escape. "This way," he said confidently to Augustine as he pushed his way through the rain, squinting to see in the chaos.

Through the sounds of blades sawing at rope broke through the storm every few seconds, and Julian followed it like a bird after breadcrumbs. The blasted creatures, they were in his head, and he wanted them out.

"This is our way off?" Julian shouted against the claps of thunder at the nearest crew member he could find, who had just successfully made his way through one length of rope and was now working desperately at the rope on the opposite side. The boat swung loosely, one side hanging down towards the ocean, the other anchored to the ship.

"For some of us it is," the man said through clenched teeth.

Wonderful. Julian's way off it was, then. In the chaos of the storm, there would be no order or plan. He would not need to check with someone who supposedly held power over him, or ask permission under the false pretense that he cared about said permission. He could simply get on the boat, and if someone had a problem for it, he'd grovel over it later and it would be smoothed over easily enough.

"Clear the port railing!" the Admiral yelled, practically in his ear. She and another crew member were carrying a massive pile of netting and were preparing to toss it overboard. Just as they reached the railing, the final rope holding the small boat up snapped, and it hit the water with a splash. The Admiral, along with the other chicken, threw the netting out, creating a makeshift rope ladder that stretched all the way down to the safe haven below.

Well, she said she wanted him to clear the way... Julian took his opportunity. "Sir Augustine, they wish for us to climb into this boat!" he cried. "I'll go first, to help steady the rope ladder on your way down!" Without giving anyone the chance to correct him or respond, he swung a leg over the railing and, grasping tightly at the netting, swung his way down to the boat below.

"Sir, get back up here!" the Admiral yelled. "You were not authorized to board the tender!"

"Yes!" he shouted back through the rain. "Yes, I boarded the tender like you told me to!" The small boat rocked beneath his feet, and he held firm to the netting as it shook like that could steady it. Blasted storms. Blasted ocean. Blasted birds. He could hear shouting on-deck, likely other chickens running around with their heads cut off. No thank you, not if he could help it. His head was staying firmly on his neck where it belonged.

It didn't take long for Sir Augustine to climb over the side of the railing and, with the help of a crew member above, inch his way down to the small boat in which Julian stood, drenched and cold and squinting against the slanted rain but alive, gloriously alive. From their position, he could not see who else from the ship had made it onto a different boat, and he didn't find it to be his top priority at the moment to ask. He reached out a hand to Augustine as he shakily planted a foot in the boat; he needed to steady both of them, after all, lest it flip and they both tumble into the water.

"Good heavens!" the old man shouted, wiping a hand across his face to clear the rain from his eyes. He blinked rapidly, droplets hanging to his white eyelashes. "Oh, good heavens, this storm."

"I certainly wouldn't call it heaven," Julian joked as he clung to the rope to keep them connected to the bigger boat until someone of use could climb down to guide them towards wherever they headed from here. "If you sit down, it'll steady the rocking."

Augustine sunk onto one of the wooden benches, wrinkled hands grasping tightly at the plank beneath him. "Good heavens," he said again.

Well. He was nothing if not original.

It only took a few more minutes for a handful of other people to join them on the tender, at which point Julian sat down, because it was blessedly no longer his responsibility to keep the boat from doing anything. It was now in the hands of the capable, decapitated chickens. "Where do we go from here?" he shouted above the occasional crackle of thunder and the consistent howling drum of the rain.

"To the shore," a young man shouted back, giving him a disconcerted glance before focusing his attention again on the water around them.

"Oh, wonderful," Julian said. "And where is that?"

The chicken bawked in exasperation and didn't respond. Julian turned to Augustine. "They said we're headed to shore."

"Shore," Augustine exclaimed. "Solid ground, oh, blessed day. Where is it?"

"He didn't say," Julian said seriously. "But one must hope it is somewhere nearby."

"This is far more adventure than I've had in quite a while," Augustine confessed. "And quite more than I should like to have again."

Julian wanted to point out that the most exciting thing the old man had done up until this point had been to spot a rare ostrich in a voyage through the desert, but he held back. This was more adventure than Julian would like either. He enjoyed the comfortable life, stealing others' money and living peacefully in the aftermath for a while, before repeating the process all over again. He didn't like storms, he didn't like chaos he wasn't the cause of, and he didn't like birds. That last one was unrelated to the current situation, but it was on his mind all the same.

"Dear Julian," Augustine croaked, reaching a hand out to grab Julian's. He startled at the touch. "Dear Julian, you have been a wonderful friend and companion to me. I do hope I have not led us to our deaths in this, and I do hope you'll forgive me for your presence on this ship at all."

Well, that was unexpected, mainly because Julian was the one who had talked him into going on the voyage, but he would gladly transfer the blame to Augustine if possible. "It is alright, dear sir," Julian said solemnly, patting the hand in his. "This will certainly not be the end of me, you can count on that."

"Oh, I do," Augustine said with a miserable nod. "I do. I must count on it, mustn't I?"

He fell silent after that, and with an annoying lack of responses from the other members on the small boat, Julian fell silent too. The two older men stayed like that, Augustine's hand resting in-between Julian's two hands. For some annoyingly confusing reason, Julian simply couldn't find a justifiable reason to pull away. The older of the two, Augustine, sat hunched and trembled from the cold, while the younger consistently frowned at the strange and volatile sea around them. For what must have been hours, or felt like it to Julian, they navigated between clashing rocks jutting out of the ocean and watched as lightning arched across the sky. By the time the sun, hidden and dim behind clouds of gray and black, began to sink to the west, the shipwreck was no longer visible behind them. Through the storm, Julian could just make out the other escape boats on the horizon, and their boat trailed along after them, fighting the violent waves of water that rose to lead them astray. Still, the other boats were so far away, and for now, it felt like they were the only ones alive in the world, drifting haplessly across the choking water, not a bird in sight.

Whenever he saw the safety of Angler's cliffs ahead, Felix felt like he could almost forget that he needed the gun at his hip. Almost.

The bloodweed, made harmless by the stubborn light of early evening, tangled around his boots as he stepped his way to the edge. Below, the boardwalks sprawled out over the surf, linking the hulls of ships long gone together into one community. One very steadfast, determined community. Sabina was always saying home could take on the most unexpected of shapes, and from up here, Felix could see why.

He whistled a series of high-pitched notes-- not unlike the calls of a migratory bird-- and the sound hadn't even finished echoing over the stone before the claws of a grappling hook sank into the rock at his feet.

Felix crouched to make sure it was surely entrenched in the cliffside before he gripped the rope attached to it and swung off the edge. The fibers of the rope were smooth from frequent use against his palms as he swiftly climbed his way down. There were only two ways into Angler-- the rope or a rowboat-- and both were treacherous to anyone unwanted. An attempt to climb down could be shot down and become a deadly fall, and sailing through the cove without an intimate knowledge of the jagged rocks within was a journey through the jaws of death. It was the perfect spot, as if this natural shelter was waiting to be found and shaped into a haven for those hopeful for a day when this island held more than death sentences.

That was what he would think if he believed in fate, at least.

After giving a nod to Ulixes, who had thrown the grappling hook, Felix touched down on the rocky beach. He'd barely gotten both feet on the ground before Jocasta came running up to him. The young messenger's curly blonde hair and bright eyes were pale in the evening sun.

"Felix!" she said. "You made it back! Good! Sabina was asking for you."

A knot tied itself in Felix's stomach as he brushed some dirt off his hands. Jocasta's always-bright face was difficult to read in times of bad news, and he didn't know what to expect. "I'll go to her. Anything else happen in the meantime?"

"Naydelin said she needs your input about a prototype Titus is working on," Jocasta added. "And Francisca brought in a new shipment of Lucibella."

Felix hummed. "Is it another weapon?" Titus was a very capable craftsman, and respected by all here for his important work in maintaining Angler, but his inventions could be a little far-fetched at times. There was still a crater in the cliff wall from the handyman's creative take on a "catapult".

"When I asked, he said it was 'something explosive,'" she said, tapping her chin. "With him, it's hard to tell if he means it literally or figuratively. Best to check on him first, now that I think on it."

Of course. And that meant Sabina would have to wait. A lot of things would have to.

"Let's see if I can keep him from putting a hole in our boardwalk." Felix paused. "Did you find Ace?"

"I'm actually on my way to meet her right now, sir!" Jo said with a salute, which he'd always said wasn't necessary, but some habits died hard.

"Alright. If you find yourself stuck there near sundown, don't risk the trip back. She'll shelter you if need be." Darnell wasn't far, and Jocasta was fast, but the bloodweed swarmed the region between them. Even the hint of night's shadow at the mission's end could be deadly. He knew Jocasta knew-- everyone did-- but they didn't need to be making their work more dangerous than it already was. "Sol be with you."

"And also with you!" Jo darted away.

With that done, Felix turned back to the camp, squinting at the rebels running back and forth between the shredded hulls of shelter, searching for Titus. Surely it wouldn't be hard to spot the man who was half again as tall as everyone else and had the booming voice to match--

A sharp snap turned into a thunderous rumble, and a wooden plank shot off the top of the ship where the craftsman spent his time working. Felix's eyebrows raised with it.

Well. The problem of Titus's whereabouts was solved, before being replaced with another problem, in typical Cambios fashion. Felix suppressed a sigh as he set off in that direction, the boards creaking faintly under his boots.

When he got there, he had to stop a few feet short in to avoid falling in a second hole in the floor, because of course it would be worse than it seemed. The air inside the ship was hazy with smoke, and Titus was peeling a pair of very smudged googles off his face, revealing starkly clean circles over his eyes. The only other part of his face that wasn't covered in soot was his usual radiant smile, the one that made it very difficult to be mad at him. Which was an issue, because Felix kind of wanted to be right now.

"Felix!" Titus exclaimed, still smiling. "What brings you by, sir?"

Felix looked up at the pale golden light streaming through the newly formed gap in the ceiling, then at the waves crashing beneath the hole in the boardwalk at his feet, then back to Titus with the same deadpan expression. With his luck, of course that earlier statement would prove prophetic. He could already hear Jo's laughter.

"Oh. It was probably that." Titus deflated for a second, before his eyes sparked again. "But hey, that means this thing works!"

Works at putting holes in our infrastructure, for sure, Felix thought. "Titus, this does not appear to be a good use of our gunpowder so far."

"Oh, don't worry sir, I can replicate this with way less," Titus assured him, which was hardly comforting. "I'll leave plenty of that for you. I'll also fix this up, free of charge! Well-- that's an expression. The economy around here doesn't work that way. Anyway, what was I saying?" Titus snapped his fingers. "Right. Less gunpowder, more repairs."

Despite his irritation, Felix had to admit: the man was endearing. Which might have led to more irritation in the end, because he was frustrated that he couldn't be frustrated. Still, he pushed it down.

"Good takeways," he said. "I'd like it if you could add outdoor testing to that list as well."

If possible, Titus perked up even further. "I can keep testing?"

"If you can part ways with your new skylight and swimming hole first." Felix knew better than to get between an inventor and their work, even if that work was a fire hazard. "Check with Vettia for repair supplies."

Titus grinned. "Yeah, I won't miss them too much." With that, he stepped over the gap in the boardwalk-- a stretch made effortless by his long legs-- and darted past Felix to the Vigilantem.

"Isn't that just like him, to make a mess for himself to fix," Naydelin spoke up from behind.

Felix turned to see what he already knew would be there: Naydelin, with her arms folded sternly over her chest and an exasperated look on her face. Her hair was pulled back for work in a tight ponytail, and from the looks of it, she'd been just as occupied as him today. If he had to guess, she'd directly told Titus not to try anything in his absence.

"It'll pay off, like it usually does." Felix did believe it, even though part of him wanted to agree with her. "Jocasta said you had thoughts on this prototype?"

"Yes," she said. "Namely that it was risky. But I thought you could find a way to help him stabilize it. I've seen your schematics."

Felix waved some smoke out of the air, wrinkling his nose at the smell of burning. "I've always wanted to get blown up by a science project," he muttered, although he was giving the suggestion thought. The question wasn't whether he knew how to help. The problem was, as always, time. There was never enough of it. There was always something else to do.

Still...

Felix scowled up at the hole in the ceiling again, doing the math in his head. It wouldn't be correct to say he could spare a few hours, but he'd borrow the time from elsewhere. Probably from sleep. That was always the first thing on the line.

"I'll talk to him about concentrating the blast in a smaller radius," he said, to actually answer her proposal. "I have some ideas already."

"Good," Naydelin agreed, appeased. "I've also taken care of the Lucibella shipment. I made sure Sertor got his portion."

Sertor. Felix had to see him, too, about Sabina-- but then he also had to see her. Hopefully he could do that and still deal with anything else that inevitably came up by a reasonable hour.

"Thank you," he said, which felt strange to say-- that was one less thing for him to handle, and yet he felt more overwhelmed than before she'd said it. "You should take a break for the night."

"Are you sure, sir?" she asked, straightening up.

It didn't surprise Felix that she asked-- it was the only thing he'd ask of her that she'd ever take as a suggestion. "I'm sure," he confirmed. "You've earned it. I thought I smelled Vettia cooking something on my way in-- don't miss that either."

Naydelin only hesitated one more moment, casting him a sidelong glance.

"Yes, sir," she said, and left as quietly as she came.

Felix could only enjoy one deep breath all by himself before heavy footsteps bounded over the boardwalk in the direction she'd left, and Titus's head poked in.

"Hey, boss!" he said cheerfully. "So, you're aware of how the rising market value of iron has meant there's not much to go around here, right?"

Sol's light, this wasn't going to be good. "Yes."

"Well, Vettia has reported that 'not much' is a generous way to describe 'none'," Titus said, with far too much lightheartness for the matter. "Which means, no way to make nails, which means--"

"Nothing's getting boarded up tonight."

Titus winced a little, standing at attention. "Right, sir."

Felix frowned, but it wasn't at Titus this time. Damn it all-- between the smoke and what smelled like some kind of roasted meat drifting over from Vettia's, he'd caught the whiff of rain in the air. A storm was rolling in.

"I'll make sure Francisca knows to get some tomorrow. We'll cover it up in the meantime," he said, thoughts already spinning. "Grab the curtains from my ship. That should do it."

"You sure? The sun's going to come in pretty bright and wake you up."

"I'm sure." At this rate, it wouldn't matter, because Felix wouldn't get the chance to sleep. "It'll keep your work dry for the timebeing. We just have to see this storm through."

Titus tilted his head. "A storm?" He was right to be concerned. After all, it was one of those that had brought him here-- and Felix too, once upon a time.

"I think we're due for one." Felix toed at the hole in the floor before turning around and joining Titus in the open air. "But we'll weather it. We always do."



The remains of the small boat Felix and Sabina shared-- barely the size of a sloop before it had split-- made for a tight but cozy shelter. Two hammocks hung between pillars on opposite ends, far enough that they each had somewhat of their own space, close enough that neither of them forgot they were alone.

Close enough that Felix could hear Sabina coughing at night when no one else could.

He didn't mean to, but he found himself slowing in his steps when he spotted Sertor lingering by the sailcloth that served as the front door. The medic was rarely emotive, a trait Felix could relate to, and yet he often found himself wishing the man was easier to read. Still, when Sertor looked up to see him approaching, and their eyes met, Felix understood one thing immediately: there was no good news to share today.

It was always that way these days. But the realization never got any easier.

"Anything new?" he murmured anyway, once he was close enough that no one else would be able to hear.

Sertor lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "She had the energy to wave me off."

She shouldn't be refusing help, Felix thought, but it didn't really matter. Not when Sertor had admitted from the start that this was far beyond his abilities.

"Thank you for trying," he said instead. It was the least that could be said right now.

Sertor hummed faintly in response.

