The morning chill slowly gave way to midday, as she watched him from the shadows of her hut, glowering. He had made progress on repairing the wall using the tiny village's only pony, much like she had done. Many stakes were vertical again, but the gate's iron hinges were horribly twisted. The man sat with one of the large hinges, turning it over and over on his lap. He grunted, gave a little huff, then tossed it on the ground.

They hadn't spoken in days.

He looked toward her hut, making no sign that he could see her lurking in the darkness. He stood, stretched, noted the sun's height in the hazy sky, and then walked away from his work.

This wasn't his usual pattern, and that worried Ionis. She stood, but paused as a wave of dizziness struck her. Last night she didn't drink enough blood. The weakness was already upon her. Despite drinking as little as possible, she only had three feedings left. Then she would either die or humble herself and plead for help at his knee. Both options were utterly unacceptable.

Quickly strapping on her blades, she silently crept out of her hut in the direction he had walked. She found him beside the small cart, throwing twisted metal hinges into it. The pony stood nearby on a lead rope, flinching with the loud clatter of each large hinge he tossed in the cart.

"What are you doing?" she tried to demand, but the words were far less forceful than she wished.

"Working," he answered unhelpfully.

"You cannot leave!" she said.

"So stop me, little monster," the man said flatly and began hitching up the pony. She didn't move, waiting for his mockery. He looked as healthy as the day she healed him, save for a slight limp on the leg she had kicked out. He didn't chide her, nor did he stop.

"Where are you going?" she finally gave in, refusing to admit defeat to him or herself.

"Scabbands."

"The city?" she blurted. "Can't you just fix the hinges?"

"Nope."

"How do I know you won't just end yourself the moment you're out of my sight?"

"You don't."

"No," she nearly shouted. "You must stay. I'll help."

At this, he paused and finally turned to look at her. She truly saw him for the first time. He looked about seven years older than her, in the prime of his strength. His broad shoulders were well suited to the woodwork of the past week, but his face was as gentle as his hands were rough. His tan cheeks were mostly smooth, save for the black specks of a sparse beard along his jaw and chin. The man's long black hair swept up into a curly mop atop his head. He had heavy curved ram horns that supposedly belonged to the DuFoyti family, a dynasty famous enough even Ionis had heard rumors of them. But he couldn't be one of them; no one of noble blood would be in this stupid village. She couldn't keep his gaze and looked to the ground. Where she expected disdain, she found pity in his gray eyes.

"You could come with me," he finally said, frowning.

"I am not to be seen," she muttered.

"Suit yourself," he said with a shrug, the empty monotone returning to his voice.

She stood by, feeling helpless and useless as he continued to harness the pony to the small cart. In far too few awkward moments, he finished. Without a word or a glance, the man led the pony and cart through the ruined gate and down the path.

Ionis swore. She didn't know what he would do. She didn't know what she should do. None of her training had prepared her for any of this. It had all gone horribly wrong, and she didn't know how to go back or forward. This wasn't how her story was supposed to go.

She swore again, then once more.

Turning, she flung the door open to the nearest empty hut and huffed inside. Looking around the dingy interior, she quickly found what passed for a bed and pulled several rough blankets from it. They stank. The young Set'Glo hurried to catch up with the man and cart, then shoved the twisted hinges and ironwork to one side. Her steps wavered, the lack of blood quickly catching up to her. But with one final foul-mouthed heave, she climbed onto the cart and collapsed, panting. Fighting dizziness and unfamiliar fatigue, Ionis pulled the horrid blankets over herself and hid from the daylight and the world.

But most of all, she hid from the man and his gentle pity.

Ionis snapped awake as rough hands jerked her out of the wagon. Instinctively, she reached for her blades, but rusted shackles tore at her wrists and stopped her motion harshly. Her swords were gone. Two strange men clad in chain armor laughed as their hands clamped her slender arms tighter than any vice. She twisted and spun while dropping, pressing against the weak point of their thumbs. No joy came as she expertly slipped from their grasp, only a rising sense of panic as her eyes darted around, taking in her surroundings in an instant.

