"Enough Rope to Hang By"
"Four Points"
"Navigate Harsh Waters"
"Water, Ink, and Blood"

It was getting closer, she knew. With every heaving, lunging motion, it was getting closer. She had held off as long as she could, and there was perhaps a little time yet, but not much. Soon, a decision would have to be made. No, that was inaccurate. Passive. Soon, she would have to make a decision, one that was without question the most difficult of her life.

Deeply and heavily, Elise LaRoux sighed. She hated having to make decisions.

For just the latest in a very long line of instances, Elise wished things were different. She wished that her sister, or her father, or even her mother, were still alive. She wished that she had never discovered she was a mage, and that she had never practiced to cultivate her abilities. She wished that she had never been born into her body, so weak and white like the frost that crept up her childhood window in winter. She remembered well how, in her youth, she would lay just one tentative finger on the glass, and the frost would retreat from it, even as she wished it would stay.

But what had wishing brought her? She had wished to spend her days with those she loved, her family, and now they were gone. She had wished to please her mother, to excel at a talent that even Margot could never have mastered, and it had gotten Elise thrown from the chateau. She had wished, fervently and constantly, for freedom from the single room that was her world, and all that had come of it was to move to ever smaller cells. Elise closed her pink eyes, intent on holding in the tears. Like wishes, they could do her no good now.

Still, it would have been so much easier if Brigitte could make this decision for her. Or Margot. Or their mother. Softly, Elise laid a single pale hand on the porthole, or more accurately, the thick canvas that was covering the porthole. Beyond, the sun was beating down on the glass, on the Mourning Reign, and on the ocean around them. With her eyes still closed, Elise tried to picture what it must look like out there. She tried to imagine a sun-lit world that was kind, and welcoming, and painless.

She couldn’t.

The sun was not her enemy. She knew that. But it was no friend. It hurt her eyes, it hurt her skin, and it hurt her heart. She still remembered the endless torment she had felt from the day she had received Her Majesty, Queen Lucienne II, on deck, and in fact, the long, torturous days afterward. But the sun did not hurt her on purpose. It did not seek her out to deliver its celestial punishment. The sun didn’t care one way or another about Elise LaRoux. The pale mage closed her eyes even tighter as she wondered just who was left who did.

Elise had no idea how long she stood there, eyes closed and hand on the canvas, but eventually she became aware of a sound. She opened her eyes and cocked her head to one side, and then moved over to the door of her cabin. The noise grew louder, but only just. She leaned close to the door then, and finally a glint of recognition flashed in her eyes. What she was hearing were voices, talking loudly. No, she corrected herself. Yelling. Two voices were yelling at one another from somewhere beyond the door.

Inwardly, Elise cringed. All of her life, she had heard voices beyond her doors, and she had grown quite adept at learning their meanings. As a child, she had heard Margot and Brigitte laughing and playing in other parts of the chateau, and she had silently joined in on their fun in her imagination. She had heard the metallic clang of steel as Margot had practiced her fencing, and had tried to imagine the weight of an epee in her hand. She had heard the whispers of Brigitte’s violin as her sister practiced with their father, and pretended to dance to the notes she could just barely hear, or sometimes just barely not.

And she had heard the voices of her mother and her father as they yelled.

Well, as the Comtesse yelled, anyway. Robert LaRoux never really yelled. Elise could not even picture her father yelling. All she could see in her mind when she pictured him was his smile and his eyes, looking down at her with a kindness she doubted still existed on Thorneau. But she could still remember the nights she had spent, huddled on her knees by her door, as she listened to them. Her mother was stern, and occasionally cruel, but mercifully, she did not yell at Robert often. But every time she did, Elise heard it. She listened, and she cried, and she wished that when the voices died down, she could have rushed into her father’s arms to comfort him as he would have for her. But that wish, also, never came true.

The voices she heard now, though, did not belong to her mother and her father. They were similar, in some ways, but different. One was a strong, feminine voice, the other a sweet, masculine one. The first made Elise cringe, while the second fought to bring a smile to her face. The first cut through the ship like a blackened blade, while the second pressed itself gently against the wound like a bandage. Elise held her breath as she listened. Aurélie Cerveau and Henri le Douce were arguing.