Felix was about to move past him and push through the sail curtain, but before he could get that far, Sertor clapped him on the shoulder. He was expecting it just enough not to bristle at the contact, and he found himself stilling under his hand instead.

"Either keep your chin up or put your head to rest," Sertor advised, with a hint of wryness. "The choice is yours."

Felix raised an eyebrow. "Do you deal in false dichotomies now, Sertor?"

"And here I thought you knew I can't help those who don't want to be helped." The medic pulled his hand back and offered nothing more than a nod before walking away briskly.

Normally, Felix would never fight a scowl that wanted to spread over his face. This time, he made the effort-- for Sabina.

He slipped through the white cloth to find the glow of a candle flame flickering over the walls. His gaze followed where it shone brightest to see Sabina hunched over a stack of papers, the end of her quill pen waving furiously as she wrote. She was always swift in that aspect: sometimes, she could write as fast as someone could speak.

Sabina looked up from the letter, a wrinkled smile pulling at her lips. Felix made the effort to return it, but he wasn't sure it had worked. The weariness in her eyes was too transparent-- he was only seeing what she wasn't managing to hide, and even that was too much.

She was always... trying to act like things were normal, no matter how difficult reality became to deny. The pretending had once been easy, even if he'd disliked doing it. Now it was just dislikeable.

"Toriano again?" Felix asked, glancing at the name on the top of the page. Toriano's name wasn't actually written, of course-- Sabina encoded all their communications in cyphers of her own making-- but there were only so many people with seven letters in their name who she could be writing to.

Sabina nodded, dipping the tip of the quill into an uncapped bottle of ink.

"What do we need from him?" Toriano was Ace's father and an ally of the Cambios, working as a blacksmith in Nevra Cor. His skill with weaponry and forging was unmatched, but they avoided calling on him as much as they could. The risk of that link being discovered was too dangerous to run for anything but the most pressing of requests.

Sabina gestured to the flintlock at his hip before adding another sentence to the letter.

Felix slowly pulled a stool over, pursing his lips as he sat down. It was that time again, then. Toriano was the only person on the island with both the knowledge of how to make gunpowder and the means of gathering its ingredients. Not that the nobles he served and lived among knew it, of course. It always made Felix's skin crawl when they had to write to him to supply them with more. If the request was decrypted, the production was discovered, or the shipment was intercepted, it wouldn't take a genius to determine that Toriano also knew how to make firearms. For anyone else, that height of treason meant certain death. But for Toriano, his fate could be even worse-- being kept prisoner and forced into servitude to arm every last knight in Ordadus.

At least, that was what Felix would deem worst. But he had no interest in seeing where that dark path would lead at all.

"You're thinking ahead," he murmured. A roll of thunder, the sound made almost gentle by its distance, rumbled over the wooden walls.

Sabina looked over her shoulder with a slight but cheeky grin and a shrug, as if to say, You're welcome.

Felix couldn't help but smirk faintly. Some things didn't change much. Sabina's spirit was one of them.

"I don't think we're in need for a while yet, though," he said. "Even with Titus getting experimental with our supply."

Sabina reached for a blank sheet of paper, and he waited patiently for her to write out her response. When she turned it around, the words revealed were: You say that, but the last time we held off on asking for more, you ran out of it while in the field and had to tackle a knight off his faelk.

Felix sighed. It definitely hadn't been his proudest moment. "Why did I tell you about that?"

The pen flew over the paper again. Probably because no one would believe me if I tried telling them.

Felix huffed. She had a point. Not just about that, but also about the merits of reaching out sooner rather than later.

"Alright," he said. "We'll jump the gun, just this once."

Sabina's eyebrows raised, and her grin spread wider.

"I can make a pun once a year without breaking out into hives, Mom," Felix deadpanned, though he felt another smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But don't hold your breath for the next one."

Sabina pantomimed inhaling deeply and pinching her nose to plug it before turning back to her work, still grinning.

Unwatched once more, Felix allowed a hint of softness to creep over his face. She was so fierce. He could see the effort that went into each breath with the labored rise and fall of her shoulders, and yet her posture was proud, her hands steady as she wrote. He'd never seen anything defeat her before. He still hadn't.

Part of him still thought it was impossible for anything to be the end of her.

Footsteps, so light he didn't notice them until they were much too close, snapped him back into reality and all its problems. The sail covering the doorway flew aside, rippling in the wind.

"Felix!" Jocasta heaved out.

Felix surged to his feet, hand already hovering over his gun. But the breathless tone of her voice and the growl of thunder that followed her words told him that it would be of no use to him. Not if the problem was what the feeling in his gut was so certain of. Sabina seemed to know too, because the tip of her pen stilled, fear in her eyes as she looked to the messenger.

"Speak," Felix said anyway, forcing the tight concern out of his voice by curling his fingers around the pistol's grip instead.

Jocasta's face looked pale, and her eyes grew wide. When she opened her mouth, he could read the words on her lips before they even formed, sealing someone's fate into the lightning-charged air.

"There's been a shipwreck."

Maggie lifted a shaking hand to shield her eye from an angry orange sun setting over a range of angry jagged mountains. Her other hand gripped the stern of the tender, which, though battered, had somehow beached the pebbly shore in one piece, carrying her, Francis, and five other passengers to safety.

This was supposed to be a moment of tremendous joy, warm and bubbling like last night's dinner in the mess hall: a historic triumph for a young nation, an answer to Mar's call, and a culmination of Rufus' fierce determination and the crew's might.

Instead, as Maggie slipped and caught herself on the slope of wet pebbles, she felt only a crippling weight of despair.

Rufus, as far as she knew, was still on that ship.

Francis helped her to her feet. She noticed then that his coat was gone - torn away by Mar's wrath, surely, as the crewmembers on the tender heaved them aboard.

When the Gloria Invicta was beginning to sink, she'd done the calculations and came to the immediate conclusion that there was no room for her on the four small support boats nested on deck.

This wasn't the first time Maggie had looked death in the face. It didn't faze her; she understood quite plainly that allowing fear to clutch her heart would only do more harm. Survival was still possible for much of the crew, and she would do everything in her power to mitigate losses.

But cruel, cruel fate had other plans. It snapped the rivets holding the netting she was using to climb down the starbord hull and free a tangled boot, plunging she and Francis both into the sea. The net fell over them as if they were fish.

And now she was safe. She was one of the lucky few.

In the dimming light, she could still make out her own despair reflected in her son's dark eyes.

"Oh Francis," she groaned, close to tears as she squeezed his arm. At least he was okay.

She looked over his shoulder at the other five passengers of the tender, clambering out of the boat, trembling. Achillinus was one of them, clutching a leather-bound book to his chest. He shivered like a small dog, with heavy curls hanging over his shell-shocked eyes.

All seven of them were shaken but unharmed. In a wreck as terrible as this, she knew that not many would be as fortunate.

Maggie's bones ached but the adrenaline was still on fire in her blood. There was no use just standing around, marveling at what had happened. "It's almost dark," she said, straightening her shoulders and summoning her admiral persona. "We'll scan the coastline. Find as many survivors as we can."

"I'll help," a young seaman piped up, raising her hand.

"Emiliano," Francis said, jabbing his chin at Achillinus. "Stay here with the admiral and watch for survivors."

That was wise, Maggie agreed. The poor man could barely stand, let alone muster the strength to trek the beach.

"Yes, sir!" Emiliano said with a shaky salute.

"Cicero, Florian, scan the western coast," the Commodore continued. "Avidus, you're with me."

As the two pairs went off in opposite directions, the sun blinked once and was gone. The long shadow of the mountain range swept over the beach, bringing with it a foreboding chill. The long coastal grass nearby made an eerie rattling sound.

Scanning their surroundings, the admiral shuddered, momentarily distracted from her grief with the recognition that undiscovered land brought undiscovered creatures.

Instinctively, Maggie reached for the flintlock pistol at her hip, before realizing its gunpowder would be useless after her plunge in the Argen.

Well, there was still the sword.

Maggie glanced at Achillinus. He didn't appear to be carrying any weapons. She opened her mouth to ask him, then decided such a question would merely invoke fear.

They needed to stay busy. The best way to handle rattled nerves was to redirect that energy.

"We'll build a fire," she said. "A makeshift lighthouse." She took off her heavy, sopping coat and unbuckled her sword belt, dropping everything on the beach but keeping the scabbard nearby.

"A brilliant idea, admiral," Achillinus nodded. "I'll gather wood."

Maggie caught his shoulder. "Let's stick close." She nodded at the battered boat. "There's plenty right here."

Achillinus stared, still hugging his book to his chest.

Maggie's hand lingered on his shoulder, a pang of sympathy twisting in her gut. He was so young and so untested, on an innocent quest for knowledge that, tonight, had brought him so close to death's door. She squeezed his shoulder like she had Francis,' then let go.

"Strip off whatever wood you can," she ordered, sounding steadier than she felt. "We'll start with the benches."

With a nod, Achillinus finally set his book to the side atop a rock, and then began the struggle of tearing the boat apart. With their bare hands, they pried planks loose from their weakened nails, creating a pile of storm-eaten timber. The bite of splinters in Maggie's palms was a welcome diversion.

"That'll do," she said. "Now we need something dry, for kindling. Did your book get wet?"

Achillinus's adam's apple bobbed in answer before he said a word. "My book?" he asked.

"Yes, the book." Her patience was running thin. "The fire won't catch on wood this wet. We'll use the paper."

"B-but, Admiral. This - it's not just any book! My whole life is in those pages!" Achillinus plead, running to the book to scoop it up again in his arms.

By Sol's dying light. In a less catastrophic situation, it would've been comical. They might freeze without a fire, but Gel forbid they bring harm to Emiliano's precious diary.

As far as she knew, though, there would be other suitable kindling nearby. And if she had to be honest with herself, Maggie had little hope that they'd be able to get a fire started at all, even with dry paper to get it going.

"Alright," she said, showing her palms, "we'll try the grass first. It seems dry enough."

She trudged up the beach's gentle incline and reached toward a clump of of it. She paused when she again noticed the rattling noise it made. There didn't seem to be enough of a breeze to warrant it.

"Admiral!" Francis' voice rang out across the stillness of the night.

Maggie turned. Four figures were staggering up the beach. Avidus, the young crew member, was hanging limply between Francis and another man. Saxo! Maggie slid back down the rocky shore to grab her sword. "Were you attacked?" she cried.

"No, not attacked," Francis said. "Avidus is sick."

Maggie allowed the scabbard to drop from her hand. "Sick? Sick how? Is she injured?"

She recognized the other man helping carry Avidus as the Soliman passenger named Julian. Frettfully hurrying along behind them was his employer, Sir Augustine, the bird enthusiast who'd spotted the fateful murre. Both Julian and Augustine were dripping wet. So at least two occupants of the first tender had made it to shore - where were the others?

Francis and Julian lowered the moaning Avidus to the ground, near the heap of wood. Her forehead was beaded with sweat.

Maggie picked up her coat from the pile on the ground knelt at the young woman's side, folding the coat into a pitiful wet pillow. Avidus was trembling, her eyes squeezed shut.

"We'll get the fire going soon," Maggie whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of the girl's face. "What happened?" she asked Francis.

He knelt down too. "I can't figure it out. There's something evil about this beach."

The cold edge to his voice sent an involuntary shiver through Maggie's whole body.

"What happened to her?" she repeated.

"There are no gull nests in the cliffs!" Sir Augustine proclaimed, trembling, wringing his hands as he walked in circles on the beach. "And yet there are gulls!"

Maggie shot Julian a questioning look. The man squatted next to them and flashed an apologetic smile. "He's been a litte fixated on that one," he whispered. "I think it's how he's coping with . . . well." He glanced down at the ground, then said in a small, haunted voice, "With what happened to our boat," he finished.

"The others on your tender didn't make it," Maggie said, numb.

Francis shook his head. "We only found these two."

"And what great luck for you to find us," Julian said, clapping a hand on Francis' back.

Avidus moaned, rocking her head back and forth, eyes still squeezed shut.

"When we started to head back," Francis continued, "Avidus said she was feeling dizzy. Then . . ." He shrugged helplessly.

"I'm glad to have been there to catch her," Julian said, shaking his head sadly.

Francis rubbed his forehead. "To tell you the truth, I'm not feeling good either."

Maggie felt a jolt of alarm. She lifted his chin so she could search his face. He wore a foggy expression like he did when he was struck with a fever as a child, the brightness in his eyes turned to glass.

"Maybe it's something we ate," he said, forcing blitheness.

"Francis . . ." Maggie whispered, plagued with worry.

Just then, heard clearly above the rhythm of the crashing waves, someone wailed in pain down along the western coast.

"Cicero and Florian," Francis said, wearily. "They've got it too." Then he groaned and doubled over, clutching at his stomach.

"Francis! Honey!" Maggie wrapped her arms around him and rubbed his back. She looked around for Achillinus but didn't see him. "Julian," she said. "We need some grass to start a fire."

"Grass!" Julian cried out. "Yes, of course." He turned to Sir Augustine. "Sir, don't fret. You must take my place comforting the ill woman, while I go off searching for grass."

"I'm not sure I'm well enough--" Sir Augustine began, his elderly hands shaking as he rubbed his chest fretfully. "I never do too well next to illness. How about I go gather grass?"

"Oh, of course, sir," Julian said immediately. "I should have thought. He has a weak constitution," he said, turning back to Maggie. "Falls ill quite easily."

"What is this place?" Francis whimpered in Maggie's ear. She helped him lower himself onto the beach, where he curled his knees to his chest, shaking. She kept rubbing his back.

She was wondering the same thing. What was this sickness, seizing them one by one? Was it something in the air? Something in the water? Would she and the others be next?

Maggie turned to Avidus and touched her clammy forehead. The girl was still. That was good - whatever afflicted them, sleep was the best medicine at their disposal.

"Hold on, Francis," she murmured, brushing his hair back with her fingers and wishing he had something softer to lie on than this sickbed of pebbles.

"I can't," he moaned, squirming. "It burns."

The admiral felt utterly powerless. She didn't even have fresh water to give him. Marra. He's just a little boy again.

"Hush," she said. "Just breathe, love. We'll get the fire started, and soon you and Avidus will be back on your feet."

She scanned the coastline and swept her gaze over the horizon, praying for a lantern or torch or some other sign of help to appear. There was only bleak stillness and the occasional sharp cry. Whether it was human or animal she didn't know.

"Dear captain!" Sir Augustine called as he approached with a large bundle of grass. "Do you think this should be enough? I'm happy to get more, but--" He wiped his forehead against his upper arm. "Oh, I do fear I'm not feeling too well. Queasy from the journey, I'm sure."

"Oh, sir," Julian said, "that looks like quite a lot of grass. I'm sure it will work fine. Sit and rest yourself for a while. Many of our companions have ventured to do so already."

"Yes," the old man panted. "Yes, I do think I shall sit down for a while." He set the grass down next to the pile of wood, then lowered himself to the ground. "It's chilly out here, is it not? No wind. Certainly no place for birds. No nests, not protected from the water, surely. Not from the chill." He shivered and started pulling off his shirt.

"Sir Augustine!" Julian exclaimed, "what a genius idea, to remove your wet clothing. You'll warm quicker in the dryness. I do think I should follow suit. It's quite cold, and the girl is even colder than I. Her arm is positively freezing."

"Oh dear," Maggie said. "We really need to get that fire going." She reached over to touch Avidus' arm and was startled to discover that Julian wasn't at all exaggerating. She leaned over and felt for the girl's pulse under her jawbone.

Nothing.

The air was snatched from Maggie's lungs. She felt the urge to cry out, to scream, but her throat was dry.

Delirious with panic, she scrambled back to her son's side.