Eight armed men stood around the wagon. They all stood in a stone courtyard with a barred iron gate guarded by two more soldiers. Beyond the bars stood the now familiar face of the DuFoyti man from the village. Three archers stood ready atop the walls, bows drawn and fixed on her.

"You weren't joking," a soldier laughed. "She's a slippery little snake."

The DuFoyti man neither laughed nor scowled. With a more profound sadness than Ionis had ever seen or imagined, he silently turned and walked away.

"No," she said through gritted teeth. It couldn't end like this. It couldn't! "Stop him!" she demanded of her captors. "He will kill himself!"

"He said you'd say that," a guard said, drawing his blade. "He also said you slaughtered Waiste village. So that means we can do whatever we want with you."

Her soul dropped into the pit of her stomach as she saw hunger in his eyes.

Another guard stepped closer, grinning, though his eyes seemed dead. "You deserve worse than death, if it's true what you did. So we can be creative."

Her mind refused to function. Instinctively, she took a step back, then wavered. Suddenly, her body reminded her of how weak she was, how little she had fed. And to her deepening horror, she realized she had brought no blood with her. The little that remained was back at Waiste village.

Her vision blurred in the sunlight, and she forced her head to clear. No. She wouldn't end like this. There would be no shaming disgrace. No.

She took slow, steady breaths and lowered her stance. She was too weak to win or escape. But there was another option.

"Still got some life in you, eh?" the soldier with the sword leered. He raised his blade. "Come on, Set'Glo. Let's see who is more bloodthirsty..."

The other soldiers laughed and stepped back to enjoy the show. No one seemed worried, and she knew their overconfidence was their weakness. They thought she would try to escape. And she would, just not like they expected. She would send herself to S'iklata and put an end to her pain and shame on her own terms. She measured how he held the blade, the lean of his body, and the plant of his feet. Yes, she knew his type. Arrogant. Stupid.

She would only get one chance. He would lunge and she would step into it. Then that would be that, and S'iklata could take her.

A heavy door to the keep slammed open behind her, and every soldier in the yard froze. Ionis didn't take her attention from the soldier, but saw his body stiffen and his eyes widen.

"Explain," a mature woman's voice commanded.

"The DuFoyti bastard from Waiste showed up with a Set'Glo," the soldier with the sword nearly growled. "Said she killed the entire village. Said she deserves every horrid thing we could think of and worse."

"He said that, did he? And he gives the orders around here?" the voice asked.

"No, Captain," the guard said, his eyes falling. "You do."

"Glad that your brain still works occasionally," she snapped at him. "Throw it in the lower dungeon. It looks ready to pass out. I will decide what to do with it. You two."

Two guards closer to the gate snapped to attention and bowed their heads in respect.

"Go to Waiste. Confirm this story or if the DuFoyti was spinning yarn."

"Yes, Captain," they said in unison and turned towards the gate.

Ionis wavered again as the soldiers around her lowered their weapons, and their leering eyes grew blank and professional. She turned to look at the Captain but instantly regretted it as the world spun beneath her. Her knees gave way and she collapsed, catching a fleeting glimpse of a woman with greying hair in a thick braid and long, sharp, spike-like horns twisting to silvered points that shone as brightly as her polished plate armor.

Then blackness took her.

She swallowed. Thick liquid dripped onto her mouth. In her mouth. She swallowed again. The metallic taste slowly brought awareness back to her.

Blood.

It was blood.

She opened her mouth like an infant bird, too weak to do anything but drink the offered nourishment. The blood's potency ricocheted through her flesh like summer lightning. Her entire body flooded with warmth, and a calm serenity followed each swallow. This was blood as it should be, not the unsatisfying hollow blood of the dead. It had an indescribable depth, and a sweetness tinged with strength and sadness. It was like meeting a breathlessly beautiful lover you didn't know you longed for. She had tasted lifeblood for the first time.

Tears squeezed from her closed eyes. She didn't want to open them. Ionis didn't want to know who offered her mercy or for what reason. She didn't want to exist anymore. She had failed in every way imaginable. And even if she could still somehow end her life, would her god even take her? She had failed him worst of all. Her first lifeblood was a feeding of utter and complete failure.