Elise could not make out every word, nor even the majority of them. But her lifetime of listening behind doors had taught her how to fill in the missing pieces, to reconstruct or replace those words that came in just below her hearing. And Elise LaRoux had excellent hearing.

“…out of the question,” Aurélie was saying. “Have you lost your mind?”

“We made a promise,” Henri answered back.

“You made that promise, not me. As I recall, my promise was that we would see the vicomtesse brought to justice. That’s a promise I mean to keep!”

“As do I!” Henri yelled back. “Don’t you think that she does, too?”

“Goddess only knows what she means to do! You remember how Lucienne pulled her inside? To speak to her in private?”

“So? She did the same to us, you know.”

“That’s different!”

“Why? Because you say it is?”

“No, because I was there for that! I know what was said!”

“She needs us, Aurélie.”

“She doesn’t, and what’s more, you know she doesn’t. She has choices now, and…”

The voices fell in volume then below what even Elise could hear, but she would have stopped listening anyway. It was clear enough what they were talking about. It was the same thing she had been thinking about herself for hours, ever since Captain Valerie had called them all into her cabin. Aurélie and Henri were there, and so was Elise and Nadia Deval, the woman who until recently was the warden of the Tower of Tears. Each one of them had worn a serious expression when the Captain had addressed them.

“We’re less than a day from landfall now,” Valerie had said. “We should be pulling into Port Manteau a bit after midday, if the wind holds. The Harbormistress and I go way back. We should be able to disembark immediately.”

“Excellent,” Aurélie said.

“That leaves us with only one question,” Valerie had continued, then intentionally shifted her focus to Elise. “What will you do?”

When Elise did not answer, Valerie had approached her. “Elise LaRoux, Comtesse of Mont-sur-Mer, I owe your sister Brigitte more than I can ever repay.”

Elise had shook her head. “You saved our lives, Captain Valerie. And you have been helping us for weeks, even when we have placed your ship in danger. You have more than…”

Valerie had held up her hand then, silencing the pale mage. “Your sister saved my ship from the people of Mont-sur-Mer. They were very serious about destroying the Mourning Reign. Your sister interceded. A few lives are valuable, yes, but this ship has carried countless lives in the past, and will carry countless lives in the future. To a captain, the ship is worth far more than a life. I have not yet begun to repay my debt to Comtesse Brigitte LaRoux.”

Elise had lowered her head at this. “I do not know what to say.”

“Know this, Elise LaRoux. For as long as I am captain of the Mourning Reign, you are welcome aboard my ship. If you wish to stay aboard, you, your chevalier, and whoever else you wish will have my protection.” Valerie had glanced then at Aurélie and Henri. “If you wish to go with them, then go, and my ship will be at your service whenever you need it, provided we can find each other. If you wish to stay, your cabin will remain yours for as long as you want it.”

Elise had stared at the red-haired captain, but finally nodded. “Thank you, Captain. I shall…consider my options.”

Captain Valerie had nodded, and moved to dismiss them, when Nadia had stopped her.

“There is one last piece of business I would like to discuss, Captain, while we are all here.”

“Yes?”

Nadia had nodded, and then opened the door. On the other side was a chest as tall as Nadia’s knees. She then bent down, undid the latch, opened the chest, and indicated inside.

Even Captain Valerie’s eyes widened a bit at the pile of gold coins the chest contained. “What is this?”

“This, captain, is a thank you, and an offer. The Queen wants me to help this Revolution, and I could not fulfill her wishes without you. Thank you for that.”

“And the offer?”

“Besides yourself, there is precisely one captain sailing Thorneau’s seas who knows how to find the Tower of Tears. She is getting older, and with war seeming inevitable for Foraine, I worry that she may retire, or her ship be taken. If she cannot sail to my Tower, the mages who remained there would be completely cut off, with no way of getting supplies from the mainland.”

“So you would like me and my crew to take over the responsibility of suppling the mage’s tower?”

“Not ‘take over,’ necessarily. But, if you would check in on them from time to time, I would be most appreciative. And if you would run supplies to them when you do, even more so.”

“I see,” Captain Valerie had said, contemplating. “And for that, you will give me this, is that it?”

“No, captain. This chest is yours even if you swear to never set foot in the Tower of Tears again. But I left instructions at the tower, and three more chests just like this wait for you there if you agree.”