"Francis, honey?" He still had a pulse, but it was fluttering beneath her fingertips.

He opened his eyes, but he couldn't seem to focus on anything. His breathing was shallow and irregular and wheezy.

In the minutes that followed, there was nothing else in Velmara but Maggie and her dying boy. She cradled his head and torso in her lap and rocked him back and forth, whispering reassurances as tears fell onto his cheeks, mingling with the beads of sweat on his brow.

She was still in a daze when out of nowhere Palacio, the gunner and one of Francis' oldest friends, appeared at her side. She didn't even question how he was there, how he had survived the wreck, she just squeezed his shoulder and shook her head as tears streamed down her face.

Out across the water, through the rolling layers of fog and foam, the remains of the Gloria Invicta caught fire, and on the hellish beach that absorbed its orange glow, Francis Seneca breathed his last.

Aurelia always crept back to her boat when everyone else was sleeping. The fish were awake, and they were her only company anyway.

At least until she caught them in her net and let them suffocate. Oh, well.
She wandered away from the Darnell port, closer to where the sun hung in the sky, great and orange. The town rumor was that the fish were dwindling near the dock--even for the most skilled fishermen, a day's catch would lower by the week. Aurelia always tried to pretend these petty gossips didn't bother her, they were usually conspiracies anyway. Ways to get people away from the port so the rich fishermen could snatch up everything. But she had a feeling that this time it was true.

And it scared her.

She picked a small cove farther down the coast, a half-hour's walk from the town. Nobody dared fish here, so close to patches of bloodweed that had killed many a child and man. But Aurelia had grown up around bloodweed, so she considered herself well-versed in the art of not getting killed by it.

That was in her favor. She slyly smiled to herself in her boat as she pulled in the biggest fish she'd seen in a long while. It filled the length of the bench in her boat, fat with flesh that could feed a large family. She'd get good money for this kind of fish, she knew. A quarter, maybe half, of Lucia's tuition for the month. Patting the tuition scroll, which still hung in her pocket, she hummed a lullaby she'd sung to Lucia when she was younger.

The night's catch was hearty, with some of the biggest fish she'd seen in her entire life. She'd surely be coming back, she thought, sitting in the cove where it was cool. The fog was heavier than usual--hotter, almost. Humid in an uncomfortable way. But nothing she wasn't used to, of course. She looked out to the sun, to where it crested the mountains, burning. For a moment, she thought to stop herself from staring--but to be honest, she didn't much care about her eyesight.

Her thoughts were at once blocked out by the sound of screams.

She turned to where the sound was piercing the sky. From over the long reeds, she could see the outline of a large boat, larger than any she'd ever seen before. It had great big sails, and a hull that seemed to take up the entirety of the shore. The shore where the bloodweed lay.

And it was on fire.

The giant ship was alight in flames, dancing over the reeds. Aurelia sat there in shock for a moment, wondering what in Marra's name was happening. One of the great big ships she'd been told about in hushed whispers, on the shore, near her. With what seemed like a hundred people's screams piercing the air like whale-song. In the bloodweed.

It was in that moment that her heart started pounding through her chest. Whoever those people were, they were clearly not alright. And they probably didn't know about the bloodweed.

She ran out of the cove and pushed her way through the thick reeds, where the chaos she had pictured was playing out in front of her.

Bodies laid in the bloodweed, unconscious, while some others stood heaving on the shore.

"Don't step in the bloodweed!" she shouted, bending over with exhaustion. The people's necks snapped towards her with mouths wide open in shock. "The bloodweed!" she ventured again, thinking they hadn't understood her. How could they, if they were foreign? She pointed at the grass. "Do not go there!"

An older woman with an eyepatch who had been kneeling on the beach shakily got to her feet. Her hair and clothes were drenched. "What is this cursed place?" she asked. Her voice was low and hoarse, but commanding.

And - more remarkably - Soliman?

Aurelia had words, but they weren't managing to come out of her throat. These people--these foreigners--they spoke like her, in her language. They had a peculiar accent, but she could still understand them. Perfectly.

She could only choke out a single word. "Ordadus."

The name seemed to catch the eyepatched woman by surprise, but she shook it off quickly. The people gathered around her, some standing, some too weak from the poison to do anything but hug their knees to their chest and moan.

"I have dying people here," the woman said, stepping forward. "They need immediate help."

"Don't go back into the grass," Aurelia shouted, her throat raw. "You will die." She ran around the bloodweed, onto the shore, and met the eyepatched woman's gaze from a few feet away. "There is nothing you can do for those people."

Standing this close, Aurelia could see the haunted look in the woman's single wide eye. It was terrified and heartbroken and determined all at once. "Maybe not for some of them, but I won't let another soul perish on this beach." She shook her head slowly, never breaking eye contact.

Aurelia sighed. These foreigners, with their duty to their brethren and all that. "I'm telling you, ma'am, if they're not dead already they will be dead in a few minutes." She tried to muster up any ounce of empathy left in her heart. "I know you don't want to leave them. But if you want to save the few people who are still alive, you have to let the others go."

The woman strode forward, closing the distance between them to mere inches. Stepping backward in alarm, Aurelia instinctively grabbed for the knife at her belt. "Tell me where the nearest doctor is," the woman said, "or I'll have you arrested by the New Solimar authorities for treason."

Aurelia looked up at the woman and stared directly into her singular dark eye. "I know not of any 'New Solimar', I certainly do not deign to their crown. And we are a half-hour's walk from the nearest building, let alone a doctor," she hissed. "I have been extremely kind in alerting you of the bloodweed in the first place."

She pointed to those still on the shore, who were frozen with shock. "Tell me, miss," she said. "Would you rather they die too?"

"Direct me to the nearest town," the woman demanded. "I'll need . . ." She glanced at the miserable group huddled behind her. "Seven horses. We will ride to the nearest doctor."

The fisherwoman was fed up with all this nonsense. She grabbed at the lacy chest of the eyepatched woman's top. "I don't think you understand," she growled. "You are not supposed to be here. You were never supposed to set foot on this land, do you hear me? And now you order me around in my own country, with all these nonsense words and threats--listen to me. If you care about your beloved people so much, stop talking and listen."

"What's your brilliant idea, then?" the woman hissed, shoving Aurelia's arm away.

"Enough!" a man's voice snapped, echoing over the rocky shore.

Aurelia's neck cracked as she whipped her head towards the tall man who stood in the boat. He too was unfamiliar, but she had a feeling he was one of her own. His clothes were damp from seaspray, clinging to him as he leapt off the rowboat, walking towards them with purpose and a look in his eyes so fierce it could've pierced steel. His hand hovered over... some item on his belt that looked somewhat like a sheath, but instead held an unfamiliar metallic device. Whatever it was, it looked exquistely crafted.

The eyepatch woman was immediately on the defensive, moving to place herself between the man and the survivors. But the stranger held up his hands, communicating-- even though his expression didn't soften-- that he wasn't here to fight.

"I come in peace," the man said slowly, before saying something Aurelia didn't understand-- maybe the same phrase again, but in an unfamiliar language. "But those arriving after me won't be."

A young man sprang forward, nearly tripping and skipping on one foot. He shouted back new words in the foreign tongue, desperately adding in Soliman: "We come in pieces. Please, have mercy on us."

Aurelia scoffed. This man, so ignorant to the death of his people that he was making jokes already. He was nothing like his supposedly valiant leader.

There was death all around them, and these foreigners thought themselves superior to it. As if they could conquer it with vicious threats and annoying puns.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the taller man insisted. "But you can't stay here."

"We need a doctor," the eyepatch woman said. "Immediately."

Indeed, two of the survivors appeared to be coming down with the poison, and a third was almost dead. If she had a dose of lucibella, Aurelia thought, there might be hope for one or two of them, but carrying around a fresh vial of the antidote - just in case - was a luxury she couldn't afford.

And yet, against all odds, the man pulled out a set of bright purple vials like he knew he'd need them.

"They're poisoned, aren't they?" he asked. "This can help them."

The eyepatch woman shot an indignant glare at Aurelia before turning to her people. She placed a hand on the shoulder of a man who was hunched over and trembling. "Over here," she told the stranger. "Quickly."

The man followed without wasting a second, uncorking the first vial and holding it up to the survivor's lips. "Drink this in full," he instructed.

"All of it, Julian," the woman said.

The man obeyed, and then they did the same for the second, older man. Aurelia softly sighed with relief. They would survive, and she could get out, back home. This was all a mistake to begin with.

But before she could slip off, the stranger looked her directly in the eyes, and suddenly she couldn't seem to move.

"You must be from Darnell," he said. "You know the knight Solange?"

Aurelia nodded hesitantly.

"Good," the man said. He surveyed the group, and then looked back at his boat, his scowl deepening as he examined it.

"You said there will be others, after you?" the eyepatch woman asked. She bent down to pick up a sheathed sword which she buckled around her waist. Aurelia noticed that she, too, carried one of the the odd metal devices, holstered at the opposite hip.

"Knights," the man said tersely. "And they won't take kindly to you being here. Your only option is to hide from them. I know this is sudden, but I'm asking you to trust me-- or at the very least, believe me when I say this: if they find you, and they discover you're not from here, they will kill you. And I'm going to do everything in my power to keep that from happening."

"I'm going with him," the young fool said to no one.

"Hasn't the grass done enough killing?!" the eyepatch woman spoke over him.

"Not according to them," the man said darkly. "You're far from the first party to wash up on these shores. They hope for each one to be the last."

The air, already gloomy with the scent of death lingering in the air, went cold and desolate. A breeze, gently drifting through the reeds, seemed to bite at Aurelia's neck.

The man turned to Aurelia. "I can only fit two people in my boat. The others you'll need to hide in Darnell. Do you have your own place?"

"Yes, though my mother lives with me," Aurelia said, hesitance tinting her voice. She had a feeling that this was going to become an obligation--possibly an inconvenient one.

"Good," the man said. "I'll come by tomorrow night to take them to Angler. They'll be safer there."

Aurelia narrowed her eyes. "Because sleeping in a town that doesn't exist is much safer."

"Then," the man continued, ignoring her, "I need you to find Solange, and tell her there's been a shipwreck. Don't breathe a word of it to anyone else. When she asks, tell her Felix Costello sent you."

The name made Aurelia shudder. The rebels. The man's face, hard with brutality, only confirmed it. She merely nodded, too frightened to say anything.

And then she ran.

Soldor, Sordmar XVI

I am in Ordadus.

With no beating flame. In the darkness, Emiliano's pencil hovered over the softened pages with uncertainty. The dull scratch of graphite scraped like nails against lumber. Splinters, still embedded in the palms of his hands, stung now that he was still. Every muscle in his ankle twisted like a knot.

I don't know where I am, would have flown from his fingers, but it didn't. It stopped at the tip of his pencil, and a shiver washed over his shoulders like rain.

Out on the beach, he was keeled over in the sand.

The admiral had every life to carry. After too many failed fires and survivors came spilling in, Emiliano clutched the book to his chest as the only proof he was worth saving. Chaos. Desperation. Death. It all washed in with the tide.

In panic, it happened. It wasn't a choice to be forgotten. When the boat was gone, he was no longer a passenger. He was another body in the background.

Hardly surprising.

His ankle had been wrangled in the escape from the ship. Caught on a lead line, snagged on the boot buckle. Something had torn or twisted, and being on foot made every step worse. To hide and nurse it made him feel like a wounded animal, retreating to the only place he knew was stable. The beach, and the water. It was, of course, his fortune that in all attempts to appear capable, he'd be caught wincing by the crew's strongest sailor.

Lieutenant Macedon Palacio. Grizzled, greyed, soaked, and still towering in his strength, stumbled out of the waters like a son of Mar, somehow having survived the sea's rage. In the shadow of Palacio's invulnerability, Emiliano became a whelp and fell silent.

Awe and shame.

Palacio thumped into the sand beside him, heaving, but alive. He looked to Emiliano with a smile that bespoke exhaustion and relief, despite the despair charging the ground.

"You're hurt?" Palacio asked, sitting up straighter.

"Naught but this mortal coil," Emiliano said, shielding his ankle with both hands.

"Others. Did they survive?"

Emiliano wanted to answer, but doubt pulled his tongue to the back of his throat. Avidus's limp body, carried in Francis's arms, strung over his memory. In it, he could feel death's cold grip.

"Others," he finally said. "Over there..."

It was a long walk across the beach. When Emiliano turned his head, Palacio followed his gaze, then looked through the grass. A shorter journey Emiliano hadn't braved for fear of snakes at his feet.

Palacio's hand rested firmly on Emiliano's shoulder.

"My skiff capsized," the Lieutenant said. "If no one else found you, then you're who I'm meant to find."

He'd grunted when he rose to his feet again. Emiliano could still see the hand stretched towards him and feel the strength of the fatherly man's arms as he lifted Emiliano up. Two steps in, Emiliano's ankle gave out, and Palacio carried him in full. All of it was only hours ago: the warmth of his breath, the racing of his heartbeat, and the trudge through thick blades, climbing up Palacio's legs, just missing Emiliano's.

Had he known it was a death march - had he known that act of kindness would be Palacio's last...

Just to be piled away with the others. An addition to the sunken faces of Avidus, Francis, Cicero, and Florian. Emiliano heard tell of mass graves but never saw one with his own eyes. He'd never known the pain of war, the cruelty of nature, or the price of exploration.

Where was Sol's mercy?

The walls of Aurelia's shack were a cage hiding them from the world, the beach was a shield, and the ocean a void. This little shack did not exist. The hanging herbs, the folded laundry, the itchy blanket, the rigid, hay-filled mat, the smell of fish, the iron in his lungs. It consumed him.

Never in his life had he stopped his pen. But now he didn't have one.

Emiliano closed the book and brushed the tips of the pages. He curled the pencil into his hand, trying not to exist beside the Admiral who laid on the mat beside him, closer than anyone's comfort, lined like sardines in a closet as fugitives in a country that wasn't supposed to exist.

Sleep eluded them all night, and for Emiliano, he couldn't help but wonder if the sun would bring more death with it. Augustine and Julian were barely clinging on to life, after all.

Where would that leave them, then? A scholar and an admiral?

So much begged to be written, and all of it caught in his throat. Emiliano stifled the urge to cry when the light came through the window, but the desire fled him when the shack shook with a knock.

The Admiral shot upright, and must have had the same thought when they met each others' eyes. She didn't say a word. Two doors away, Aurelia spoke to a woman, whose voice carried clear as day.

"Good day, madam. I'm looking for information on the shipwreck. Have you seen anything out of the ordinary? Or any survivors of the wreck, by any chance?"

"Shipwreck?" Aurelia asked, as if it was her first hearing of it. "When was this?"

"It took place yesterday around sunset. Did you see or hear anything odd during that time?"

The Admiral sat hauntingly still with her face to the door.

"By that hour, I was asleep," Aurelia said, feigning innocence. "I have to be up early to get a decent catch. Which -- with all due respect, I'm already running behind, Dame..."

"Dame Ilaria," the woman finished for her.

A title denoting authority, which meant this woman was a part of the Ordavin governance.

Fear and confusion tied the Admiral to the floor so tangibly that Emiliano wished to cut it. Just outside that door, they had a resource outside of their secretive captors, and they were sitting, waiting, and blindly trusting that Aurelia's motives were pure enough to keep them safe.

He'd been true when he said he trusted Felix Costello to save them. Heroism was an undeniable feat of that doggish bravery and blatant honesty. But Aurelia was no hero, and no willing witness.

She was shrewd. Which meant Emiliano also had to be.

He got to his feet. The Admiral could say nothing before Emiliano deftly opened the door, stepped out, and closed it behind him without showing a face but his own. He kept his book at his side and stepped behind Aurelia with a warm smile: one he didn't have to fake, because the woman outside the door was not just a soldier.