Far faster than the blood of the dead ever could, Ionis felt the lifeblood of another bring strength back to her body. But she didn't move. Eventually, she closed her mouth and turned away from the drops. They stopped hitting her face, and someone gently wiped her mouth with a soft cloth.

No words were spoken.

A moment passed.

Then another.

A sound came from a chair being moved. A metal hinge creaked, and a heavy door scraped across the floor. Then, the jingle of keys clattered in a lock.

Footsteps grew quieter.

Then nothing.

Ionis finally opened her eyes and found she was in a small stone room with no windows and an iron-barred door. It was profoundly dark, but she was Set'Glo, so that didn't matter. She tried to turn but instantly discovered that she could barely move, for her wrists and ankles were strapped to a heavy table. Looking around as best as she could, she saw she was alone in the room. The wall nearby was filled with shelves of glass and metal contraptions of strange designs, and bins and bins of ingredients. More shelves were covered with vials of every imaginable size, some empty and some with strange specimens. Some she could identify, some she wished that she didn't recognize.

Her heart pounded as she fearfully twisted this way and that, searching for implements of torture or evidence of horrific experimental surgeries. She had heard of these things. Boys of her village would tell campfire horror stories of the Duthoa people who would graft monstrous metal contraptions into their bodies. Or, even worse, tales of the vile Sonyyu who would fuse their bodies with animals. Her stomach churned at the thought of these practices. They were just legends, right? They couldn't be true, right?

She closed her eyes, realizing she didn't know what she was looking for.

"S'iklata," Ionis said to the darkness. "I have failed you, so I ask you to take me and devour me before I am desecrated by these people. Please, I beg you. Hear your servant..." her voice faltered. "Though I am no longer worthy to call myself that."

"That's an understatement," a small voice laughed harshly.

Ionis startled and snapped her head towards the voice, straining her neck to see. Only the table filled with bottles and jars met her gaze.

"Who's there?" she asked the empty room.

"Even now, you do not think of all who you've killed," the voice ignored her question. "Perhaps I should just wipe you all out after all."

"T'set..." Ionis whispered.

A small praying mantis insect perched on a jar filled with what appeared to be teeth, preening itself happily.

"Or perhaps you might begin to understand if I just start with your village. I really don't know what it will take," the mantis said. Its voice lacked resonance and power, but it undoubtedly belonged to the dragon.

"Leave them alone!" Ionis said. "I did it, not them. If you want vengeance, take it out on me. My Invisor told me only to take one, but I disobeyed him. It is my fault."

"Yes, yes. I know," T'set said, sounding bored. "The crickets told me all about you and your village. They also said your Invisor will likely kill you when he discovers what you've done. The old man is already livid that you have not returned. You were too hungry, Firebrand."

"Then just kill me now and get it over with."

"I really should, shouldn't I." The mantis that was a dragon continued preening himself, entirely unbothered. "You're so very dramatic. But sadly, no, I will not do that. I had hoped to find them torturing you here. I thought that might teach you something of what it is to be wounded at the hand of another. But this torture is even better."

"No one has tortured me," she said.

"No?"

"No," Ionis resisted the urge to insult the tiny thing that could eat her. "They worst they did was strap me down. Someone gave me their own blood, which is the opposite of torture."

"Exactly," the insect nodded. "Their kindness will fester in your soul, especially when they learn that you actually did murder that entire pathetic village. You don't deserve any kindness, you see. You deserve to be tortured and killed, and you know it, murderer. So this kindness is far worse. You now have to live with what you've done and with their kindness. It is perfect."

The mantis was nearly laughing. It fluttered across the room and landed on her stomach. The tiny thing felt like an anvil, and she struggled to breathe under the weight. Unhealed, cracked ribs protested in a spike of nauseating pain.

"What will you do, little Firebrand? How will you honor your god now?"

"I will... I'll...."

She didn't know what she would do. Everything was upside down and backward. It wasn't murder... was it? They were just bleeders.

The little Set'Glo blacked out from the pain.

"She's smaller than I expected," a gruff man's voice woke her. "Younger, too."