“That is a tempting offer,” Valerie had said after a while. She then stooped down and ran a hand through the gold, allowing them to clink and jostle against each other. “This alone puts us nearly a season ahead.”

“The chests are merely for your agreement, of course,” Nadia had added. “They will still pay the going rate for the supplies, on top of these. But I must ask you, woman to woman, for one favor.”

Valerie stood up then and faced the older woman. “Yes?”

“The mages in the Tower seek privacy. Peace. Regardless of what you choose, will you promise me, swear to me, that you will not reveal their presence to Foraine? I…fear for their safety, should they be discovered.”

Valerie had answered with a nod. “May the boards of the Mourning Reign peel from the hull as I sail if I reveal them.”

“And your crew?”

“My crew has sailed with mages, Madame Deval, and mages are their mates. And more than that, I will be sure to impress upon them the windfall that has come to them because of the Tower. Sailors do not easily forget where their bonuses come from.”

“Thank you, captain.”

Valerie had nodded then, and again turned to Elise. “Madame la Comtesse, I have no desire to rush you, but if you wish preparations to be properly made, you will need to make your decision as soon as you can.”

And Elise had been trying to do just that ever since, but she was no closer to an answer. Henri wanted her to stay with the Revolutionaries, and Elise wanted to stay with Henri. Aurélie wanted Elise to leave them, and Elise had no desire to be near Aurélie. Whenever she saw the woman, all she could picture in her mind was the first moment she had seen her, standing in that darkened parlor with a knife to Brigitte’s throat. If she went with the Revolution, her life would be difficult, and perhaps depressingly short. But if she stayed, would she truly be free, stuck in her small cabin on the waves that she had still not grown accustomed to?

A soft, metallic knock on the door distracted her, but the sound was so familiar now that she did not even hesitate. “You may enter, Sir Ruth.”

The door opened, and her chevalier opened the door. Rather than enter, though, she merely peeked her head in a bit. “Dinner, Madame. Shall I bring you your plate now?”

A sudden idea struck Elise. “No, Sir Ruth. There is something else I would like you to bring me. Someone else, I should say.”

“I see, Madame. I…shall fetch him.”

“Him?” Elise asked, then realized. Her white face flushed a bit. “No, Sir Ruth. Not…him. If you would be so kind as to ask the Captain for her helmswoman’s leave, I need to speak with Gale.”

“You asked to see me?” Gale said, after Sir Ruth had shown the sailor into Elise’s cabin.

Elise nodded.

For a second, she glanced down at her pale hands, which were folded in her lap. Then she looked back up at the woman who now stood before her.

A woman with skin tanned by the sun. A woman covered in stories.

“Gale,” Elise said, looking down again. “We are… mates… are we not?”

Elise glanced up, and saw a small grin on the sailor’s face.

“Unless you’ve been sailing on some other ship this whole time?” Gale said, and laughed. “Then, yes, we are mates.”

Elise nodded her head. “In that case,” she said, “there is a question I would ask you. Mate to mate.”

The sailor shrugged her shoulders.

“Ask,” she said. “And, if I can answer, I will.”

Elise hesitated for a moment.

“Gale,” she said, “do you want anything from me?”

That question seemed to catch the sailor off-guard.

“No,” Gale said. “I don’t.” She cocked her head a bit to one side, as she held Elise’s gaze. “Why would you think that I do?”

“I don’t,” Elise said, looking away. “It’s just that… it’s just…”

“It’s just that, what?” Gale said.

“It’s just…”

Elise looked up at the ceiling, trying to put what she felt into words, and, when the words did not come, she shook her head in frustration. She walked silently across the cabin, to stand before the small mirror on the wall. After taking a moment to study her own pale reflection, she leaned forward, and rested her forehead against the cool glass.

“It’s just that I have grown very used to being alone,” Elise said. The mage shut her eyes, and pressed her palm against the mirror. “I have never liked it, mind you. But I have grown accustomed to it.”

Elise turned around to face Gale, who waited patiently in the center of the cabin.

“Only, now, I find myself surrounded by people,” she said. “Some of them I have known since I was a girl. Some of them I have known for mere days. Some are my dearest friends. Some may well be my enemies. But all of them seem to want something from me.”

Silently, Gale nodded.