Her face wore all manner of seriousness, but her unsmiling eyes were soft, welcoming, and warm. Her cheekbones were high, and her chin a gentle shape. Her nose was an elegant line, perfectly straight between her thin brows and the silky, brown hair that crowned her in a braid.

Her body was donned in silver armor, and she stood proud in sparkling chainmail and purple and black adornments. A sun motif graced the hooded cape draped over her chest, and with the morning light gracing her ivory skin...

She was stunning.

A fact quite besides the point of information gathering, but a fact all the same.

"Aurelia," Emiliano greeted. "I'm so sorry, I must have overslept. Hello, there. I overheard that you're seeking information regarding a shipwreck?"

Dame Ilaria's eyebrows furrowed together as she took in the sight of him. After a brief pause, she asked, "Pardon me, but, are you from Darnell? What is your name?"

"Right, bit of a recluse these days," he said with a bow of his head. "But, Darnell born and raised. My name is Emiliano Achillinus, distant cousin of Aurelia -- and, well, certainly not her favorite. But we -- hah." He smiled appeasingly to Aurelia, in a manner to say, they should let bygones be bygones, and lies be lies.

"I'm sure you don't require my family legacy or lack thereof," he joked lightly. "Point is, I'm pleased to meet you. Dame Ilaria, was it?"

"Indeed," the woman replied. "The pleasure is mine. But I believe you had some information on the shipwreck?" Her words were slow and pointed.

"Of course," he said, tilting down his chin. "I cannot be of too much help, but, I can at least confirm the time. It was soon after sunset I recall hearing some distant commotion by the beach. Of course, I only credited that to the storm at the time, but if there was a shipwreck, that makes far more sense of it."

It occured to him that, the longer he spoke, the more Dame Ilaria's expression seemed to mask increased perplexion. It was then that his accent -- as normal as breathing to him -- glided over his words clear as day.

She spoke with a certain tambre and tone, a rise and fall and faintest pronunciation different enough to make him stick out like a sore thumb.

A foreigner, in a land potentially obsessed with hunting down foreigners.

It would be too dim of him to apologize for a speech impediment, as he clearly was not lacking speech or learning. It was then that Aurelia's blazing fury became tangible, crackling in the small body of the fisherwoman beside him.

"I see." Dame Ilaria pressed her lips together. "That accent of yours . . . is that the latest trend among the young Nevra Cor nobility? I can tell that you are, in fact, not from this village. You speak like you belong in one of the noble households."

Perhaps all was not lost after all. A flush burned his cheeks as he smiled and lifted his hand in defeat.

"It truly is the nobleman's folly to think I could pull the wool over your eyes," he said.

"Then surely, you must have been pretending not to recognize me," she replied simply, without any hint of boasting or pride.

"She's right," Aurelia said with venom behind her tongue. "I'd expect more decorum in front of the princess."

"Please, that won't be necessary," said Dame Ilaria with a wave of her hand.

Emilano had to lean into the waves of revelation to keep from reeling. He lifted his hands in placation.

"You are nothing if not lauded for your humility, Dame Ilaria," Emiliano said. "But she's right all the same. My apologies for being careless with your precious time. I wouldn't want to hinder your investigation."

A pause.

"But... if I may ask," he dared. "What are you hoping to find? Shipwrecks come in often enough, but most commonly, there are few to be found. If any, at all."

"What I am hoping to find," repeated Dame Ilaria. She looked away, towards the crashing waves on the coast. "The wreckage. And the dead, so they can be put to rest." She paused, eyes still fixed on the water.

A weight dropped in Emiliano's stomach.

"And," she sighed, "by order of the Queen, the royal knights are to search for any survivors."

Which was enough to confirm what Emiliano dared to hope wasn't true. The inhabitants of this island were, in fact, brutish enough to slay survivors. Not to embrace them as humans in need of refuge, but to send them back to the crew that didn't make it. Buried, in the ground.

He did not need to ask. A native of Nevra Cor, the city of Princess Ilaria, would not ask what he knew.

"Ah," he said somberly.

And, with great effort, he attempted to drop his accent, and take on hers.

"May Mar's grace guide you."

He bought it. Did she?

He couldn't read her expression as she placed her hand over her heart and gave a slight bow. "And same to you . . . Mr. Achillinus. Thank you for your time." She bowed once to Aurelia as well before she turned and mounted a--

Mighty Sol in heaven above. Princess Ilaria was mounting a massive, furry elk adorned with saddling as if it were a horse. It even had reins to master it, and its long horns stretched forward ahead of her, bobbing, pointing to the beach.

He'd been so captured by her that he hadn't realized her horse was not a horse at all. It was another creature entirely. An elk was but the closest approximation he had. The nearest comparison in size and form, but still far from an apt description.

Emiliano was entranced by the image of her riding into the sunrise until Aurelia slammed the door shut, concluding his view.

"What were you thinking? Are you an idiot?" Aurelia hissed. "You could've gotten all of us killed!"

The bedroom door opened and the Admiral stepped out, her face pink with anger. "Achillinus! Never do that again. Until I say otherwise, we're in hiding. Understood?"

Emiliano stiffened, assaulted by the sting of his pride and the guilt. Logic demanded reason. He was not the Admiral's crew member, they were not on Soliman ground, and her rank had no power here. And yet, her words burned with the same desperation that took him to the beach, that led him to Palacio, and led Palacio to his death.

Their manners of survival were different, but he could not resent hers.

Biting his tongue, Emiliano offered only one defense.

"I needed to hear it for myself," he said, meeting Aurelia's eyes. "If your knights would really kill us."

"Then you would willingly talk your way to death," Aurelia sneered. "This is my home, and you will not risk my family for your curiosity!"

There was no solace or comraderie found in Admiral Seneca's eyes. She was of the same mind. He stood up straighter and adjusted his book under his arm.

"I will admit I don't know your culture, your customs, and nary a sliver of what's needed to blend into Ordadus," he said. "But you ask a lot of us to trust you, Aurelia. We do so because we are starved of other options. I will respect your wishes until we leave your refuge, but until then, I hope you can accept my apology and forgive my naïveté."

"You must understand that in any other circumstances, I would have let you rot on the shore," Aurelia seethed. "Your elegant words and manner do not make me respect you any more than I would had you talked like a fisherman."

She paced around, wringing her hands, and proving his point. "He -- Mr. Costello -- has given me no choice and a mountain of burden."

Emiliano pressed his lips together.

Aurelia owed them nothing, was risking everything, and had every right to be upset. He'd assumed wrong: she bore them no ill. She was trapped, just like they were. He bowed his in sincere apology, thoroughly chastened.

The fisherwoman shook her head violently, as if to clear her mind. A strand of stiff hair escaped from her hasty bun. "No matter. What's done is done, but I will not let...you all get in the way of my work." She shooed them into the side room once more, and once the door was closed propped something heavy against it.

Prisoners again, then. It made light of all acknowledgements.

The admiral sighed and slumped against the wall, burying her face in her hands. "It was brave of you to go out there, I'll give you that," she said.

Emiliano sat down slowly. Seneca's words didn't quite sink in as his back met the wall, and he sat across from her. There was so much defeat in her fetal posture that he his whole face fell on her behalf.

He'd seen Francis lying on the beach at the Admiral's feet. And Captain Cato? He wasn't even found.

Palacio's hollowed eyes still stared back at him. He could only imagine Francis was still looking into hers.

"... Glory favors the fearless," he said quietly.

The mantra was empty to him. But it was the banner of the Admiral's legacy, and still could be.

A huff of air escaped her nostrils. She smiled, though the melancholy in her gaze didn't change. "I've been thinking about that," she said. "And asking myself why it didn't favor all of them." She picked up a piece of straw from the ground and bent it between her fingers. "But then I remember, glory doesn't equal survival."

It was a sober reality, and not one he was ready to stomach. He hugged his book to his chest once more.

"But it does mean," he said. "That they live on in us."

He gripped his pencil.

He would ensure it.

If Julian was dead, he was blaming the birds. He hadn't been sure for what could have been hours or days or weeks, for all he knew. He'd been floating through a half-consciousness, something with the nonsensicalness of dreaming and the existential awareness that it was not one--the stuff of nightmares, for sure. No power to change anything, or even to move his body, but the vague awareness that he was in one, and blast it all, birds.

Birds, circling everywhere. They sounded like gulls, and he hated that he could tell what type of bird it was based on the sound, even with his eyes firmly shut. That alone was a sign that as soon as he was out of this odd state--if he was ever got out of it at all--he would be leaving Sir Augustine at once. He would not stand to be the man who knew bird calls. He could not have it.

Occasionally, he drifted close enough to his body to feel it--his head, burning, and his torso, freezing beneath layers and layers of pressure.

And still, the sound of birds, circling. They felt so close that he was sure if he could just get his arms to work and his eyes to open and his body to stop trembling, he could strangle the creatures with his bare hands. He wanted to. By Sol, he wanted the birds to just shut up!

He tried to shout it in his mind. Shut up! Shut up, shut up, you stupid birds, can you never be silent?

"...Well, that's probably the first time anyone's ever said that to you, Sabina," a man's voice rumbled from the darkness.

Well. That was a new development. A sound that wasn't the birds. He'd shake the hand of whoever it was if he could ever get himself to move.

Painstakingly, Julian cracked one of his eyelids open. Huzzah! He could see the world, and, as if to say there were gods, there were no birds in sight. Just the light, almost blinding after so long in the darkness, haloing around-- well, someone. He couldn't quite see from the light. He could tell it wasn't someone he knew though, because the woman in front of him, from the vague features of hers that he could see, didn't look like anyone on the ship. No one on the ship looked quite as... eye-catching as her.

Which didn't make sense at all. Because he'd been certain it was a deep voice who had responded, and she did not look like her voice would match that at all. "I do beg your pardon," Julian said slowly, wincing and squinting at the pounding inside his head. "But I don't believe I know you."

The woman raised her eyebrows, seeming amused by this first choice of words. Although she said nothing, her face seemed to say, No kidding.

"You don't," the man's voice said again-- and this time, it was clearly coming not from her, but somewhere to his left. "But she's been caring for you the last day."

"Ah," Julian responded. He couldn't quite gather the energy to turn and find the speaker. "Well, then, I owe you my thanks. And my name, I suppose." He paused for a moment, before deciding that if he was still with any of the people from the ship, he should likely stick with the same name, in case switching it here arose suspicion. "Julian," he said thoughtfully. "And you are?"

He heard a soft shifting noise to his side, and he was grateful he hadn't spent the effort on turning, because the speaker stepped into his field of view. It was a tall, sharp-featured man, somewhere in his mid twenties, wearing a neutral frown on his face. A gun hung off his belt at his hip. He and the woman both smelled of salt and teak wood-- they dressed almost like sailors, too. But Julian had been at sea long enough to know that the uneasiness in his stomach wasn't from floating over the waves.

He was in some kind of boat, though. Or what had once been one. A lantern overhead revealed the wooden ceiling curved into the wall in the shape of a ship's hull.

"I'm Felix," the man said evenly. "This is Sabina. We took you and one of your shipmates here after you both took the antidote."

"The antidote," Julian repeated, then blinked a few times. "The antidote for what, exactly?"

"Bloodweed," Felix said, then paused. "The grass you wandered into. It's poisonous at night. Lethal, even."

"The grass," Julian said, then nodded. "Of course. That makes perfect sense. So silly of us."

The woman-- Sabina-- let out a huff that was clearly a laugh, grinning like she knew she shouldn't be. Felix seemed much less amused.

"Strange as it sounds, you're lucky to be alive. Most of your fellow travelers aren't." He paused again, this time with far more solemness, as if he would've preferred to stop talking there. "We've only found two others who survived both the wreck and the bloodweed."

This was the time when Julian was supposed to be devastated that all of the people he cared about so much had died from some grass-blood-whatever it was. He could see the expectation behind their eyes, even if they didn't voice it. "Goodness," he said somberly. "What horrible news. If only this were a dream."

The man blinked. Julian could tell right away-- he hadn't bought it.

"We're working on bringing them over to the camp," he went on nonetheless. "There's more, but you're still recovering evidently-- and so is your companion. It can wait." Felix's gaze flicked somewhere to the right. "...Was he of frail health before this?"

"He's aged, but has been in strong health." Julian shook his head. "The storm was hard enough on him. An illness to follow..."

Felix and Sabina exchanged a look, one he couldn't read. Whatever silent communication had been exchanged must've been sufficient, because Sabina leaned back in her seat facing Julian, and Felix stepped away with a quiet sigh.

"I'll speak to our medic," he said, turning towards the door, which was a thick piece of cloth that had obviously once belonged to a sail hanging over an opening in the ship. "For the time being, focus on getting your rest. Sol willing, you'll be on your feet in time for dinner."

With no further words, Felix slipped through the curtain, the sound of his light footsteps fading quickly.

"Lovely," Julian said, watching him leave, before turning to Sabina and trying for a smile, though he feared with how he felt right now, it came across as more of a grimace. "Straight to business, that one."

Sabina grinned, offering him a semi-apologetic shrug. It took him a moment to realize she was also holding out a glass of water for him to drink.

"Not very talkative," Julian joked half-heartedly as he, with effort, pushed himself into a sitting position and shakily took the glass.

Sabina let out a snort, her grin flashing wider as she reached for a stack of papers and pen on a nearby table. He couldn't figure out what was so funny until she finished writing on it and held up a page that read, You could say that.

Ah. Okay, then. He was not off to a great start with impressing the new hosts and saviors of their group. "I'm sorry about that," he said.

Sabina waved a hand in dismissal, still smiling as she added a couple more sentences below the first. You're fine. Some people take hilariously long to notice. I mean weeks.

Julian laughed. "I'm always happy to not come in last place," he said good-naturedly. "Your name is Sabina?"

Sabina nodded in eager confirmation, then glanced back at the door before scrawling a few more words. Sorry about my boy. If it helps, he's like that to everyone. The others are always much happier to see newcomers.

Her boy. Ah. So the quiet, sulking man with the gun was her child. It seemed she really knew how to raise them. Instead of saying that out-loud though, he took the opportunity to solidify the image he was giving off to them. "He seems... eager to help."

He's got an odd way of showing it, but yes. Sabina tapped her pen on the paper in empathetic agreement.

At that moment, a stout, solemn-faced man with blond hair and tanned skin slipped through the curtain. He nodded curtly at Julian before striding to a drawer and pulling out a mortar and pestle. "Back in the land of the living, I see," he said, scooping a fistful of green leaves from a pouch.

"Spent quite a lot of time at sea, but yes, it seems so," Julian joked.

The man gave a short, unenthused snort. "I'm making you a marigold concoction. Should help get your strength back."

"Wonderful," Julian said. "So then the eight-pack, that'll come right along? It must've faded over the last day or two."

Sabina huffed a quiet laugh.

"You'll need stronger stuff for that," the man replied, grinding the leaves. "The kind of stuff your friend might need before long."

"Surely, you don't have to give him abs though to wake him up, right?" Julian asked, trying to keep his tone lighthearted, even as the idea of Sir Augustine dying unsettling him. He didn't particularly like being around him, but him dying in such a bizarre fashion seemed... uncomfortable. He should be pecked to death by some remote tropical bird, or swallowed whole by an ostrich, not this. Not that an ostrich could swallow a person whole... blast it all, he knew far too much about birds now. He should not know that an ostrich was the biggest land bird, but not big enough to swallow a person whole.

The blond man cracked a subtle smile. "I'll see what I can do." Scooping the mushy leaf pulp into a wooden cup, he poured a repulsive brown liquid in after it and mixed it together with a stick. "For now, let's get you back on your feet." He handed Julian the cup.