Ionis opened her eyes and flinched at the torch-lit room. Blinking away the sting of the light, she saw the captain with her thick silver braid of hair standing behind a squat man in fine gilded armor. He was balding with short goat's horns, but emerald-studded tips capped each horn-crown, proclaiming his station.

"And you're sure this little girl slaughtered all of Waiste?" he asked dubiously, turning back to the captain.

"Fairly sure, m'lord," she replied. "Everything was exactly as the DuFoyti said."

"How do you know he didn't do it?"

"Why would he murder his own family?" The captain seemed startled at this question, then caught herself quickly. "M'lord, I have kept eyes on the DuFoyti since his horns budded. Even the bastard of a powerful family shouldn't be ignored. I tell you, that man lives a wretched life, but he is no killer. He'd make a poor guard and an even worse soldier. This one, however..."

They both turned to look down at her.

She looked away from them.

"Tell me, girl," the lord scowled. "Did you do it?"

"M'lord, perhaps we should interro-"

"Yes," Ionis said quietly, bringing silence to the dungeon.

"Why?" the lord asked, a chill in his voice. "They did nothing to you."

She only closed her eyes.

After a long moment, the captain shifted, her armor clanking softly. "M'lord, we've had reports for years that hunters would go missing on the island's east end. There were rumors of a dragon, but now the DuFoyti says there's a Set'Glo village there. That's where she comes from. And we all know what the Set'Glo are capable of."

Ionis' head snapped back to glare at them in rage and terror. The lord smirked and only shook his head.

"Well, if you wanted proof that the village exists, she just gave it to you," he sighed and shook his head again, then turned away and headed for the iron door. "I've seen enough. I will send word to Obervein. They'll ship us enough soldiers to take them out, even if they are all like her. But the DuFoyti is probably exaggerating there."

The captain followed him out the door and pulled it shut behind her. The keys jingled as the heavy lock turned.

"I doubt that," the captain said. "I saw the way she stood. That one knows the blade."

"Where is the bastard, anyway?" the lord's voice was quieter as they moved away from Ionis. "I want to speak to him."

"He slipped away from my men. He probably stowed away to the mainland, but we have an idea of where..." the captain's voice grew too soft to hear.

Absolute horror and despair tore at her throat, demanding that she scream from the depths of her being. She bit at her lips, holding it back, and thrashed at her bonds as hard as she could. Nothing moved. Nothing changed except for the blood that dripped from her bitten lips.

"T'set!" the word tore from her throat in a horse whisper. "Please! Stop them! Make them have mercy! It is my fault. I should be punished, not them! Please T'set! Where are you!? I know you're listening... please!"

But the dragon did not come. For the afke do not come when they are called, and this afke least of all.

So Ionis could only weep until she had nothing left to weep.

"You were right, Nilithi," she sobbed to the dark dungeon. "'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... You were right..."

She refused to feed after this. The captain continued to offer blood from her own flesh, but Ionis turned away with closed eyes. She never wanted to open them again. It was only when she became too weak to resist that the Captain forced her to drink. Ionis did not know how long this lasted and ceased caring.

"Wake up!" the captain's voice roughly brought her back to awareness. "Come on girl, wake up! I haven't kept you alive this whole time just for them to take you now."

Ionis eyes opened thoughtlessly and came into focus on the captain hastily unbinding her arms and legs.

"I know you're too weak to fight me, but don't make this harder than it is," the older woman said. "The lords of Obervein demand that I send you to them. They want to study you, and trust me, death would be a kinder road. Come on."

Ionis lay there, blinking. She didn't know if she could move, even if she wanted to.

"Damn you, girl!" the captain slapped her. "You are not so broken. I can see it in your eyes! You have not given up yet. I forbid it!"

The sting of the slap brought the familiar heat of anger from some forgotten place of Ionis' soul. She tried to sit up and yell at the woman, but her body failed, and she could only roll to her side. She had been strapped to the board for far too long.

Hissing out a string of profanity like only a soldier could, the captain shoved several scrolls and vials into a satchel, then heaved Ionis over her shoulders. Cold armor pinched at her body, but Ionis was too weak to shift or even protest. Everything hurt: body, mind, and soul. Her eyes stared vacantly at the cobblestones as the captain ran through dark, empty streets.

