As Aurélie Cerveau stepped from the deck of the Mourning Reign onto the wooden dock of the pier at Port Manteau, she could swear the boards were rocking with the waves just as much as the ship had been. When she reached solid ground, she found that the whole town must have been shaking like a boat on the ocean. Beside her, Captain Valerie and her first mate, Josette, didn’t seem to notice. Behind her, Remy’s face was as unreadable as ever, but Aurelie knew him. He was just as relieved to be back on solid ground as she was.

They had been at sea for six weeks. The first three had been taken up with a mercantile run to a small island, fearing the likely pursuit of Madame du Collet from Mont-sur-Mer. The following three weeks were spent on a wild and fruitless search for the mysterious Tower of Tears, reportedly a haven for mages and a place where Aurélie and the revolution would find strong and valuable allies, if the words of Queen Lucienne II could be believed.

Despite herself, Aurélie snarled. She thought back often to the bizarre meeting she and Henri had had with the sovereign, and the suggestion the monarch had made that they find the tower. At first, she had been willing to accept Lucienne’s advice under the belief that if the Queen had wanted them dead, she had plenty of opportunities while the Mourning Reign was at her mercy. But increasingly, Aurélie suspected that Lucienne wanted them out of the way, thus sending them in search of an enchanted tower, one that by the Queen’s own admission was protected against discovery.

“She could have at least given us a map,” Aurélie grumbled under her breath.

“What’s that?” Captain Valerie asked, trying to hear Aurélie over the din of the crowd that littered the wharf.

Aurélie shook her head. “I said, where is this tavern of yours?”

The captain tossed her head to the left, her red hair flashing with the movement. “Down there, about half way. Roland was always a terrible sailor,” she said, laughing to herself. “But he’s loyal, and discreet, and enough people come through the Splintered Oar that he’s bound to have heard something.”

“If there’s been anything worth hearing,” Aurélie added.

Valerie nodded. “Precisely. But if there has been, he’s our best bet.”

Aurélie hoped that they weren’t wasting their time, as they had been since their meeting with the Queen. After more than a fortnight of searching the areas where rumors suggested the Tower might have been, Captain Valerie had made the decision to return to Foraine and seek help. Port Manteau was a massive and sprawling city on the coast of Fleche, and while returning to the mainland carried certain dangers, it was a necessity. If they were going to find the Tower of Tears, they needed help, and they weren’t going to get it at sea.

The captain and her first mate were going to go ashore alone, but Aurélie insisted on her and Remy coming along. Whatever help Valerie was likely to find, Aurélie wanted to be sure that it would in no way endanger the revolution. Henri had wanted to disembark, too, but Aurélie had forbidden it, much to Henri’s annoyance. In front of the crew of the Mourning Reign, their dispute had been quiet and civil, with Aurélie appearing to guide him rather than order him. When they had withdrawn to the cabin Henri shared with Remy to discuss the matter further, the conversation had been much more animated, and Aurélie far, far more forceful.

Aurélie had been getting worried about Henri le Douce over the last several weeks. He was becoming more difficult for her to manage, as if he were beginning to think his public role as the leader of the revolution was somehow his true one. He was also, it seemed, becoming infatuated with Elise LaRoux, a mage and, by virtue of her sister’s death at Mont-sur-Mer, a Comtesse. That was an exceedingly dangerous thing. If word got out around Foraine that Vocal Henri, the most outspoken and influential voice against the aristocracy, was himself wrapped around the finger of a noble, everything would fall apart. The thought that it would be better for Henri to be a martyr than a nobelwoman’s pet was a frequent visitor to Aurélie.

Lost in thought, Aurélie did not even realize that they had reached the tavern until she had stepped through the door. The place was massive, probably the largest near the docks, and the inside was dark, smoky, and loud. It was three-quarters full of people, some sitting and drinking at tables, others dancing and carousing, and still others lining the walls, eyeing everyone suspiciously. With just a subtle hand signal to Remy, Aurélie sent him along the perimeter to scout everyone. Remy was an expert, only short of Beatrix, Aurélie’s spymaster after Patrice had been killed in Mont-sur-Mer, and he knew what to look for. If the aristocracy had a spy in the Splintered Oar, Remy would find her.