It looked and smelled horrid. Julian was reminded of the avian tendency of mothers to upchuck their own meal into their children's beaks. "Ah," Julian said, trying to force down a grimace. "I see you saved only your finest for me, you shouldn't have."

"Plug your nose when you swallow it," the man advised. "Now, let's see how the scarring's healing..."

The man knelt and rolled Julian's left sock down without warning. Leaning over, Julian noticed a peppering of white pockmarks on his legs. "I do fear I'm quite attached to that pair," Julian remarked mildly, taking in the marks on his legs with a horrid fascination.

"I'll leave you with some cream you can apply each night that'll help with the itching. Otherwise, they're healing nicely." The man rose to his feet and nodded. "I'll see to your friend now."

Julian nodded, frowning as he squinted once again at the marks. "Lovely grass you have." He looked up to find Sabina watching him, and gave a slight smile and a wink. It earned him another smile and a nod of mock agreement. Good. That meant at least one person here who he felt he could get a straight answer from, if he pressed hard enough. It was possible he might even get something monetary at the end of it all. He wouldn't count on it, but he'd keep Sabina in mind. Someone who seemed to trust him could always come in handy, after all.

He looked back down at the cup in his hands. It looked a bit like a puddle of mud that had sat stagnant for a couple of days, and he scrunched his nose in disgust as he tried to ignore the odor wafting from the beverage. Blasted birds. Blasted boat. If he hadn't been so soft-hearted, he might have abandoned Sir Augustine long ago and never ended up on this forsaken voyage. And maybe, in some glorious alternate universe, he would know a lot less about ostriches.

Well... he had to play the hand he'd been dealt. He wasn't always the best gambler, sure, but Julian never backed down from a game. On second thought, that may have something to do with why he wasn't the best gambler.

Nevertheless, he was here now, and he'd have to find a way to get the most of it. Earning more of Sabina's trust, whatever use that might turn out to have, seemed like a great start. He raised the cup to his mouth and drank.

After the knights left and the coast was clear, Maggie and Achillinus reemerged from the bedroom. The stench of fish, a constant feature in Darnell, it seemed, was even stronger in the kitchen: Aurelia was gutting one.

"Are you going to stand there," the fisherwoman asked, stabbing her knife through the large fish's throat. "Or are you going to make yourself useful? Have you ever seen a kitchen before, pray tell?"

None quite so ramshackle Maggie thought as she unbuttoned the cuffs of her tunic. "How can we help?" she asked with a raised chin.

Aurelia distractedly waved at the spot next to her. "There are herbs to be cut," she mumbled, carving out the ever-seeing eye in the fish's head. Although the scene was gruesome, and the table was covered in blood, the woman never seemed to flinch.

Maggie rolled up her sleeves and picked up a crudely-made knife, its blade dull, and began to saw at the clump of herbs. She quickly felt a hand touch hers, rough and calloused.

"One at a time. Gently," Aurelia told her.

"I know how to cut herbs," Maggie snapped, continuing to slice the whole bunch with even greater force.

Aurelia's eyes narrowed, but her lips pursed and she went on with the fish.

Having rarely cooked a meal in her life, she was sure her husband would have also chided her technique, but she wasn't about to let this antiquated fisherwoman tell her what she should and shouldn't do.

Things could be worse. If Aurelia was bossy, her mother was an entirely separate entity. She hadn't taken kindly to the arrival of outsiders and had slammed the front door behind her early that morning after a heated argument with her daughter.

Though it was difficult to gauge whether or not Aurelia was sympathetic to their situation, she hadn't spilled any secrets when the knights came knocking, and that was something to be grateful for.

"Have you heard any news from today?" Maggie asked, attempting a casual tone, though the too-high lilt of her voice likely betrayed her.

The fisherwoman sighed. "Darnell--and I'd venture to say Ordadus as well--is quite an uneventful place. Except when your kind turn up, of course."

"About the ship, I mean," Maggie said. "Have there been any more survivors?"

"None that I have heard of," Aurelia said grimly.

Using the back of the knife, Maggie swept the roughly chopped herbs into a pile, then attacked the pile with renewed vigor. "I'm sure Felix found more," she said, raising her voice above the sound of chopping.

Aurelia incomprehensibly whispered under her breath, then cleared her throat. "I will inform you when I hear news. Also, the herbs have been chopped enough." She turned to Achillinus, who was meekly standing in the corner. "You. Please lay the plates."

Achillinus bowed his head. "I will be the finest plate-layer to date," he murmured, intuitively finding the cupboard with the plates in question.

Maggie couldn't argue with Aurelia on this one: the herbs were indeed sufficiently pulverized. "Do you have a whetting stone?" she asked, anxious to do something with her hands.

"A whetting stone? What is that?" Aurelia asked, eyebrows scrunched.

"A stone you would strike a blade against to sharpen it," Achillinus explained while brushing the table clean.

Aurelia seemed to become even more confused. "A...stone? Like the ones at the shore? How would that sharpen metal?"

"Well, the stone is shaped so it is flat. It's a tool for the kitchen--" Achillinus began to motion in the air a rectangular shape. "Your local blacksmith might have something similar, on a larger scale. A grindstone, perhaps?"

The fisherwoman's mouth formed a circle. "Oh, those cost a month's worth of fishing anyways. You'll do fine, ma'am," she said to Maggie. "Just pound the blade flat on the table with something heavy, if you so wish."

A strange, shrill laugh escaped Maggie's throat. "Dull blades with no stone to sharpen them, knights in shining armor . . . What's next? Do the doctors here use leeches to cure a headache?" Dropping the useless knife on the counter, she rubbed her forehead, exasperated.

Aurelia, intently focused on her fish, cleared her throat once more. "The nearest 'doctor' to here is nearer the capital than the shore. I have never seen one in my lifetime."

Sol above, it was worse than she imagined. It was as if the Gloria Invicta had sailed back in time. Way back in time.

"My daughter was only able to see one last year," Aurelia added.

"You have a daughter," Maggie said, surprised.

Aurelia's solemn lips managed a small smile. "Yes," she said, putting down her knife. "Her name is Lucia. She studies in Nevra Cor."

A pang of longing struck Maggie's chest. Her remaining child, Isabella, was halfway across the world.

"How far is that from here?" she asked.

The fisherwoman's eyes took on a faraway gaze. "Over the fields, into the darkness. That's how I see it. In reality, it is probably a two-day trip by faelk." She turned back to the fish, as if waking up. "I've never visited, though."

"You must miss her terribly. Nevra Cor - is that a city? Something more . . . substantial than Darnell?"

"Yes," Aurelia answered. "It is our capital, in the center of the island. Very large, very...expensive."

"And the queen lives there?"

Aurelia scoffed, then seemingly attempted to turn it into a cough. "Yes, our...beloved queen is quite comfortable in Ordavin Keep."

Maggie's jaw dropped open.

Something had been nagging at the back of her mind ever since she'd heard the name of this land - Ordadus - but she'd pushed it aside, knowing it was surely just a coincidence.

"Ordavin?!" she said now, incredulous. "As in King Ordavin?"

"Yes," Aurelia answered with a bewildered look upon her face.

It was strange, wasn't it? That they all spoke the same language, just with different accents?

"Tell me what you know about him," Maggie said.

Aurelia shrugged. "Many generations ago, he and his subjects sought refuge from a faraway land. They found this island, and created this country. I suppose I may be related to him in some way," she said, chuckling. "Everyone on the island is a descendant of the original settlers. Well, besides that rebel boy, based on the looks of him."

Maggie sank onto a bench near the stove. "By Sol's dying light. That explains a lot."

As the story went, King Ordavin had tucked tail and ran, taking his family and soldiers on a suicide mission into the ruthless Argen Sea. Yet as it turned out, unless Aurelia was pulling some outrageous ruse, he and many others had lived.

Aurelia's head cocked to the side. "And what do you mean of that?" she asked.

Maggie laughed again, this time in disbelief. "The whole lot of you have his mark! Quite literally!"

Ordavin had survived, hiding away from the rest of the world, while the country he left behind suffered under Ustanan rule for generations.

Maggie instinctively touched her eyepatch.

"What does this keep look like?" she asked.

"I've never seen it, but Nevra Cor is surrounded by mountains, and the Keep is blocked off by a large stone wall."

So it wouldn't be easy to overpower - far from it - but if she sent a message back home, perhaps her people could return, vigilant against bloodweed and deadly reefs, and claim what was rightfully New Soliman land.

Ordadus. Bah! A whole island named after the coward king.

Aurelia pulled the fish off from over the fire--though Maggie hadn't noticed it ever going over the flame. It was lightly crusted, and the fisherwoman gently sliced it with the dull blade. Where Maggie had struggled with the knife, Aurelia seemed to wield it effortlessly.

She piled the herbs on top of the fish, which let out a warm aroma into the cottage.

"Surely not a delicacy you are used to," Aurelia said gruffly. "But it shall do, and you should be grateful I fed you."

Maggie rolled her eye.

"Now, if you'll--" Aurelia turned to the table and her voice faltered. Maggie followed her gaze.

Somehow, the dining area looked cleaner than it ever had. A canvas runner she didn't think previously existed acted as a tablecloth beneath the centerpiece Emiliano had created from dried flowers and hay. Somewhere, he'd found twine, tied it into a "bouquet," and placed it in a vase Maggie hadn't seen before.

Four plates sat on each corner, identically positioned with a fork, spoon, and knife on either side, with a glass on the top right corner. With resources unbeknownst to Maggie, Emiliano somehow got the plates to shine.

"By Sol's dying light," Maggie whispered, thoroughly impressed.

Aurelia's eyebrows were raised higher than Maggie had ever seen them. "Hm, the scribbler made himself useful."

Emiliano beamed. "More-than-scribbler extraordinaire!"

Maggie had no appetite, but she forced herself to swallow the fish. She needed the energy for tonight, when the rebel knight Solange would escort them to Felix, who would in turn deliver them to Angler.

Gods willing, much of the Gloria Invicta crew would have found shelter there. She prayed Captain Cato would be among them.



As darkness fell, Maggie paced back and forth across the pathetic length of the candle-lit cottage, only pausing to peer out a window. A thin layer of fog had crept in over Darnell, smudging the flickering lanterns that hung outside.

At long last, a fist hammered on the weatherworn door. Maggie flew to answer it.

Dame Solange was a step taller than her, and her expression was harsh and wearied for someone so young. She was a picture of intimidation, standing strong and stoic in chainmail and a purple surcoat with a silver diamond on the front. Her dull brown hair was tied tightly behind her head, and something about her deep, tanned skin felt distinctly New Soliman.

According to Achillinus' report, the princess-knight Ilaria had been accompanied by a magnificent steed. Maggie was unreasonably disappointed to see that this other knight was alone.

"Put these on," Solange said, tossing a heap of dark clothing inside.

It was a pair of black hooded cloaks. Maggie pulled on the musty, moth-bitten rags without question. It made sense - Achillinus' pink blouse and her navy blue uniform didn't seem to align with the common Ordadian attire, and under the soft glow of the evening sky they'd stick out like lights in a dark harbor.

"In this garb we are practically one with the shadows," Achillinus remarked obnoxiously.

The knight jutted her chin at Aurelia. "Are you coming? Felix said there'd be room for you as well."

Aurelia sighed as if such an idea was insanity. "The fish await, as they always do."

"Then we'll be off. Follow me."

The gush of cold, salty air that filled Maggie's lungs was enough to give her a jolt of exhilaration. They'd been cooped up in Aurelia's mildewed home for the entire day, festering with grief and unease. Finally, finally they were on the move again.

The ramshackle boardwalks creaked and groaned as they hurried through the Darnell fog. Though her chainmail was doubtlessly heavy, Knight Solange kept a brisk pace, only slowing once they were free from town and marching along the pebbled beach.

Earlier that day, Maggie had learned that bloodweed only awakened at night. Should they be traveling by day, there'd be no need to hug the shore; under the moonlight, however . . .

A fresh wave of anguish rolled over her.

Francis. My baby boy . . .

She tried to focus on a glimmer of hope: there was no telling who Felix had found after they had fled the beach the night prior, and there were certainly many more survivors; it helped, but the lump in her throat was like an anchor in the mire, unyielding.

What had happened to the body of her precious boy in the last 24 hours?

Solange's stride slackened once they rounded a cliff that shielded them from Darnell. She drew a torch from her belt and ignited it, leading them along a promontory where the water lapped at their boots.

"We'll wait here," she said.

"Here?" Maggie's heart sank. She pointed west. "My son's body is just a short distance from here. We have to get him."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Solange said.

Maggie stepped closer to the knight, hands curling into fists. "We have to go get him," she repeated. It came out like a cat's hiss between her teeth. "If the fisherwoman could fit on the boat, Francis can, too."

The knight looked away. "He won't be there anymore," she said. "We removed the bodies this morning."

Maggie's throat went dry. "Removed?"

"We got there early and loaded them all onto a wagon. I'm not sure where Felix takes them. Probably buries them near Angler." Solange shifted the torch to her other hand. "Your son is at peace."

A soft hand touched Maggie's wrist. It was Achillinus.

Where he should've opened his mouth to say something, he closed it. With a bobbing adam's apple, he opened his arms, and stopped just short of embracing her.

Magdalena wished with all her might that the man offering a hug was Francis or Rufus, but she was left instead with this fragile boy with the puppy-dog eyes. Her lip trembled. She embraced Achillinus and sobbed.

They were two black shadows on the beach. How cruel that the forces of nature would spare them both, an old woman and a foreign scholar, and do away with the rest.

Maggie buried her face in Achillinus' cloak, hoping it and the crashing waves swallowed the worst of her blubbering. Emiliano, in turn, hugged her tightly, and the knight with the torch stepped away as if to give them space, closer to the lapping tide.

"I'm sorry," Achillinus finally whispered. "You should've had the chance to say goodbye. He was yours."

She pulled back, sniffling. "He was." It wasn't fair.

Over Achillinus' shoulder, Maggie spotted a dark shape cutting through the water, navigating the jagged reef with impressive precision.

"Felix," she announced.

Solange waved the torch above her head, and the boat angled toward the shore, carried by the tide before the soft scrape of stones under the water against the hull and a backward tug on the oars slowed it to a stop. Looking much like the night before, the same resolve and determination chiseled on his face, Felix stepped onto dry land. He was otherwise difficult to read as he watched the pair clutching each other, looked to Solange, then back to Maggie and Achillinus again.

"So she actually sheltered you," he said at last, with what wasn't quite surprise. It sounded more like the subdued relief of having one less thing to worry about.

"Finally!" Achillinus greeted. "The face of our merciful hero in the flesh. I'd thought you were a spectre of the night."

"I'm quite alive," Felix said, the slightest squint of his eyes being the only sign that he found the words strange. "As are your companions I brought back yesterday. They're expected to make a full recovery."

Praise Sol.

"Julian and Augustine?" Achillinus gasped. His expression melted in relief, and to everyone's surprise, he practically tackled Felix with a hug.

Even though Achillinus almost certainly missed it, Maggie caught the moment Felix's hand moved for his flintlock before plastering to his side just in time for Achillinus to throw his arms around him. The tension that flickered over his face quickly lapsed into irritation.

"Yes," Felix said stiffly. "Them."

"Gods bless you for bearing good news," Achillinus said in earnest.

He pulled away quickly, but the brief moment was received with stiff, awkward glances from everyone but the curly-haired boy. Wiping her nose with the burlap-like texture of the black cloak, Maggie stepped forward. "Where have you taken my son?" she asked. "He died on this beach."

Felix looked to her, at once collecting himself. He met her eyes with solemnness.