“Oh, they all want different things,” Elise said, shaking her head, as she counted her companions off on her fingers. “Nadia wants me to stand for the mages. The Queen wants me to stand for the crown. Henri wants to protect me, to keep his word to my sister. And I hope that he might want… well, something else, too,” Elise said, and blushed, “although I am not sure that he does. Aurélie? Aurélie wants to use me, and, in her heart of hearts, I fear she also wants me dead. Even Sir Ruth wants me to be a proper Comtesse, a LaRoux worthy of the name. Everyone seems to want something from me – everyone, that is, except for you. You do not seem to want anything from me at all.”

Elise hesitated for a second, and her eyes met Gale’s.

“Do you?” she said.

Gale crossed her arms. If Elise’s question had offended her, she gave no sign of it.

“All I want is the sea,” she said. “Can you give me the sea?”

A small smile appeared on Elise’s pale lips.

“No,” she said. “I do not believe that is in my power to give.”

“Then I want nothing from you,” Gale said, and shrugged her shoulders, as though the matter were closed.

Elise nodded, and exhaled a breath she had not realized she was holding.

“In that case,” she said, quietly, “I would beg you for your counsel.”

“My counsel?” Gale said. “Counsel about what?”

“About what I should do, when we make port,” Elise said. “Should I go ashore with Henri, and into whatever trials he may take me? Or should I remain here, with you, with the ship?”

The sailor laughed, and there was something in her voice that reminded Elise of music.

“I am the wrong person to ask whether to remain at sea,” she said.

Elise laughed at that, too.

“I suppose you are right,” she said. “It’s just that, well… I do not have much form, making such choices on my own. For most of my life, you see, my choices were made for me. What to do, where to go, what to say – those decisions were never mine to make. And, on those rare occasions when I did try to shape my own fate? I fear that my choices have been the wrong ones. I fear they have led to nothing but pain.”

The memory of Brigitte’s terrified face flashed before Elise’s mind, and she shivered.

Elise stared down at her feet, and she could feel tears cloud her eyes.

Across the room, the sailor cleared her throat.

“Pain is not the worst of things,” she said. “The needle brings pain, each time it kisses skin, and that pain makes us who we are.”

Footsteps echoed across the small cabin, and Elise felt Gale’s hand beneath her chin. She looked up, to see the sailor staring at her.

“We each of us have two voices inside us, fighting for attention,” Gale said.

She pressed a finger to her temple.

“There is the voice up here, which speaks in words. This is the voice which tells us to fear pain.”

Then Gale lowered her hand, so that it rested above her heart.

“But there is another voice down here,” she said, “and it speaks in song. This is the voice which does not fear pain, for it knows what we desire most.”

The sailor took Elise’s hand, and she held it against Elise’s forehead.

“You need to stop listening to the voice in your head,” she said.

Then she guided Elise’s hand down, until it rested gently atop her heart.

“You need to start listening to the voice down here,” she said. “You need to start listening to your song.”

Elise swallowed. She could feel her heart beating, just beneath where the sailor held her hand.

“You make it all sound so simple,” she said.

“It is simple,” Gale said. “Think about the first time you heard music – did you have to learn how to dance? Or did your body just do it? It’s the simplest thing in the world.”

The sailor slipped behind Elise. She kept one hand pressed atop Elise’s heart. The other she placed across Elise’s face.

“Close your eyes,” Gale said.

Elise did as she was told.

“Now listen to your heart,” Gale said. “Listen to it sing.”

Elise squeezed her pink eyes tight. She summoned all her concentration, and she listened for the beating of her own heart.

There was a soft, steady pulse, which she could feel beneath her fingertips, inside her chest.

But there was no voice. There was no song. Just the quiet sounds of the ship.

“I cannot hear it,” Elise said. “I cannot hear any song – I am trying, but I cannot.”

“That’s the voice in your head talking,” Gale said. “Don’t try – just feel.”

And then – to Elise’s surprise – the sailor started to sing.

She sang softly at first. A wordless, soft, ululating song, which seemed to rise and fall in time with the beating of Elise’s heart. And, as Gale sang, Elise felt as though her heart was beginning to swell inside her, as though it was beginning to beat stronger, and faster, until it mixed with the sailor’s voice, and became a kind of soaring accompaniment, so that the two songs became one.