After a few moments of looking around, Captain Valerie proceeded over to the bar. Aurélie could spot the recognition in the barkeep’s face the moment he noticed her, and a broad smile came to him as he beckoned her over. This, Aurélie thought, must be Roland. She tried to get a better look at him to size him up, but a small crowd of people had come between Aurélie and Valerie, and it took her a few minutes to catch up to the captain and first mate, who were talking intently to Roland.

“-that I know of,” Roland was saying, shaking his head. Then he paused. “But, there is one man here who might be able to help.”

“It had better not be one of those damned Smugglers again, Roland, or I swear to Goddess you’re coming out to sea with us and not coming back.”

The man held his hands up. “I swear, Captain, it’s nothing like that.” He cocked his head to the side for a moment. “At least, I’m pretty sure. He doesn’t look the type.”

“So what’s his story?” Josette asked.

Roland shrugged. “Not sure. But he’s been trying to hire a ship here for the last two days. He’s got a room upstairs, and he keeps asking if any captains will take him on.”

“He’s been here two days and he hasn’t found a ship to take him yet?” Valerie asked suspiciously. “There should have been a dozen captains coming through this place willing to hire out in that time.”

“A dozen at the very least,” Roland agreed. “And there have been. But they’ve all turned him down so far.”

“Why?” Aurélie asked.

Roland glanced her way, noting that he didn’t know her, but when neither Valerie nor Josette seemed bothered or surprised by her presence or her question, Roland shrugged again. “No idea. Either they don’t like where he’s going, or they’re afraid he’s contagious.”

“Contagious?” Valerie asked. “He’s sick?”

Roland nodded. “I think he’s trying to hide it, but he’s not doing well at that game, if he is.”

A look of concern flashed across Valerie’s face. “Is he contagious?” she asked, and her voice grew dark. “Roland, just how sick is he?”

Roland hesitated for a second before answering. “Just by color of his face, you’d think he’d been hooked, filleted, and left out to dry,” the barkeep said. He picked up a tankard, and polished it half-heartedly as he spoke. “And, just to hear him cough, you’d think that each breath was his last.” Roland shrugged. “But I’ve been sharing his air for two days now, and it’s done me no harm, in so far as I can tell. And there’s no blood in his spit-up – I checked that myself. So, whatever his trouble is, I don’t think it’s catching.”

Captain Valerie nodded slowly, stroking her chin in thought.

“What else do you know about him?” Josette asked.

“Not much. The rumor is he’s some kind of mage, but nobody’s been saying that too loud. Last thing we need is rumors of a mage in the Splintered Oar.”

Valerie nodded, then hesitated. “Roland, what aren’t you telling me?”

“What do you mean?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do you think this man can help us find what we’re looking for?”

“Oh, that,” Roland said, rubbing his neck. “Well, see…”

“Out with it, Roland,” Valerie warned.

The barkeep, looking decidedly nervous, leaned forward, and the three women did as well. Even so, Aurélie could barely hear his whisper above the crowd. “He claims he can find anything. That’s been his offer to the captains.”

Valerie glanced at Aurélie, then at Josette, and finally back to Roland. “No wonder nobody’s taken him up. You don’t buy passage on promises.”

Roland just nodded and pulled back. Valerie seemed to consider, then looked to Aurélie.

“Well, what do you think?”

“Suspicious,” Aurélie said, glancing around as casually as she could. She caught sight of Remy across the room who quickly gave her a signal of all clear, so far at least. Aurélie nodded, and turned back to the captain. “But it’s the best lead we’ve had in six weeks.”

Captain Valerie nodded her agreement. “Alright, Roland. Where is he?”

With a complete lack of tact or subtlety, Roland pointed toward a table in the back, where Aurélie could just barely see a man in strange clothing leaning dejectedly over a tankard. Valerie nodded to Roland, and then began making her way toward the man, with Josette and Aurélie following close behind her. Eventually they arrived, and the man looked up at them as they stood opposite him. He was an average looking man with brown, unkempt hair and pain etched into his face. His left eye seemed to be twitching slightly, and he held his left arm tight to his body. The illness Roland had described in him had done little to prepare them for the actual sight of it. The man looked as though he were already sinking into his grave.

Valerie leaned over the table in front of him. “I heard you’re looking to hire a ship.”