"He's buried on a cliff near Angler," he said. "With the others we found."

On a cliff, near the sea - at least he would like that.

"You can make him a gravestone," Felix said, quieter. "I remember his face."

Maggie blinked away fresh tears. She could only nod.

"And the others," Achillinus chimed in. "We can see about headstones for all of them."

Felix bowed his head. "Of course. I'll help you in locating them."

Achillinus bobbed his head. "And you're here to take us to Angler, another town west of Darnell, the fishing town Aurelia sheltered us in."

"Assuming you'll let me, yes."

"And Nevra Cor is the capital of Ordadus," Achillinus went on. "Where the knights come from. Where is that?"

Felix didn't reply for several seconds, giving Achillinus a dead stare.

"Look, I can offer you a geography lesson, if that's what you like," he said firmly. "But I'd rather do it on our way. It's safer."

Maggie agreed, but Achillinus threw up his hands in frustrated surrender. "On your terms, then," the boy said. "So be it. Our lives remain in your hands."

Felix wasted no time in looking to Maggie, but from the flicker of something somber over his face in that moment, she could tell that whatever patience he had in this moment was being reserved for her. "Are you ready?"

"Let's go," she said.

How many questions could one person ask?

Whatever that number was, it was certainly reaching its upper limit-- and Felix was rapidly approaching the threshold for a migraine-- as the strange-mannered man blathered on about anything that could unreasonably be asked about the island. He had to realize the same fundamental laws of the universe applied here, right?

Or maybe he didn't. Felix half-expected that question to come up next.

"With shores as murderous as these, I'm amazed no one's thought to burn the carnivorous roots and carve out a haven. Is it truly too impossible to do so, or is the bloodweed merely the justification Ordadus needs for closed borders?"

Felix resisted the urge to sigh as he drew the oars back towards his chest. "People have tried. No one's sure why, but fire doesn't work. It just comes back."

The curly-haired man scoffed. "I suppose I'll just have to ask Dame Ilaria, then. Surely your princess--"

The water rumbled against the boat from an uneven rowing movement. Felix gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on the oars. Finally, he'd said something worth listening to, but why'd it have to be that?

"How do you know about her?" he ground out.

"She came by earlier today," the woman said. She'd been quiet up until that point, scanning the water. "Achillinus went and talked to her."

It silenced the other man-- Achillinus. That was a lot of syllables. Felix would think of something short soon.

"Great," Felix muttered. "Just what we need."

Ilaria had always tried to stay out of these operations. Why was she suddenly a lead investigator?

"She leads the knights, doesn't she?" the woman asked. "Is she a serious threat?"

Felix pursed his lips. "No. But I wouldn't go up against her in a swordfight, ideally, if that's what you mean." It was true, but they didn't have to know why.

"Do they have any firepower?" she asked next with a narrowed eye.

"No. That's our saving grace-- they haven't figured it out yet." Felix glanced at the flintlock on her belt. "You'll have a leg up on them as well."

"Why doesn't Ordadus have gunpowder?" Achillinus asked. Still too long of a name.

"Because they're cowards," the woman answered. "And they're named after a coward."

Felix grunted in agreement. "That, and withdrawing from the world for a few centuries tends to stunt your whole technological development process. Hence the knights of olden days running around to do the queen's bidding."

"Their technology hasn't advanced at all in 200 years?" Achillinus gaped.

"Hardly, I imagine, not that I was there back then," Felix said simply. "But I can't complain. It makes it a lot easier to strike fear in their hearts when they don't understand what they're up against."

Felix glimpsed a smile on the woman's face for the first time. Achillinus, however, finally grew serious.

"What is your goal, exactly?" the man asked slowly.

Now that, Felix didn't mind answering.

"I mean to make this island a place people like you and me can live, rather than a death trap where your only options are to be slaughtered on the beach or hide your true self away for the rest of your lifespan. That's the bare minimum. If I could do it through popular persuasion, that would be great. But as I'm sure you've seen your fill of closed-mindedness already..." Felix shrugged, and the oars slipped above the waves with the movement. "Well, the more realistic path involves revolution."

The woman straightened at that. "Sometimes that's the only option." She met Felix's eye, and an understanding passed between them.

He smirked slightly, pleasantly surprised. "You get it."

"I lived it."

Felix blinked, leaning forward with the stretch of the oars. "You did?" he asked, unable to keep the intrigue from his voice.

She carried herself with the poise of a soldier. It only made sense that she had the experience to back it.

"Admiral Seneca," Achillinus said quietly. "I think we should consider all paths open to us before we jump to..."

Seneca shot him a glare. "I think it's safe to assume this man has already done so."

Felix gave a slight nod, partly in confirmation and partly in appreciation of her ability to make Achillinus be quiet for once. The questioner only looked away, and cast his gaze over the water.

"War is a nasty business," the admiral continued, "but if we had never taken up arms against Ustana, Solimar would still be under its boot. That's no way to live."

Felix hummed. "You fought against them. And you won."

"We won."

"I've been lucky enough to find many with the bravery and passion to make a stand, but few with the experience of having done it before." Felix met Seneca's eye. "I think you'll do just fine, Admiral."

She smiled again, but this time there was an edge of sadness in the lines on her face. The lull was just enough allowance for the annoying man to speak.

"How long have you been carving this path to freedom, Felix?" Achillinus asked. "Did you wash up on the shore like us, gun and all?"

Felix huffed drily, glancing back over his shoulder momentarily. "I've been here for fifteen years. It took a little while for the gun to catch up, but the Cambios have been going strong for the last five."

Achillinus's eyes widened. "You were only a child?"

Suddenly, the absurd questions about the island seemed immensely preferable. "Yes."

"Where are you from?" Seneca asked.

Felix pursed his lips, wondering if he should just end this conversation subject now. Angler was still a few nautical miles out, and if he wasn't careful, that would be a few nautical miles of questions he didn't want to answer. But something told him this topic would be harder to shoot down than his usual targets.

"Perenia," he said. "I don't know if you've heard of it. It doesn't really assert itself on the map."

It normally ended there. This was the part where everyone would say they had never heard of it, or admit they had little to say about it. But Achillinus's eyes brightened in recognition.

"Perenia!" he exclaimed.

But the rest of his words were a different language entirely. One that Felix hadn't heard in fifteen years: his mother tongue. The phrases tumbled freely from Achillinus's lips, each one more enthusiastic than the last, with no signs of stopping. The sounds, the way his voice flowed around the vowels and consonants like river currents over a stone were all inflections Felix knew he had learned-- had had to unlearn. But the creeping realization that none of it held any meaning to him felt colder than the waves that had carried him here.

No, there was one thing he could glean from it. He couldn't explain how he knew, but he could tell Achillinus had learned it from the confines and strict grammar of a classroom. Not through the attentive teachings of a mother, not through the guidance of a father. Certainly not the nuance and playfulness one found with language when talking to a sister.

And so all he could respond, when Achillinus ended on a note that was a question in anyone's culture, was with a plain, "What was that?"

Achillinus blinked, and his smile disappeared. "Oh," he said. "My apologies, I..."

A tension like fire seized hold of Felix's clenched jaw as he looked away, staring at the waves like there was actually something to find out there. Gods, he shouldn't even be angry about this. It had been made out of kindness, a desire to connect. Achillinus couldn't have known. He couldn't have been aware Felix had somehow failed to keep hold of the very language he'd grown up thinking in.

But he was angry. And judging by the heat in his face, he had a feeling everyone on the boat could tell it.

"I'll leave you to rowing," Achillinus said quietly.

"Smartest thing you've said yet, prettyboy." The oars could've dug splinters into Felix's palms from the force he pulled them back with. There. He'd shortened it down.

Seneca cleared her throat. "Were there any other survivors that you know of? From our ship?"

Grateful to have a different question to answer, even if it was bad news, Felix shook his head. "My scouts and I have made the rounds without finding anyone."

Should he mention the possibility that they could turn up in a few days? Somehow, suggesting that felt crueler. False hopes didn't serve anyone right now.

Instead, he opted for a dull, but sincere, "I'm sorry."

She turned her face away to look out to sea, the eyepatch obscuring her expression. "Does the enemy have a naval force to speak of?"

The enemy. Well, it seemed as though she hadn't needed any help with her mental frameworking of Ordadus. He thought this might be the record for the fastest time someone had called them that after arriving here. "None. The shores are treacherous to them too."

"Good. And this . . . Nevra Cor? What is it like?"

Felix wrinkled his nose. "A city without sun," he said. "Completely surrounded by mountains-- their shadow swallows its streets. Not impenetrable, but hardly a place you'd go to for fun."

Seneca let out a short laugh. "After all these years and they're still in hiding. You've been there?"

"Lived there, unfortunately. I truly don't think I'd be sane if I was still there today."

"A life without sunshine -- Sol have mercy. No wonder they're crazy." Seneca wrapped the black cloak tigher around her torso. "Aurelia said the queen never leaves and that she's holed up in a keep. Is it well-defended?"

"The lower keep is public. The upper keep is well-guarded by knights, and only meant to be accessible to them and nobles, but... I have my methods." Now they were talking.

She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. "Do you? And what might those be?"

"Sneaking in with a shipment, passing as a servant, or just knowing which windows get left unlocked-- any of those will get you in." Felix paused. "Second floor up on the west side with the green stained glass, by the way."

Seneca was impressed. "And, should you get caught, your gunpowder against their steel. They don't stand a chance."

"If they truly never stood a chance, we wouldn't be slinking through shadows in a rowboat," Achillinus said to the ocean.

"You got a problem with this rowboat?" Felix didn't remember deciding to say it like he meant to throw Achillinus out depending on his answer, but it certainly came out that way.

Prettyboy turned to him with a spark of fear in his eyes, and he stiffened.

"The rowboat and I have no quarrel."

"That's what I thought."

The smartass turned away and shut up again. Praise Sol.

Shifting on the bench, Seneca looked between Felix and Prettyboy and sighed. "So. Once we get our bearings, how can we be of use to you in Angler?"

"That can be up to you both. We have spies, translators, scouts, guards, messengers, and specialists in all sorts of fields. I prefer to let newcomers find what works for them." Felix paused. "Of course, not everyone wants to stay. We've integrated a few people into Ordadus, and they've all gone on to life their new lives while escaping notice-- but the vast majority have stayed around to give back."

"If you're willing to lend the Admiral your trust," Prettyboy said. "She would be indispensible in any form of management or strategy. Though she's a new face, she will shine brightest in the charge of others."

Felix's gut was telling him the same thing, but he wanted to avoid having to agree with him directly if possible. He looked to Seneca, hoping she might say something similar for herself.

Seneca dipped her head in thanks. "My great-nephew Rufus -- Captain Cato -- would have performed more admirably in this regard, but . . ." She looked out at sea and swallowed. "I can lead, yes."

Felix nodded thoughtfully, as if she'd been the one to convince him. "I can see that working well for you."

A beat passed. Felix watched as uncomfortable realization spread over Achillinus's face when the admiral remained silent for his case. He spoke for himself.

"If you need another translator, or require any information of the outside world for personal advancement or otherwise informing your plans or negotiations... I am an adequate resource."

Felix pursed his lips. Obviously, he'd have to do something, and he'd... already made the translating point devastatingly clear. Not to mention Sabina spearheaded that role...

She was a lot nicer than Felix. She'd put up with this fool happily. Might even like him.

"I'll direct you to Sabina," he said. "She's our main translator, as well as our cryptologist, and one of the smartest people I know. I'm sure she can get you situated."

"My name is Emiliano Achillinus, by the way," he offered unprompted. "I imagine you'll need to know eventually, unless you don't intend to use it."

"I was rather proud of 'prettyboy', honestly."

Emiliano's mouth turned up into a small sneer. "Then it is only fitting I follow suit and call you 'Savior.'"

"It's not exactly fewer syllables, but suit yourself."

"Thank you, Dearly Beloved Emancipator, Bestower of Freedoms."

The oar in Felix's right hand-- which happened to be on the same side as Prettyboy-- broke the steady rhythm of rowing and drew forward past its twin to fling a bucket's worth of water at Emiliano. The man's shoulders came up to his ears as the water crashed over his head, melting his cloak against his shoulders. The Admiral stayed dry.

"Boys!" she cried, scooting away from Emiliano.

"Sorry," Felix said calmly, giving nothing away. "My grip slipped."

Emiliano stared humorlessly behind frizzing curls that had fallen over his face. "Yes, you have proven yourself quite ungainly. It is a wonder I had not anticipated such a cack-handed slip."

"No one to blame but yourself, then."

Emiliano's gaze dropped to the floor of the boat, and then he pushed his hair back - making a show of it as he shook his head. Seneca shielded herself from the spray.

"Ah. There cometh the shore," Emiliano drawled out.

Felix glanced over his shoulder, squinting at the gold tint of lanterns staining the cliff walls. The curtains of fog were parting to reveal the cove and all its ships, their exposed boards tearing through the mist. He wondered what it looked like to the two of them and everyone seeing it for the first time-- hopefully something comforting. Even if it didn't, maybe the people inside would change that.

"Only a few minutes out now," he told them. "Welcome to Angler."

Search the shore. Alone.

The short sentence, written in the queen's own hand, had come to Ilaria on a thin strip of paper tied to a messenger pigeon's leg. It wouldn't leave her mind. Such a missive was nothing particularly special or out of the ordinary, but this one felt especially sobering.

Would she always have to walk the path set before her by others, all alone? In her heart, Ilaria knew the answer.

So she sighed deeply and pulled on her armor. She saddled Acantha and rode toward the beach where people who didn't belong went to die.

As Acantha's front hooves pressed into the sand, Ilaria squinted against the shine of the sun on the water as she looked to the place where countless souls had been lost time and time again. Her gaze traveled to the edge of the shore where debris had sat buried in the sand. As she neared the wreckage site and dismounted from the saddle, she pulled out a large rag and looped it through her belt. Then she also strapped an empty satchel to her side with the flap left open.

"Well, my dear friend," she said, patting the faelk's flank, "shall we begin?"

Acantha snorted in response. Ilaria gave the animal a light kiss on the nose before she untied her cape from her shoulders and draped it over her saddle.

"Best search partner ever," she said with a sigh. And she immediately hated herself when the thought came unbidden to her that Valens would mock her if he knew that the crown princess of the nation, hand-chosen by the Queen, was as good as crawling around and digging through dirt like a lowlife. She didn't care.

Before she even started searching in earnest, Ilaria knew that the Cambios had been there before she had. They always managed to take away most of the evidence before the knights reached the shipwrecks. No doubt, it was due to Felix's quick thinking and efficient leadership. Unfortunately, it made things harder for the knights and the crown. Who knew what the rebels were doing with these foreign artifacts?

She knelt and dug up the first item she finally saw, just barely poking out from the sand. It was a compass, she realized after she had brushed away wet clumps clinging to its face. She moved her arm to the left, then to the right, watching the arrow swing back and forth. At last, she found the spot that allowed it to point to the elegant N within the glass. It indeed was the direction of north.

Ilaria wiped it with her rag as cleanly as she could without wasting too much time and picked up the next thing several minutes later. A spyglass. Also another typical item that seafarers carried, and one that the common Ordadian had little to no knowledge of, by the Queen's orders. On the other hand, the nobles would always clamor over each other to beg--or even to bribe--the knights to give the latest toy from the shipwrecks to them. It didn't matter to them whether the navigational tools were broken. Their imaginations were enough to allow them to be sufficiently entertained, at least for a short while.

Ilaria stood and dusted her knees and hands off after she had searched the area for nearly an hour. She stretched her neck and shoulders. Thankfully, there had been enough patches of sea grass nearby to keep Acantha occupied and not thinking about running off.