Eventually, the hellish pinching and bouncing slowed and stopped. Rough hands gently lowered her down onto something soft. Words were spoken, but they didn't register. The world seemed to rock back and forth. Darkness took her, and she didn't fight it.

Against her will, Ionis awoke. She found herself in a small wooden room, on a narrow bunk, unlike anything she had ever seen. Everything still tilted one way, then the other, churning her stomach nauseatingly. Then came a sound she recognized: water. She was on a ship, like the ones she had seen far offshore from Carnswon.

Her village.

She curled in more tightly at the thought, then instantly regretted the movement. Her entire body protested at the slightest change.

But the captain wasn't wrong. She hadn't given up yet. Some tiny part of Ionis still wasn't done. This sliver of life was but a pinprick of light, but it was brighter than the legend of the stars. Somehow, she had lived this far. S'iklata, T'set, or the idle whims of chance and fate had preserved her. And somehow, she was unbound, saved from the dungeon by her captor.

The door creaked open and the old woman stood there, looking down with a pained wince. The captain no longer wore her plate armor, but only a well-tailored doublet and riding pants. Only the silver spikes of her horns and braid remained familiar.

"You're awake. Good. You will hate me for this, but you need to see it for yourself, child," with that, the captain put a gentle arm around Ionis' waist and helped her stand. With the captain's help, she came out on the deck and the light of day.

"There," the captain pointed across the sea to a distant island. From the far end of the island rose a plume of smoke. "That is your island. And that smoke is coming from the eastmost point."

Ionis closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. She had no words, no tears or thoughts, nothing left to give. The captain said nothing and waited, just holding Ionis up from falling. The young Set'Glo forced herself to look at the smoke. Numbness settled over her like a heavy blanket.

The island and the smoke eventually were lost over the horizon. The captain turned and helped Ionis back to the bunk.

Ionis did not resist as the captain slowly began to nurse her back to health, gently moving her limbs and whispering healing prayers to gods Ionis had never heard of. She did not think or feel. She merely existed in the fog that had enveloped her. In time, she realized that she only needed to feed once a week on lifeblood and felt stronger with that one feeding than with nightly drinks from the dead.

But it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered anymore.

"It is time to talk," the captain knocked lightly at Ionis' door before opening it. "You are strong enough. Come with me."

They had been at sea for several weeks now, and while Ionis could move with far less pain now, she still felt incredibly weak. But she did as she was asked and followed the captain up onto the deck. It was a small, two-mast, lateen caravel, narrow across the beam. Shipwrights built the sleek ship for speed rather than cargo.

It was all a jumble of ropes, wood, and fabric to Ionis, but the sea's endless expanse in every direction overwhelmed everything else. How could the world be this large? And the knowledge that this was only one of the four worlds made her feel even smaller.

"Child, we have a chair for you," the captain called her attention back to the deck. Ionis turned and saw a sailor set down a chair near a mast. She froze. It was no sailor; it was the DuFoyti man from Waiste.

"Please," the captain insisted. "Sit. We must talk."

The man with ram horns glared at Ionis but said nothing. He took a step away from the chair, his face stony. Ionis did not sit, but leaned against the railing. The captain raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"First, what is your name?" the old woman half asked and half demanded.

"I am Ionis."

"And the name of your family?" she pressed. Ionis frowned.

"They are dead. That name is meaningless now."

"You are not dead, so your family is not dead," the captain scowled. "Speak their name and do not forget the dead, life-drinker."

"Lenylsha," she said and looked away from the man.

"Ionis Lenylsha, I am Etsana Altashild, former Captain General of the K'azni Dominion's Scabbands outpost."

"Former?" Ionis asked in spite of herself. Did this woman desert her post just to save her?

"Indeed!" Etsana laughed, wrinkles piling in the corners of her eyes, softening her entire face. "They've pressured me to retire for years, so I took the severance and bought myself a yacht. They said I could take my personal research with me, though I don't think they knew what that meant." She winked, then turned to the man. He stood apart, watching the sailors work the lines with feigned interest.