“Can you hear it now?” Elise heard Gale say – although it could not possibly have been the sailor speaking, Elise thought, since Gale’s voice was still raised in song.

“Yes,” Elise whispered, her voice low, and quiet, lest it drown out the music. “I can hear it.”

She could feel the song swelling inside her. She could feel her heart swelling with it. She could feel it filling her, body and soul.

“Good,” Gale said, her voice growing smaller, more distant. “What do you hear?”

“I hear… the violin,” Elise said.

And – suddenly – that was what Elise did hear. The strange melody, which had begun low, and without form, began to take shape, until it sounded just like a well-remembered minuet – one which the Comte and Brigitte had played together on soft summer nights, when the air was warm, and sultry, and the crickets sang from the terrace, and Elise and Margot had laughed and sung and danced along.

“Can you feel it?” the distant voice said – a voice that now sounded very much like Margot.

Elise nodded, and she felt her body start to move.

As the song in Elise’s heart filled her with memories of warmth, and love, and affection, Elise felt the urge to dance, and she gave herself over to it. She felt someone take her by the hand, and that someone lead her, as if across the dancefloor, until they were moving together in triple time, as her body twisted and whirled, and her feet retraced familiar steps, learned in childhood:

One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three…

Someone raised her hand over her head, and Elise laughed, and spun.

It must have been Gale, Elise knew. But her eyes were still closed, so she could not see.

Elise was humming, now, too – humming in time with the song – one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three – and, then, she was not humming, but singing, so that she laughed, and danced, and sang, all to the sounds of her father’s violin, and her sister’s accompaniment.

She could hear the Comte tapping his foot in time with the music. She could hear Margot laughing, and egging her on.

She was back at the chateau, and everyone was alive. Margot was alive. Brigitte was alive. The Comte was alive. Even the Comtesse – who had never once joined in, when the Comte and Brigitte had played – was alive, and smiling, and happy.

One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.

Everyone was alive, and everyone was happy. The Comte and Brigitte played, as Elise and Margot danced, and everything was right with the world.

One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.

Even Elise’s heart beat in triple time, as the music of violins filled her, body and soul.

One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.

Then, from somewhere – seemingly from worlds away – a voice shouted, “Land to starboard!” and Elise felt the ship move beneath her.

Elise LaRoux’s pink eyes shot open, and she froze in mid-twirl.

She was not at the chateau. She was in her cabin, aboard the Mourning Reign.

There was no music, no song, no violins. Just the sound of the sea, breaking against the hull of the ship, and the creak of the deck, as the Mourning Reign skipped across the waves.

Elise expected to find Gale right beside her, holding her by the hand. But Gale was not there. Instead, the sailor sat perched on the edge of Elise’s bed, some dozen paces away, her blue eyes dancing in the dim light.

Elise felt her cheeks flush.

She was still holding her arms out, as though dancing with an invisible partner. Feeling acutely self-conscious, Elise dropped her hands to her sides, and her cheeks burned even hotter.

“Why did you stop singing?” Elise asked the sailor, feeling as though she had emerged from a trance.

In reply, the sailor just grinned.

“I stopped singing some time ago,” Gale said. “That song you were hearing just now? That song was your own. That was the voice of your heart.”

With a slight tremble, Elise LaRoux reached up, and placed a hand over her heart. For a moment, she held it there, and felt the rhythm of her heartbeat.

One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.

“Yes,” Elise said, quietly. “I suppose that it was.”

“And now you know how to listen,” Gale said.

“Yes,” Elise said. “I suppose that I do.”

“Have you made your decision?” Gale asked.

In Elise’s mind, she travelled back to her memories of the chateau. Of violins. Of family.

Of the world as it was meant to be. Of the world as she wanted it to be again.

“Yes,” Elise said, quietly. “I believe that I have.”

Gale nodded, and smiled. She stood up from the bed.

The tattooed sailor walked across the cabin, and she put her hands on the mage’s shoulders.

“It was an honor to sail with you,” she said.

Elise bowed her head.

“And with you,” she said. “I will miss being your mate.”

The sailor shook her head, and smiled.

“We will always be mates,” she said.

Then she gently turned Elise by the shoulders, so that the Comtesse’s back was to her. With the tip of her finger, Gale traced a pair of delicate shapes along Elise’s skin, as though marking her with aetherial ink.