She walked toward her faelk. "You're not going to eat all this grass and the meal they have ready for you at the stable, are you?" she said. "I can't let you get fat when Felix is already not helping, giving you all that sugar every time we see him." She reached out to gently tug Acantha away by the reins when she spotted something light-colored fluttering between the thin stalks of grass.

When she pulled it from the sand, she found that it was a crumpled piece of parchment. She brushed the damp grains of sand from its surface. Her eyes roved over the writing, then her eyes widened and she stared harder at the script.

She understood the script. It was written in Soliman.

What did it mean, that the shipwrecked people from a foreign land knew Soliman?

Eillur, Glacmere VIII

Today marks the seventh year of silence. A month ago I sent word to my mother and father, telling them of my recent ventures in the coastal cities of Faciuls, and my newest opportunity aboard the Gloria Invicta. This familiar dolefulness plagues me only for a moment when I set my sights on the journey ahead, but today I find the mountain of contentment a steeper climb. I've long since learned it is in my best interest to have no expectations, but Leon's birthday celebration last evening summoned a familiar storm. His entire family organized an extravagant feast, and guests poured into their doors well past the midnight hour. I don't know that I've ever seen a single soul so boisterously loved -- to know every face was there for him, to glory in his mere existence.

I write this in the humble attempt to put it from my mind once this book is shut. I take no pride in envy, but I felt its sting hook my flesh when his mother kissed his cheek, and his father pulled him close. To be fully grown, and still so wanted... I can't help but feel that his life is a dream. All night, I waited for a prick to the bubble -- to see the fantasy fall away, hanging on the edge of disillusionment, while nothing came. Is there anything more pitied than a man who cannot share in his friends' joys? Best that sentiment remains here, forgotten.

I set these things aside, and prepare for my next voyage. I always find I live best when I have a new project, and this one might be the most exceptional addition to my work. Captain Cato has personally invited me on his expedition as a royal scholar, arch chronicler, and representative of New Solimar. It is my responsibility as scribe to record all that we face while sailing into the unknown, and I value this with my life.

To fearlessness, and a new dream to fill the silence.

A pang shot through Ilaria after she finished reading what was obviously someone's diary entry. A small sliver of guilt that she had intruded on someone's private thoughts, but mostly, she knew that feeling to be her own pain as the stranger's words brought to mind her own memories.

The voices of her sisters, dropping to a hushed whisper and then silence when she walked into the room. Their expressions, nervous and unsure, and their eyes clearly said that Ilaria was as good as a stranger to them.

Her mother and father, always wearing warm smiles when she came to visit. But whenever she lingered just a little longer, their smiles would fade into anxiety. "Perhaps you should head back," her father would say.

"Remember, you must work harder to please the queen," was her mother's script every time. "Make sure she does not regret choosing you."

And within minutes, the door to her childhood home would be shut behind her.

But what stung most of all were the hateful looks and the barbed comments from her older brother, who had been her hero as a child.

Ilaria sighed and pushed her disappointments away and read the parchment a few more times. New Solimar. This shipwrecked crew must be from this place that called itself New Solimar. How was that possible? The old kingdom of Solimar was destroyed by its enemies, and only King Ordavin and his court had managed to escape with their lives.

She gently rolled the parchment up and put it in her bag. It would probably be worth searching a little longer to see if there were any more pieces of writing around. She had already found the insight that the queen would want--but something inside of Ilaria was hesitant to give this diary entry up.

It was someone else's deepest insecurities, someone's pain. Ones that happened to be just like hers.

Ilaria led Acantha further down the shore to the other side of the shipwreck. Her faelk started to pull against the reins, trying to walk back towards the abundant sea grass.

"No, you don't," said Ilaria, looking into Acantha's eyes and shaking her finger at her. "I've got an important job to do, so don't move. I'm watching you."

The creature snorted, but she stilled and contented herself with munching on the small patch of grass she could find nearby.

Ilaria let her be and glanced around the sand beds. Her heart leaped when she found the body of a dead messenger bird lying hidden behind a pile of driftwood. Bloodweed poisoning, it seemed. There was a paper rolled up and tied to its foot.

Re: New Soliman Westward Expedition
ATTN: Commodore Quirinius
Cilvor, Sordmar XIII

It is with great joy I tell you that we have spotted life and land. After we weather an incoming storm we hope to sail in and stake our claim for the sake of New Solimar and its glory. Travel has gone smoothly, the crew is in high spirits, and we eagerly anticipate this historic discovery. It is too soon to tell of the land and its spoils, but when we make first contact--

The rest of the message was blurred into oblivion, the ink having spread across it from the water damage it had sustained, but it was enough.

Ilaria covered her mouth with a hand. These people weren't just unfortunate voyagers. They had been looking for Ordadus, and they intended to claim it for themselves. But how did they know of their land? How many people were out there, waiting to hear news from this expedition? Would they come searching for them when they didn't come back?

She pulled the other writing sample from her bag and read it again. As she recalled the events of the last few days, a certain face came to mind. What had his name been again? Emiliano Achillinus. He had been highly suspicious. His accent, his behavior, and his claiming to be a distant relative of the fisherwoman, who looked nothing like him. (It was possible, but the chances were quite low.)

He must have been a survivor of the wreck. Maybe even the author of this journal entry. The writing sounded a lot like the way he had spoken to her.

She had to speak to the fisherwoman again.

Ilaria put everything in her bag and brushed her hands off. "Come on, we're leaving," she said to Acantha. "Guess you're not going to be getting that nice dinner in the stables after all." She mounted her faelk and steered her in the direction of Darnell. She desperately hoped that she would find Emiliano Achillinus there, and that he would provide her with answers.

But a small voice inside of her whispered, But what will you have to do after that?

She clenched the reins and banished the thought.



By the time that Ilaria reached Darnell, night was falling. She decided that she would drop Acantha off at the residence of Darnell's knight, Solange, where she would stay for the night before heading to the fisherwoman's cottage. The knight's house was easy to spot--it was, by far, the finest place in the entire village.

Ilaria dismounted as she neared the front of the house. She could see light peeking through the windows, so the knight must be home. She knocked on the door.

A shadow passed over the peephole in the door, then disappeared. To Ilaria's surprise, the door did not open. She shifted her weight to the other foot, waiting, as she heard something rustling inside, until, at last, the knob turned.

"Dame Ilaria," Knight Solange announced, her face illuminated by the flickering lantern above the door. "You're in Darnell tonight?"

"Greetings, Dame Solange," replied Ilaria, dipping her head. "Yes, duty has called me back here rather quickly. I need to speak to a certain fisherwoman I encountered yesterday, and I would like to settle my faelk in for the night before I go find her."

Solange gave a belated bow. She seemed uncharacteristically rattled, and Ilaria wondered if she had unknowingly interrupted something. "Of course, Princess. Shall I set aside a bowl of stew for you for when you're back?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you. And please," said Ilaria with a small smile, "no need to stand on ceremony. I'm just here as a fellow knight."

"Understood." She glanced behind Ilaria's shoulder at Acantha, who was nibbling on a sprig of holly climbing the wall. "There's a fresh bag of oats next to the tack."

"Thank you," said Ilaria again. "I appreciate your hospitality. I'll see you soon, then." Raising a hand in parting, she walked around to the back, where the stable was.

As soon as she saw Acantha settled beside Solange's diamond-caparisoned faelk, Ilaria set off walking in the direction of the fisherwoman's cottage. It wasn't very far, and though she briefly had to stop and recall her previous path, as all of the houses looked the same, she quickly found herself back in front of the door where she had spoken to Emiliano Achillinus.

Would he still be here? She knew with near certainty that, by now, he would be gone. Felix would have made sure of that.

But the fisherwoman . . . Ilaria would hear what she had to say. She would make her next move after that.

She raised her hand and knocked on the door.

[Eillur, Sordmar XVII]

Today we are blessed with a glimmer of good news.

Julian Fidelis and Sir Augustine live, and remain the only surviving victims of Ordadus' bloodweed from the vessel, Gloria Invicta. To this day, no others have been found along the beach between the wreck site and the cities of Darnell and Angler. The dead have been buried, their graves visited, and rites have been given. Among the naval crew, only Admiral Magdalena Seneca remains. I, Emiliano Achillinus, an honorary piece, survive as a scholar.

There is no evidence of the Gloria Invicta — none that we were permitted to see. By now, the wreckage has been scalped by the Cambios and the Knights of Pinnacle Manor. In the ashes of tragedy, there are no rightful owners.

It is to whom has the power, and we are destitute. I, most of all. For better or worse, I have cemented an unflattering reputation for myself with the man who sets the precedence for all connection: our begrudging benefactor, Felix, whose surname is lost to the sea, much like the Gloria Invicta.

Welcome to Angler.

The entry onto the half-eaten boardwalk was followed by a company of ghosts. Two experiences bled together: the inescapable captivation with infiltrating an active rebel compound and the haunting presence of ships that bore resemblance to their recent tragedy. Walking over knotted ropes, fish nets, and barrels only brought Emiliano back to the shores of New Solimar and a home he was likely to never see again. It was a mirror in front of the horizon. Endless, impassable ocean.

The Cambios were a family. Tightly knit, distinct in personalities, and strung together with a common thread. Felix bound them together with a vision of reformation and revolution, and in the eyes of each member he saw the unwavering faith they held in their leader: a man so set on one goal, he saw survivors as recruits. Not once did he offer them an alternative life, because through the eyes of everyone in Angler, there was no other way.

He took note of those he met by name. The spy, Ace, was one to remember. Sertor, for any illness. Jocasta, for every message, Titus for any fixes, and Naydelin, for any directions. Vettia would offer food, Ulixes would offer nothing, and Francisca was there to trade. Everyone contributed to the greater organism, and in any other circumstance, he'd be flitting between them all.

That was to say, it hadn't been his choice to be shunted away in Sabina's boat for the night, ten hundred words left unsaid. This was, however, Sol's twisted mercy.

The sun had set and risen over her abode. The small yet sturdy shored-up fishing boat was split by a curtain, and they sat on the bench by the window where the sun rose to join them. After a restless sleep, Emiliano was less alert than usual, but the morning's warmth was assuasive. Foreign yellow and white flowers graced the corner of the table in a ceramic vase, catching the light. It would've made for a splendid still-life drawing.

But Emiliano's rapt attention was glue to Sabina's pen. She wrote faster than most academics he knew, and with more clarity, which was high praise. The only thing clearer was the sincerity of her smile as she held up her next note for him to read, hovering over the steam of her teacup.

You've taken great pains to keep that book of yours dry. What are you writing in there?

A shy smile appeared before he could think to hide it. He hesitantly lifted the book from his lap, formerly clutched between his fingers, and he laid it on the table.

"This is my life's work," he said quietly. "In it, I've chronicled all of my studies, experiences, and observations from every place I've traveled and everyone I've met. It is more than a journal. Though I do use portions of it for self expression, I aim to be objective when recording truthful events. I..."

Had hoped, one day, to submit it to his professor in New Solimar to be submitted as a literary resource. But now the recognition and the accolades were continents away.

"...Am surprised myself," he said instead. "That it survived the storm."

His thumb brushed the pages, where some were wrinkled from rain.

Sabina examined it, nodding thoughtfully as she reached for her pen again. That's impressive. How long have you been adding to it for?

The girth of his journal was some 700 pages. Prior to the voyage, he'd added another 100, and he took pains to write reasonably small. He'd been writing in it for...

"Ten years." He smiled again with a breath through his nose. "Start to finish, you'd know everything about me."

You're going to need a second volume soon enough. Sabina's expression was awed.

"Entitled: My Days in Ordadus," Emiliano said.

Sabina tapped her lips thoughtfully, glancing up at the boat's ceiling. Why not more flashy? It's your book, after all. You get to title it.

"While that's true, I don't think I will know the title until it's done," he said. "A title, after all, sets the tone for the whole story: and I don't know how it ends."

He tipped the cover open to the first page.

[Tharnor, Saxamus XIII]
This is the start of history - the history according to Emiliano Achillinus. Son of Soren and Gracelynn Achillinus, birthed in Divitae, scholar of New Solimar, and resident of none.

He'd filled the rest of the page with a drawing. One he'd seen so many times, he'd stopped recognizing it as an image at all. A mansion, spread across a hill, painted with trellises, fitted with a tiered garden, pasted in front of the sun. It felt more like a dream than a memory.

Sabina leaned over the art. Her finger first hovered over the mansion, then tapped the front door, as she looked back up at him with a question in her eyes.

"It's my childhood home, in Divitae," he answered.

Sabina's eyes widened with clear excitement, and she did nothing short of lunging for the paper she'd been using before. The tip of her pen hitting the surface sounded as sharp as a whip crack when a familiar script trailed across the page-- Divitan letters.

That's where I'm from! I lived in Cermina for three decades.

A thrill rushed through Emiliano that stole all of the words from his tongue. Cermina was the city he knew best: it was where he was born, where he grew up, and where he found the spark to leave, and explore the world. It was where his parents still resided, and where he'd never yet returned -- but the city was treasured in his heart. He knew every street like an imprint in his mind. In strangled excitement, he stuttered and motioned for her paper, then for her, only to realize he was being nonsensical. Sabina was a woman he'd just met, and like a fool he blurted:

"Great Solah, can I hug you?" in Divitan.

Sabina's smile warmed as she nodded, holding her arms open in invitation. With a knot in his throat, Emiliano embraced her. He'd known there was something in her eyes that felt like home, but everything that reminded him of Cermina's bright green hills and the salty white beaches was wrapped in thorns. For years, he'd missed home terribly. Now, he only missed the idea of it. But Sabina was more than an idea. She had a history of her own.

Emiliano forcefully held back tears as he pulled away quickly and offered Sabina a smile, aware that, for her, he was just as much a thread to her past as she was to him, however small a thread it was.

"I was convinced no one here would speak our language," Emiliano said. "How did you find yourself here? How long has it been?"

For the next few minutes, it was all he could do to watch as Sabina wrote. She'd been a sailor once-- not only that, but a first mate even-- for a merchant ship until her last voyage had ended in a shipwreck on this very island. From the looks of it, and the meaningful raise of her eyebrows when she wrote about the vessel's leadership, the captain was to blame for their accident. She'd been lucky enough to receive shelter from a different ship's survivor, and the two of them had concealed each other's identities while Sabina adjusted to life on the island. She added, almost as an afterthought, that at the time when it seemed like they were on their own, she couldn't have imagined the number of people in hiding just like her-- or the number of islanders who would've risked everything to fight for a future where outsiders could be their neighbors.

"That's incredible," Emiliano breathed once her pen finally scratched to a stop. "You've been here nigh half your life. And Felix -- I assume began this movement when he reached adulthood. You've been a part for the past five years, at least? Or are you the original spearhead for its progress?"

I'm sure Felix could've done it without me, though he insists on crediting me for the inspiration. Sabina shrugged mischievously. To be fair, I did have to teach him how to shoot.

Emiliano's brows shot up. "Is that so?" he grinned.

Sabina made a finger gun and mouthed a pow sound as she flicked her hand upwards, still with a cheeky smile.

"I suppose that you'd also be his--"

Guardian.

The immersion snapped as Felix thrust the curtain open and ducked in with a look so enraged it stilled Emiliano's thoughts entirely.

"I don't know what you thought you were saying to the princess," Felix said bluntly, folding his arms over his chest, "but whatever it was, it was incredibly suspicious, and now she knows your party lived."

Emiliano gingerly closed his book.

"Remarkable," he said dryly. "She seemed rather convinced at the time."

"Did she really."

"I'm sure I seemed peculiar--" Emiliano raised his hands. "But I'd rather not waste my breath on self defense, in this instance. I cannot pluck words out of the air anymore than I can raise the dead."