The former captain said nothing, but Etsana demanded that he speak with nothing but the stab of her eyes. Finally, he huffed and turned back to them.

"I am Melan," he blurted like a petulant toddler, then turned away. Ionis waited for Etsana to make him share his family's name, but she said nothing.

"DuFoyti," Ionis said, eyeing the man's curving ram horns.

"Yes," the older woman nodded. "Only one family has a horn-crown like that, but we do not know if they even realize he exists. So that is where we sail - to help him. And you."

"Me?" Ionis said, shocked. "Why help me?"

"Because you need help," Melan nearly growled, then stormed away. The sailors tried not to watch him, but failed miserably at any attempt towards subtly.

"I don't understand," she turned back to Etsana.

"You are as lost as he is. More, even," Etsana sighed. "You have no family, no home, and you don't even know right from wrong. Stay with us. Work for me, I'll see you're well-paid and protected. You'll have a comfortable life."

T'set's words about kindness feeling like torture screamed in her ears, but she didn't let it show.

"Melan may be a bastard," Etsana didn't seem to notice. "But his family is very powerful. I've heard they're good people. I'm confident that they'll have a place for him, and therefore us. Between the two of us, we'll be able to keep you safe and hidden."

"He doesn't want me safe. He wants me dead," she said more to herself than to Etsana.

"He doesn't know what he wants," the older woman said coldly. "Melan watched your village burn with tears running down his face, reliving your destruction of his own village, no doubt. He does not have the soldier's heart. He is a man of honor, if he believes it or not. Kindness runs deep in his family line, and he carries on that tradition even if he's never met them."

"I thought... I thought the DuFoyti invented horrible weapons?"

"They did," Etsana said. "And they've regretted it ever since."

Time passed slowly on the ship, but Etsana soon had everyone aboard on a strict schedule. In the cool of the evening, she made Ionis run drills and exercises to build her strength. And as soon as she was able, the captain assigned her to join the night watches in the rigging to learn sailcraft. Ionis rarely saw Melan, but she often heard him speaking at length with Etsana, always just out of sight.

Much to Etsana's surprise, Ionis healed far faster than expected. She was a highly blessed Set'Glo, after all, and that did have its perks. But to Ionis' dismay and delight, this only meant more training from Etsana. The exercises became sparring lessons as they traded techniques and forms. The captain was not nearly as fast as Ionis, but her experience meant she was always two steps ahead. Once Etsana was no longer surprised by Ionis' techniques, the older woman was practically untouchable. But slowly, ever so slowly, Ionis started learning the captain's tricks as well.

"Heat and ice, we should train Set'Glo assassins. The world would be ours, I tell you. You're wildly talented, I'll give you that," Etsana acknowledged, and Ionis grinned despite herself. "But your teachers could only take you as far as they've gone themselves, and it stunted your growth. You're good, but you're no Imperial Assassin. I'd say to join them anyway, to improve your skills, but you're too old. Besides, they'd only want to lock you up to study you, and we can't have that, now can we? "

The words stung, and Ionis didn't know how to feel about them, so she just nodded and returned to her bunk. Occasionally, Ionis would hear Etsana teach the same sparring lessons to Melan, but the older woman would never teach them together. It made sense. The man never looked at Ionis and spoke to her only when necessary.

But she looked at him. As the days and weeks passed, she noticed a slow change in the man. He held himself differently, with a lift to his chin and a straightened spine. His face shifted also, but this was harder to understand, for he seemed both softer and harder than ever. The DuFoyti's sharp eyes ever avoided her, though, and she did not dare ask.

One day, she could not sleep and heard Etsana and the man speaking on deck, as they often did. She tried to ignore it, as usual, but could not. So she slipped out of her bunk and made her way on deck, squinting at the harsh sunlight. The Set'Glo pulled back into the shadow of the sail, then slumped against the railing to listen.

Politics, she realized with a start. They were discussing the history and politics of the Duthoa Empire, the insane mechanists who lived across the sea from the K'azni Dominion, where Ionis was born. Instantly disinterested, she yawned, waved to Etsana, and returned to her bunk.