“You have wings now, Elise LaRoux,” Gale said, and she kissed the Comtesse once on each cheek. “Your time has come to fly.”

The Mourning Reign pulled into harbor three hours past noon on a bright, cloudless day. Captain Valerie spoke briefly with the harbormistress and made the necessary arrangements for disembarkation. Because the ship had not been to a port of call since their last docking at Port Manteau, there was no cargo to unload, so the crew busied themselves with all manner of small chores once the ship was properly moored. They disentangled rope, swabbed the decks, and even set about polishing the metal door handles. One woman even had herself lowered over the side to touch up the paint on the starboard bow. While the crew worked, Aurélie, Henri, Beatrix, and Remi gathered with the officers while Nadia set about preparing her mages as best she could.

Once all the crew was gathered in a cramped crowd on decks, Captain Valerie addressed them all at once, a large, confident smile tarred across her face. “You have all been patient with me and with our guests since leaving Mont-sur-Mer. Together, we have done things that no crew has ever done, and seen things that no crew has ever seen, and through it all, many of you have doubtlessly wondered where your pay will be coming from when we haven’t made port, when we have no cargo. Yet never once has your faith in this ship faltered, never once have you allowed your loyalty to flee. For that and so much more, I thank you. I would have each of you know now that our services to our passengers have been well-rewarded, and as always aboard the Mourning Reign,, each woman gets her share! You will be paid, and generously, as you leave the ship. Further, I am granting each of you an extended shore leave, an entire fortnight, while the ship is refitted. When that fortnight is up, each of you are welcome to return. I ask that you remember your promises, to me and to our guests, and keep their secrets as you keep the secret of your mates. What say you?”

There was a collective cheer from the crew, and Valerie’s grin widened even more. “Then good luck, Goddess bless, and I expect to see each of you here in two weeks with some more meat on your bones and a bit less coin in your pockets!”

With this, first mate Josette took up position at the gangplank, a ledger book in hand and the chest Nadia had given Captain Valerie beside her. The crew filed out one by one, and as they did, Josette handed them their allotted gold and marked their name down as having received their pay. As the deck began to empty, Valerie turned toward Aurélie and Henri.

“So, I understand that Madame la Comtesse has decided to go with you.”

Aurélie and Henri glanced at one another, the former’s expression darkening as the latter’s lightened. After a moment, Aurélie nodded. “That, apparently, is the plan.” She shot Henri a stern look, then glanced up at the sky above them. “Which unfortunately means we will not be able to leave until sundown. Perhaps I should go into town first and meet with our agents who…”

Aurélie was interrupted by the sound of metallic footfalls on the wooden deck. They all glanced over, expecting to see Sir Ruth approaching. What they saw instead left all of them staring in confusion. Sir Ruth, certainly, was there, and was the source of the sound. But just behind the chevalier was a walking pillar of dense fog, not much wider than Sir Ruth’s shoulders and only a little taller than her head. Paradoxically, the fog was thickest at the top, as if it were a raincloud, and lighter beneath, so that they could just make out the outline of a robed woman within.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Aurélie asked, hardly believing what she was seeing.

Elise LaRoux, from within her foggy parasol, ignored Aurélie, and turned instead to Captain Valerie. “Captain?” She said with a barely visible bow. “May I request permission to disembark?”

Captain Valerie smiled. “Of course, Madame la Comtesse. Safe journey.”

“Thank you, Captain. You have been a truly gracious hostess.”

“Are you insane?” Aurélie insisted. “The guards will spot you from half-way across the city!”

“Then we had better hurry to get where we are going, no?”

“No.” Aurélie said, her teeth clenching. She turned to Henri. “Taking her with us at all was bad enough, but this? She’s going to get us all killed. I am not going to risk…”

“Stop it!” Elise yelled. “I will not be spoken about as though I am not standing here!”

Aurélie shot her a murderous glance through the veil of fog. “So sorry, Comtesse.” The venom in her words made Henri cringe. “I had forgotten that your rank deserves so much more attention.”

“This is not about what family I was born into!” Elise responded. “I did not choose the circumstances of my birth any more than you chose the circumstances of yours!”