The man nodded. “I need one,” he said solemnly. “And I don’t have much time. Are you a captain?”

Valerie nodded. “You got coin?”

The man’s face fell even lower. “I…” he hung his head until his chin touched his chest. “No. I don’t.”

Valerie stood back up to full height. “Hard to hire a ship with nothing, isn’t it?”

The man just nodded.

“So, what are you offering, if not gold or silver?”

He looked up at her again. “I’ll find something for you. Anything. You name it, I’ll find it. Well, as long as you can describe it, anyway, or it’s one of a kind. Unique things are easier to find.”

“Anything?” Josette asked.

“Anything. Sunken treasure, another captain, a forgotten fishing village, anything. I can find it, I swear.”

Valerie crossed her arms over her chest as she considered him. Finally, she asked “What’s your name?”

“Denner,” he said. “Denner Fabellian.”

The three women shared a brief look of confusion at such an odd name, but Valerie continued nonetheless. “Well, Denner, I don’t believe you.”

Once again, Denner hung his head. “I know. Nobody does. Or, nobody has, anyway.”

“Why don’t you prove it?” Aurélie challenged suddenly. Suddenly, Remy appeared out of nowhere and whispered something to Aurélie, who simply nodded. Then, seeing a tray of empty tankards on a nearby table, Aurélie scooped them up, set them upside down on Denner’s table, and sat down opposite him. Then, she pulled out the gold ring Lucienne had given her. “Find this. Remy.”

Remy nodded and moved behind Denner, suddenly producing a long handkerchief and tying it around Denner’s eyes. Remy then took the extra precaution of covering Denner’s eyes with one of his hands, placing the other one at the back of the man’s skull, as if ready to snap his neck. Denner, after getting over his initial surprise, didn’t struggle, and instead allowed himself to be blindfolded. Once she was sure Denner was sightless, she slipped the ring under one of the tankards and moved them around several times.

“Okay. Where is the ring?” Aurélie asked.

Remy moved his hand and started to take off the blindfold, but Denner stopped him, and instead immediately pointed to the correct tankard.

“Impressive,” Josette said.

“It proves nothing,” Aurélie said, eying the blindfolded man. “One more time.”

“As many as it takes to prove myself,” Denner said with a shrug.

Aurélie mixed up the tankards again, and again Denner found the ring instantly. She repeated the process three more times, and each time he found it without so much as revealing his eyes. Finally, on the last try, she removed the ring entirely, and slipped it into a side pocket of hers. When she stopped moving the tankards, Denner pointed over them toward Aurélie.

“Alright,” Aurélie said. “I’m convinced.”

“As am I,” Valerie said, finally sitting down. Josette joined them, although Remy remained standing, watching for trouble.

Denner removed the blindfold. “So, is it a deal, then?”

“Not by half,” Valerie said. “We haven’t even discussed terms. What exactly is it that you want to hire a ship for, Denner Fabellian?”

Denner took a deep breath, then locked eyes with the redheaded captain. “I need to find, and capture alive, a Corsair Spider.”

Almost as one, Valerie and Josette let out a low whistle. Valerie shook her head. “You must be mad. Even if we could find one…”

“I can find one,” Denner interrupted.

Valerie snorted. “Fine. But even so, those things are dangerous beyond measure. Only a fool would go looking for them, and I would be an even greater fool if I let them anywhere near my ship.”

“If you just get me within rowing distance, I’ll go to them, and you can keep your ship at a safe distance.”

“We do that,” Josette shot back, “and you’ll be dead. What’s worse, we’ll be out a boat.”

“What are you looking for?” Denner asked suddenly.

“What?” Captain Valerie asked.

“You must be looking for something, or you wouldn’t have asked me to prove I can find things. So what is it? How badly do you want to find it?”

“Not badly enough to risk my crew,” Valerie stated flatly.

“Is it worth the price of a rowboat and a couple days sailing out of your way?” Denner asked, then started coughing.

When he had finished, Aurélie was eying him closely. “Are you ill?”

“I’m dying.”

The three women glanced at one another. Valerie turned back to him, her face set hard. “You’ll forgive my bluntness, but I need to know more than that, if I’m to have you aboard my ship. I’ve seen what plague can do to a fleet, and I have no wish to see it again.”