"Let us rest a while," Etsana stepped back from sparring and reached for a flask. It was the usual pattern. A lesson, sparring, critique, sparring, then talk. After that, Ionis joined the night watch while Etsana slept.

She moved through stretches, as was her habit after sparring, and her muscles felt almost as they had the day she left her village. It seemed like years ago, though it had only been months. But it felt like another lifetime.

"We are drawing near to port," Etsana said, looking to the far horizon, the moon illuminating her silver braid and spikes. It will be very different from Scabbands, but he at least has seen a city before. You have only seen villages and the inside of a dungeon."

"I'll be fine," Ionis said, feeling belittled.

"No doubt," the captain said with a shrug. "Even so, you must be prepared. We will travel as Melan's attendants. I will play the role of the steward, and you will be his bodyguard."

"I hate that," Ionis scowled. "He probably hates it more."

"Too bad," Etsana chuckled. "The Duthoa will expect that someone of the DuFoyti family will travel with servants. It will attract less attention if we pose as such," Etsana said. "Besides, he's still horrible with the blade. I tried, but alas, he thinks too much to be any good."

Ionis couldn't help but smirk at this. She was well aware of his limits there.

"Fine," she said. The dragon wanted her to guard him, now the captain. As long as no one made her marry him, she could tolerate it.

"And we'll need to do something about your crown," Etsana pointed to Ionis' small horns.

"Why?"

"My child, your crown is full red," the older woman said gently. "Red as your eyes and my blood. Your teeth and eyes we can hide with a simple hood. But your horn-crown?"

Etsana watched Ionis carefully, as Nilithi once had, searching for a reaction. Ionis didn't know what to feel. She had longed for the full mark of the Set' Glo blessing as long as she could remember. But now the red horns endangered her life in a strange land. She didn't want to betray S'iklata and hide her mark. She couldn't fail him again. It was taboo to hide them. Wasn't it?

"Do you..." she swallowed. "Do you have a plan?"

"No," Etsana sighed. "I didn't want to run ahead too far without speaking to you first. I assume you don't want to hide them, correct?"

"I... don't know," she answered honestly.

Etsana nodded. "We have paint and tar on the ship, but I don't know if we could get it off again. And I wouldn't want tar anywhere near your hair," the captain said firmly. "I have ink in my cabin. But, still. I'm afraid it would stain and... well, it would grow out eventually... I suppose we could go ashore and speak to someone, but..."

Ionis turned to the older woman in surprise. Etsana was worried. Fussy even. Ionis had never seen this side of the captain before. It was always business and order. The older woman nervously rambled on until a familiar voice interrupted her.

"Use lampblack," Melan stepped up to the rail beside them. "The charcoal powder should stay fairly well and come off easily when you wash. As long as it doesn't rain, you'll be fine."

Ionis nodded, trying not to make anything of his presence.

"Does it rain? In Duthoa?" she asked Etsana in the stillness that followed. Etsana looked at Melan, who huffed in annoyance. She was clearly testing how well he remembered his lessons with her.

"Sometimes it does closer to the firemounts, water and acid," he said.

Everyone waited for him to explain further.

He looked back, then frowned.

"What?"

"You can't just say that water and acid fall from the sky and then nothing more!" Ionis protested.

"Oh, yes I can," he shot back.

"Stop being such a child."

"Like you're not still insufferable."

"Well, you're still horrid!"

Etsana burst out laughing, shocking the other two. The sound mingled joy and sorrow all at once. Tears squeezed from her eyes as she laughed. She slowly calmed herself and wiped her eyes, but they remained full.

"I wish you were both my children," was all she said as she headed toward her cabin. "What a delightful torment that would have been! I'm off to my bunk. Don't kill each other. Goodnight."

And with that, she was gone. Melan and Ionis stood alone on the deck, with only the sailors aloft, pretending like they weren't eavesdropping.

Melan turned and started to walk away without a word.

"Wait," she called.

He paused.

"I... I am sorry," she breathed. He hung his head, then turned fully back to her. His eyes nearly blazed in the moonlight.

"Apologize when you can do better than a whisper, monster."

He spun and stalked away. A moment later, she heard a cabin door slam.