“Oh, so it wasn’t an aristocrat who murdered the town of Mont-sur-Mer?”

“No! It was not! It was a woman, just like all of us are. It was a devil named Perrine LaBelle, a monster named Madame du Collet. And she is my enemy just as much as she is yours!”

Aurélie’s eyes narrowed and she took a step into the outer reaches of Elise’s fog. Sir Ruth took a step toward her to intercept, and so did Henri. Beatrix and Remy both tensed, and at least three hands moved towards the weapons hung from three different belts. Neither Aurélie nor the mist-shrouded Elise seemed to notice. “You have no idea what that woman has done,” Aurélie challenged. “You have no idea what I’ve lost to her. She’s taken friends. Neighbors. Family!”

“She has taken my family, too!” Elise screamed. “Or have you forgotten Brigitte LaRoux, who gave her life to save yours? To save mine!” Elise took a deep breath, and everyone seemed to relax, just slightly. “I know you think your life has been difficult, and I do not doubt that it has. But do not think for one moment that mine has been easy. I have also lost those I love needlessly.”

“My father was killed by the aristocrats’ law for no other reason than that he was witness to a crime that was never committed. Do not dishonor him by comparing him to those who murdered him.”

“And do not dishonor the memory of my sister by suggesting that her death was only noble because of her family name! She died trying to protect the people of Mont-sur-Mer. The last memories I shall ever have of my sister are seeing a blackened blade at her throat, and then seeing her march toward the polished blade of Madame du Collet, all to save the very hand that held the first! Your hand, Aurélie Cerveau!”

Aurélie looked away. For a long time, no one spoke. Finally, Elise turned to Henri.

“Henri? What do you think?”

Henri le Douce, Vocal Henri, was at a loss for words. Eventually, before the silence completely overwhelmed them all, he nodded. “I think Mont-sur-Mer was bigger than all of us. Or rather, I think perhaps we are all too small to see everything that was there. What I know is that people died there. Good people, and far too many. Peasant and Noblewoman, and likely Craftswomen and Tradeswomen, perhaps Scholars, and maybe even Mages. And more of each will die because of Mont-sur-Mer, because of Madame du Collet. But I believe there is a nobility shared by all women and men, not the nobility of blood, but the nobility of word. Of the promises we make and the promises we keep. And,” he paused, looking first to Aurélie and then to Elise, “I believe we have all made a promise to the dead.”

“To stop Madame du Collet,” Aurélie said.

“To protect Elise,” Henri added.

“And to bury Brigitte next to Margot.”

Elise turned to Aurélie, her tone softer than before. “I will help you keep your promise, if you help me keep mine.”

Aurélie looked back and scowled, but finally nodded. Then she turned to Henri. “And I will help you keep yours, if you help me keep mine.”

Henri nodded and held out his hand, half way between the women. Aurélie placed hers on top of it. Henri turned toward Elise. “And I will help you find Brigitte’s remains, and one day bring her to rest, if you help me keep my promise.”

Henri could just make out a line of confusion cross the mage’s face. “But, your promise was to protect me.”

Henri nodded. “And it would be easier to do that if you didn’t draw attention to yourself by creating a moving square of fog in the middle of town.”

Elise LaRoux looked away and down. Then, surprisingly, she laughed. “I suppose you are right. Very well.” She slipped her hand under Henri’s, who gave it a slight squeeze. Elise smiled, and turned toward Captain Valerie. “If I may impose, Captain, I would like to revise my request. Permission to disembark at sundown.”

Captain Valerie laughed. “Granted!”

A short distance away, from the tallest spire of the University of Port Manteau, the tallest overlook onto the harbor, one man watched with piqued interest the goings-on aboard the Mourning Reign. Through his amplified spyglass, Thomas Cerveau smirked as he watched his sister, Aurélie, the infamous Vocal Henri, and a cloud of fog converse. He had no way of knowing what they were saying, of course, but he didn’t need to. The scene alone told him all he needed to know.

“So you have the Mages, I see,” Thomas muttered to himself. “I knew you would, but I didn’t plan on them so soon.” He pulled the spyglass away and leaned back, stroking his chin. After a few moments, he shrugged. “A minor revision to the plan. Nothing serious.” Thomas Cerveau chuckled. “Expect a visit soon, sister. It’s time for a family reunion.”