Denner sighed. “What’s killing me is slow, and painful, and horrible, and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody, even for a chance at curing myself.” He shook his head. “No, Captain, you have nothing to worry about. I’ll be dying alone.”

“So, what?” Josette asked. “You hoping the Corsair Spiders will kill you quickly?”

Denner shook his head. “No. Getting one is the only chance I have to live.”

Again, Captain Valerie glanced to each side, first to Josette and then to Aurélie. Then she leaned in over the table, and Denner followed her example. “We are looking for the Tower of Tears,” she said quietly.

Denner closed his eyes for a long moment, then cocked his head slightly to one side. Then he started nodding. “I can show you where it is.”

“You’ve heard of it, then?” Aurélie asked.

“No,” Denner said. “But I know exactly where it is.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Josette said.

“Still,” Denner said, coughing again. “it’s true.”

Captain Valerie leaned back in her seat, staring at Denner and stroking her chin. Finally, she sighed. “Fine. Show us to the tower, and then we’ll bring you to your spiders.”

At this, Denner shook his head vigorously, and descended into another coughing fit, this one nearly doubling him over in his seat. When he finally recovered, he looked back up at her, looking paler than before. “I don’t have time for that,” he implored. Then, he set his jaw into something that Aurélie assumed was supposed to be determination. “Take me to the spiders first. Then I’ll show you on your charts how to find the tower.”

“You are insane, aren’t you?” Josette asked. “You’ll be dead and we’ll have nothing.”

But Denner remained vehement. “I won’t tell you until I have my spider.”

“Don’t you trust us?” Valerie asked.

“About as much as I’m sure you trust me,” he said. “But this isn’t about trust, anyway. It’s about time. Every time my heart beats, I come closer to death. I can’t sail days out of my way. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that every moment is precious.”

“Maybe we just kill you if you don’t tell us,” Aurélie said calmly, though with a metallic edge in her voice. A moment later, Denner felt the point of a blade at his back. He glanced backward to see Remy standing there, casually, to all outward appearances. Denner looked back toward Aurélie, a tear forming in his eye.

“If you don’t take me to the spiders, and first, I’m dead anyway. I don’t want to die, but a quick death at the hands of murderers is probably better than what I’m going through, and what I have ahead of me.”

“We’re not murderers,” Aurélie said. “We fight for freedom.”

“I don’t claim to know how things are done here,” Denner said, “but in most places I’ve been to, a knife in the back in cold blood is called murder, not freedom.”

The two stared at one another for a long time before Captain Valerie continued. “Denner, do you swear, to Goddess herself, that you can find the Tower of Tears.”

After a long pause, Denner finally broke off his staring contest with Aurélie and focused on the redheaded woman. “I do.”

“And do you swear that you will show us how to get there, if we get you to your spiders?”

Denner nodded once, slowly. “I do.”

“Very well.” She looked over at Aurélie, and then back to Josette, and then to Denner. “In that case, we have a deal. Welcome aboard the Mourning Reign."

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Henri le Douce ignored the woman, and continued to walk. Beside him, hurrying to keep up, Beatrix was exasperated.

“Please, Citizen Henri,” she said quietly, but with urgency in her voice. “Aurélie was quite clear that you should not be seen in town. It isn’t safe for you!”

“I don’t care, Citizen Beatrix,” Henri said. “I am going into Port Manteau whether Aurélie likes it or not.”

They had nearly reached the gangplank down to the pier when Beatrix suddenly stepped in front of Henri, blocking his way.

“Please, Citizen Henri, be reasonable! There are posters of you everywhere. There’s not a woman in Fleche that doesn’t know your face, and in a city like this, any number of them could be sympathetic to the aristos.”

“Some things, Citizen Beatrix, are more important than all that.”

He started moving around her when she stopped him again. “At least let me try to disguise you, then!” When he seemed about ready to move around her, she lowered her head slightly. “Please. It’s my duty. And after my failure at Mont-sur-Mer…”

This made Henri stop. He had spent a great deal of time over the past six weeks thinking about Mont-sur-Mer, and Aurélie, and the revolution, but this was the first time he had really stopped to think about Beatrix’s role in those events. Beatrix was Aurélie’s most trusted scout, and it had been her responsibility to keep watch over the town while the rest of the Standing Committee of the People’s Revolution conducted their business. When the town had been surrounded and taken over by Perrine Labelle’s women, Beatrix had blamed herself. In his fear, Henri had forgotten about that.