"Well, you'd better save them for her then." Felix grimaced. "Because she wants to talk to the two of us in good faith, and for some reason only known to the gods, I might just allow it."

Concerned, Sabina looked between Felix and Emiliano, gripping the stem of her pen tighter. Emiliano felt his face flush in humiliation when he rose to his feet, torn between Felix's urgency and Sabina's stillness. He turned to her and rested his hand on her shoulder gently.

"Thank you, Sabina," he said. "Your warm presence has brought more respite to my soul than can be quantified. I hope to see you again, soon."

Sabina managed a smile, but as she reached for the paper, she broke into a short coughing fit. It took a moment for her to recover, but once she had, he could tell she meant it when she wrote: You will.

Emiliano tucked his book under his arm. Felix seemed to stand tenser than before, watching him with barely concealed impatience. Emiliano offered Sabina a silent nod of goodbye as he parted, following Felix's hasty withdrawal from the residence into the street. It required a quickened pace to keep up.

"Who is Dame Ilaria to you, then?" Emiliano whispered. "Since when do princesses consort with rebels?"

"It's not like I invited her over for tea and cakes, prettyboy." Felix stepped off the boardwalk, his swift steps barely leaving shallow prints in the sand.

"What is it, then?" he said. "Forbidden friends? Co-conspirators? Reluctant allies? Lovers?"

"You've got quite the imagination." That was a warning to stay quiet in Felix's voice if he'd ever heard one.

Emiliano sniffed. Privacy was the privilege of those with guns and swords. It wasn't going to wound anyone to know, but the world was devoid of innocent curiosity, and this was the first environment where Emiliano was met with violent suspicion. He bit his tongue, but only for a moment.

"So I've doomed us all to discovery and inevitable death? Is that what all of this is about?"

Felix slowed to a stop after a glance upwards towards the edge of the cliff. To Emiliano's surprise, when he turned around, he could tell by the severity in Felix's expression that he'd taken the question seriously, even though he obviously didn't want to.

"You're not doomed," Felix said firmly. "And you're not dying. No one is. I can make no other promises for the moment, but I will personally ensure both of those things. Clear?"

So he did have compassion. Emiliano couldn't ever say that aloud, of course, because it would be a slap in the face after Felix's rescue. He hated to admit it but the paranoid man had more than compassion, and it compelled Emiliano to want to ask: How can I help? But instead he pressed his lips together.

"Crystalline," he answered after a beat of uncomfortable silence.

"Good." Felix didn't sound relieved, per se, but the slightest edge had eased from his voice when he glanced up toward the cliffs again, where the princess must have been waiting. "She's fully convinced you're one of the survivors she was looking for, so there's no need to pretend you're not. From my understanding, she simply wants to..."

It was Felix's turn to press his lips together and spend a moment in silence. His fingers twitched at his side.

"She has questions," he finished. "She'd like to ask them, to better understand the circumstances of your arrival and your intentions here. I trust her not to actively use your answers against you, or to use this moment to capture you unfairly. But whatever empathy she has for you will not be shown by the queen, when she inevitably shares what she learns here with her."

The uncertainty hanging in the air was tangible, and in that moment Emiliano understood. Felix was willing to promise their safety, he could by no means guarantee it. Promises were intentions, but reality was far more bleak. What Felix really meant was that he wanted to keep them safe, and he would do all he could. What Felix was preparing Emiliano for was a critical climax of foreign relations that neither of them wished to be present for, and this was where their interests collided.

To learn, or play it safe. The line between hope and naivety was incomprehensible. In this, Emiliano could not afford to be reckless.

What was there to lose from earnest curiosity? Would he not be met with the same? Historical precedent demanded the queen rule harshly, but Dame Ilaria had influence. And questions.

"So she's empathetic to your cause," Emiliano observed, noting that by omission, Felix was painting her - if not as an ally - as a neutral force, determining the tides of the rest of their voyage inland.

"It's complicated," Felix said simply.

Emiliano tsked. With a smirk, he drew upon an inner confidence and tapped Felix's arm. "The only thing that's complicated, I fear, is you, Begetter of Liberation. Now, why don't you lead the rest of the way?"

Felix scowled again and pulled his arm back, but sure enough, he spun on his heel and continued with the same haste in the direction they'd been moving in.

Which, much to Emiliano's dismay, was to a long rope hanging against the cliff side. This wasteland was so stripped of all civility that they hadn't even developed pathways to ascend a cliff side. What of the vulnerable, the elderly, and the weak? He hoped this was all for theatrics -- a secret meeting, somewhere remote, requiring only the barest of necessities. Surely, this was a safety measure, not a death trap with no way out of Angler but by water if they were swarmed by knights.

Felix paused by the rope, turning to meet Emiliano's eyes. "Can you climb?"

Could he climb? Emiliano scoffed.

"I'll have you know." Emiliano pointed at Felix's nose. "That I studied with the finest acrobats of the New Soliman Grand Palace Circus for all of eight months and even participated in some of their performances. A rope is child's play."

"Of course you hail from the circus. My apologies."

Turning up his nose, Emiliano tucked his book into his belt and then pulled himself up the rope. With a swing of his legs, he found a foothold and began to walk the cliff, ignoring whatever form of unimpressed judgement Felix bestowed with his eyes. Instead of a cliff side, he imagined he was entering a throne room, ascending the palace stairs. They were, after all, about to meet with royalty.

It sustained him, and though his arms were a tad tired when he reached the top, he pulled himself over the edge with a deft swing and a push upwards. When he peered back over the edge, Felix hadn't even waited for the rope to stop waving before starting his ascent.

He did so skillfully, but in a different manner than Emiliano or the acrobats he'd learned from; where the performers had stressed the importance of proper holds and using the rope's flexibility to his advantage, Felix was climbing through sheer power and dexterity, obviously self-taught. No grace to his form. No performance. Just brutish practicality.

Emiliano backed away with a sigh and quickly spotted a rider ten meters out on the cliff's edge. The faelk's antlers scraped the sky, and its silhouette looked more magnificent and intimidating than his first time seeing it. Behind the glow of the sunrise, Dame Ilaria's shadow turned with a silent, subtle acknowledgement.

With the blanket of gold behind her, she didn't seem real, and he couldn't quite believe what everyone said of her: her presence was indescribably royal, but Emiliano had never met anyone among the social elite who condescended to the common man like this. An ordinary knight.

"Alright, princess," Felix said as he effortlessly hauled himself up, snapping Emiliano out of his reverie. "Your time starts now."

Princess Ilaria pressed her lips together and gave Felix a mildly exasperated look as she dismounted, one that could only be borne from a long, unknown history between the two. "Thank you, Felix." She turned to Emiliano and bowed, just like she had when they had first met at Aurelia's hut. "Mr. Achillinus, I wish I could say I am glad to meet you again, but under the circumstances, this is not ideal for any of us here." She sighed and adjusted the edge of her cape. "I have some questions I would like to ask you, but know that I will not threaten or force you to answer anything you do not wish to."

Emiliano caught a glimpse of an eye roll from Felix.

"I would just like to . . . understand," said the princess. She met his eyes with a grave solemnity that made Emiliano's heart skip. "I am fully aware that none of you chose to be shipwrecked on our shores, but it seems that your party did not arrive here completely by mistake." She pulled a water-stained roll of paper from a pouch at her side and held it out to him.

"This missive is written in Soliman, and you are fluent in the language as well. Tell me, what is New Solimar?"

Fear.

Emiliano's hand moved independently of his will, and he skimmed over the dead Captain's words with harrowing realization. Disillusionment struck him like lightning from the storm, and all his defenses were stripped bare and left burning.

The land and its spoils.

There was no favorable spin. The Captain's language was transparent to the Commodore. It wasn't dressed up like the dreams of discovery they were sold, and hindsight demanded that Emiliano should have known there was no purity.

Emiliano lowered the missive when the pride that penned it melted into water-damaged illegibility.

"New Solimar," he answered slowly. "Is the nation that emerged from the conflict King Ordavin fled. After Ustana's attempt to absorb Solimar, the Solimans rebelled and successfully expunged the Ustanans, reclaiming their freedom and independence. For us, this is not-so-recent history: it is the story of our grandfathers."

"I see," she replied. "There is a nation out there who shares their language and ancient history with us. They must have grown strong in the face of rebellion. How much does New Solimar know about Ordadus? Does the leadership plan to send an army here to attempt to conquer our land?"

Emiliano gingerly offered the missive back to Ilaria.

"In the spirit of honesty," Emiliano said as she took it. "Captain Cato's mission was an exploratory expedition in search of uninhabited land to claim for New Solimar. What I see in his letter, however, is the forethought to acknowledge the likely probability of inhabitants. But please hear what I'm saying: we did not come with an army, Dame Ilaria. Neither do those who remain intend to conquer. Any glory we could have claimed in New Solimar's name sank with the Gloria Invicta. Anyone who believes otherwise is in delusion."

He bowed his head.

"And speaking only for myself," he added. "I have no ambitions but to learn. That is all you can expect from me."

Ilaria was silent as she contemplated his answers. "Would New Solimar send an army after you if there is no news to be heard after quite a while?"

Emiliano looked up to meet her eyes, pained to admit the small spark of hope her question brought. It was likely to her relief and to his despair that he admitted:

"New Solimar is young. And the Gloria Invicta was a great investment. Commensurately, its loss will be devastating. The nation does not have a fleet to send for rescue, nor crews to dispose of. They would not risk another loss of this magnitude."

Because they already lost their most audacious idealist to the sea.

Ilaria's brows drew together. Her expression grew troubled, but Emiliano was unsure of why. Perhaps in empathy — but she very well could have been assessing other risks. She lowered her head and let the silence between them hang in the air until at last she turned to the rebel beside him.

"Felix," she said quietly, "what will you do now? With the survivors and the information they have."

Felix inhaled, folding his arms over his chest. "What we've always been doing. Keeping them safe and offering sanctuary."

"I don't exactly mean that," said Ilaria. "I know you'll protect them. But knowing that there's still a whole world waiting out there could mean potential allies for you... or other kinds of help that couldn't be found here."

"If your advocacy for our survival hinges on evidence of our good intent," Emiliano interjected. "It is in my heart to remain as accommodating as possible. I do not intend to hoard knowledge, and I will happily engage in diplomacy or mediation where required. I believe we could help Ordadus greatly if we are received."

Felix's gaze flicked to him with what was now a very familiar scowl. "Ordadus doesn't want what you know," he said plainly. "It scares them."

Ilaria opened her mouth, then closed it again with a sigh.

"My appeal is to the princess, not the kingdom. Do you want to know, Dame Ilaria?" Emiliano asked instead, ignoring Felix entirely as he gave her his full attention.

"I am afraid you are appealing to the wrong person," she replied wearily. "There is no difference between a princess and her kingdom. And the princess cannot want what will be detrimental to the nation." She looked away.

"I highly respect your sentiment and your loyalty, Dame Ilaria," Emiliano pleaded gently. "And I truly think greater of you for it. But you do not seem to mean what you're saying. What did you come here for, princess? Answers to support historical precedent or hope for something to change? We speak the same language, you and I. We've already conquered most nations' first barrier to understanding and connection. We need not be enemies. That would be the detriment."

To his shock, there was no retort. Instead, Ilaria began to disintegrate in front of him. She blinked rapidly, turned completely away from both men, and her shoulders started to shake. Her faelk immediately raised its head and nosed at her, letting out soft, low whuffling sounds.

"Ilaria," Felix said quietly as he took a step closer, with a strange softness in his voice. "Deep breaths. You came here to understand, not to rewrite an entire nation's creed."

Emiliano wasn't expecting a decision to be made in a day, but he hadn't expected to strike such a nerve. How trapped did she feel between duty and conviction?

"My apologies," Emiliano said. "If I spoke out of turn."

Ilaria shook her head, but she remained facing the other direction. After another few seconds of silence, she took a long breath and said, "You've done nothing wrong." Her voice was not as steady and polished as it had been up until this moment. "Thank you for your honesty and trust to come speak to me." She lifted a hand and dragged it across her face. "I've embarrassed myself in front of you both."

"No, you didn't." Felix hesitated, uncrossing his arms. "Do you think you got what you came here for?"

The tone of his question was difficult to read. It wasn't hopeful. But he appeared to be listening closely for the answer, and... attending to Ilaria with restrained tenderness.

"I have gotten what I can," she replied after thinking. "Thanks."

Felix merely nodded, but his lips pursed into a thin, tight line, and the look in his eyes was stony again. Emiliano had a feeling that this wasn't their first quarrel on the matter of liberation and open borders.

"Thank you for your time," Emiliano said. "I'm sure there was a great risk in coming here."

Ilaria turned back around to face him. Her eyes and nose were red but she lifted her head high again. "Not at all. I regret that there isn't much more I can do for you. For your sake, I hope we don't meet again."

As she turned to go, she stopped as if remembering something, and she pulled another water-damaged paper from her bag. "I believe this must be yours. I thought you might like to have it back."

Recognition struck him, and so did humiliation. The paper she held was one of his own. It must have slipped from his book - for he recognized it immediately. It was not one of his factual reports or objective retellings. It was a personal reflection he'd intended to leave buried in the of pages.

His whole face burned like the earth's inner core as he took it. How did she know it was his?

"Thank you," he said, voice turned rigid and small.

He could not find the courage to ask if she'd read it, because how else would she deduce the author? After one brief conversation, no less.

With a small nod, Ilaria climbed onto the faelk's back and grasped the reins. Once she was settled in the saddle, she said, "To answer your question earlier, I do not believe we have to be enemies either." She hesitated, then added, "When I become Queen of Ordadus, things will change. No more killing or separating families." It was as if she was looking at Felix as she said this.

It was here, that "complicated" showed in fullness. Felix's face was unreadable, save for a slight, automatic nod. "So long, princess."

Ilaria's face took on that expression she had made at the very beginning of the conversation. "You never listen," she said, through a hint of a smile. "Stop calling me that."

"Very well, Your Eminence."

Ilaria actually rolled her eyes at that, though she laughed at the same time. Raising a hand in farewell, she pressed her heels into the faelk's sides. The creature trotted forward, and she rode off in the direction of the mountain in the distance. Emiliano folded the page in his hands before Felix could see it, and he tucked it into the collar of his open shirt. Ilaria disappeared like an angel from the cliffs, and Emiliano was left alone within striking distance of the man who despised him questionably enough to tolerate his presence. Being pushed off the edge was always a possibility.

"So you get to call her 'Eminence,' and I cannot call you 'Mighty Deliverer.'"

Felix stared at the cliff edge like it was giving him the very same idea Emiliano was worried about, then up to the sky as if looking for a reason not to go through with it. "That's exactly right."

Thus confirming Emiliano's suppositions. He could not determine if their familiarity was familial or romantic, but Felix and the princess had history. Deep history. Enough for someone of her position to know him and seek him personally.

Life be damned, he poked the bear one more time.

"Why not wait for her to take the throne if she intends to bring the change you desire?"

Felix turned around, raising his eyebrows and marching back to the rope with a faint scoff. "I'm not waiting three decades for the queen to keel over. Sol knows she's not coughing up her power either."

And still, it didn't answer the true question.

"Then what will you do now?" Emiliano asked.

"Do you really not get it?" Felix toed at the rope, before stooping down and vaulting off the cliff to grab it. "We're overthrowing her."

Felix practically slid back to the ground, and in seconds, he was staring back up at Emiliano, chin raised in impatience. If Emiliano were to put this to pen, story tropes would tell all.

The voice of the oracle, in the mouths of fugitives. They would either become the fulfillment of the prophecy, or the last to die in this shore-locked prison.