What he remembered of Beatrix at Mont-sur-Mer was not her failure, for in fact, he had never viewed it as such. What Henri remembered was how Beatrix, repeatedly and fearlessly, ventured out into the streets after the occupation. He remembered how she had gathered information, how she had charted the numbers and the movements of the women-at-arms, and how she had plotted their escape route to the docks. He remembered how she had led them through Elise’s fog, so thick they couldn’t see an arm’s reach in front of them. He remembered how brave she had been, when he himself was shaking in fear.

“You didn’t fail,” Henri said softly, lowering her head. “I failed.” Then, Henri straightened. “Fine. Do what you can. But we have to hurry. I’ll give you a few minutes, but then I need to go.”

Beatrix nodded, and set to work. She dirtied his face to darken his complexion, and used some straw from the cabin mattresses to give the illusion of blond hair. She covered his head with a makeshift hood made from a bedsheet, and shoved a pillow up under his shirt to give the illusion of girth. After she was finished, she looked over him and frowned.

“It’s terrible,” Beatrix said. “It’ll fool a passing glance, but if you get stopped by a guard, she’ll see right through it.”

“Then I’d better not get stopped,” Henri said, moving once more for the dock. “Thank you, Citizen Beatrix.”

He moved to leave, and Beatrix followed him to the gangplank. He stopped and glanced back at her. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going with you. I would never forgive myself if something happened.”

“But I…” Henri started, then stopped. Arguing was pointless, and would be a waste of time. If he wasn’t back aboard the Mourning Reign before Aurélie, there was going to be trouble, and Henri, frankly, didn’t want to deal with it. “Alright, fine. Let’s go.”

Together, reluctantly, the two revolutionaries walked down the road in Port Manteau. Beatrix was casting glances in every direction, straining her senses to find the first hint of trouble or the vaguest suspicion of somebody watching them. Henri was terrified, too, but he tried to keep his mind on his business. He knew the risks. What Beatrix had told him was quite true. The wanted posters with his likeness were everywhere, and the aristocracy had spared no expense in hiring the most talented and accurate artists in Fleche to draw his portrait. And, if he were recognized, it would mean death at the very least.

With a dismissive shake of his head, Henri focused on the task at hand. He scanned the storefronts up and down the street, one after another, until he found what he was looking for. A few blocks from the pier, he found a sizeable shop called the Blessed Quill, a bookstore. As he moved to enter, Beatrix caught him by the arm.

“Citizen Henri, what are you doing?” She hissed.

“I need to buy a few things,” he said.

“Do you not see the size of this shop?” She asked, looking around nervously. “No peasant can afford a shop like this. This has the mark of the Tradeswomen all over it, and you know as well as I where their loyalties lie.”

“I’ll be quick.”

Beatrix looked up and down the street before she spotted a pair of white uniformed constables strolling leisurely along, heading straight toward them. Beatrix did some quick calculations. “If you’re not out in three minutes, Citizen Henri, it’s all over.”

Henri followed her gaze, and nodded, turning around and disappearing into the shop. Beatrix stayed outside, hoping to block anyone else, including the constables, from entering. She did not like her chances. Inside, Henri made his way immediately to the back, where a kindly older woman was sitting at the counter, reading. His heart was beating faster, thinking about what was happening outside, and what would happen if he were recognized. Pushing the thought away, he approached the counter and spoke.

“Pardon me, Madame, but I would like to buy some books, and I am afraid I’m in a terrible hurry.”

“I see,” said the woman, standing up. “Which books did you have in mind, Monsieur?”

“None,” he said, then shook his head. “I mean, I don’t have any in mind.” Trying to keep his head low, he put the few coins he had on the counter. “Would you just give me as many of your current best sellers as this will buy?”

The woman sighed. “I suppose.” She started working, then glanced up at him. “Pardon me, Monsieur, but why are you wearing such an outrageous disguise?”

“Oh? Ah. I, well,” Henri stammered, trying to think fast. Then, making up a story as best he could, he continued. “You see, Madame, my fiancée is giving a soiree for her birthday tonight, and as part of the entertainment, she has commissioned a short play. A farce, of course,” he said, indicating himself. “But one of the actors is ill, and taking his place was the only way to ensure the show would go on. Unfortunately, it has left me little time to buy her a gift…”

“Say no more,” the woman said, lifting a hand. “I see now why you need the books. You know, it warms my old heart to see a man so devoted. So often, we see women provide for and dote on their little men, but the men show no gratitude! Here,” she said, slipping a few books into a cloth bag. “Take these, and Goddess bless.”

“Thank you, Madame. I won’t forget your kindness.”

Without another word, Henri took the bag and retreated to the door, opening it and slipping outside in the same moment. He almost bumped into Beatrix as he did. The moment he appeared, she leaned in and whispered. “We need to go. Now.”

Henri just nodded, and they started down the street. They had only made it about five or six steps when an authoritative voice sounded out over the noise of the crowd.

“You there! Stop!”

Without thinking, Henri turned his head to look, and the two constables were running straight for him. He wanted to turn and run, but fear froze him. Fear for himself, for Beatrix, and for the revolution. Time seemed to freeze as the white-clad women drew closer and closer. Then, before he knew it or could think to flee, they were there. And a moment later, they were past him, running down the street. Beyond them, Henri could just make out in the crowd a young girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, running away with a loaf of bread in her hands.

“A thief,” Beatrix breathed.

Henri glanced over at her and managed to nod as his heart finally started to beat again. “We should get back.”

Beatrix nodded, and without another word, she began to lead him back to the pier and the relative safety of the Mourning Reign.

Gale was at the helm as Captain Valerie returned to the ship and ordered them to draw up anchor and set sail. She steered the ship easily out of port, and was humming softly to herself and to the winds when Valerie approached her, accompanied by a sickly looking man in a strangely cut blue tunic. The three of them stood there for several long minutes as Gale guided them out of the harbor at Port Manteau, and once they were clear, Valerie turned to Gale.

“Gale, this is Denner Fabellian,” the Captain said, indicating the man. “Sail in whichever direction he tells you.” She shot a glance at Denner then. “Unless he steers us into rocks, or a nest of sirens or something.”

Gale cocked an eyebrow, but nodded her head. “Yes, Captain.” Without another word, Valerie turned around and descended the stairs down to the main deck, leaving Gale and Denner alone. The sailor stared at the man for a long moment, trying to figure out why the Captain had all but surrendered command of the ship to him.

He had no marks, and looked nothing like a sailor. He was a tall man, though anything but overbearing, and gaunt, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. At his forearms and neck, Gale could see his veins through his skin, and they were a deep purple and occasionally throbbed. His eyes drawn in and somewhat unfocused, and the left one twitched as he stood. He would not meet Gale’s gaze, but rather fidgeted around and looked mostly at the ground. Finally, Gale grew tired of waiting.

“What bearing, sir?”

“Sir?” Denner asked surprised. “Oh, no, just Denner.”

“Very well,” Gale said, waiting. After a few moments, it became clear that Denner did not intend to continue, so Gale did instead. “So, Denner, what bearing?”

Denner just stared at her, unhearing.

“What direction? Where do you want to go?”

“Oh,” Denner said, then closed his eyes. Gale narrowed hers as the man seemed to think. Then, almost suddenly, he pointed. “That way.”

Gale stared at him for another long moment, then shrugged and nodded. “Bearing twelve degrees to port.” She turned the ship’s wheel to make for the strange man’s heading. She turned away from him, focusing on the seas and the song, letting her body rock with the rhythm of the waves beneath her. After a long, peaceful moment, she realized that she had closed her eyes. As she opened them, she saw that Denner was still standing there, staring at her.

“What?” She asked him, as if she didn’t already know.

“I was just wondering about your tattoo,” he said, staring at it like he were studying it.

“My mark, you mean,” Gale said, reflexively bringing a hand up to caress the Speaker’s mark on her cheek. She smiled briefly, then hardened her face. “What about it?”

Denner shrugged. “I was just curious about it. Where did you get it? What does it mean? What’s it for?”

Naturally, Gale thought. Her marks were almost always the first thing anybody asked about her anymore. Gale couldn’t understand it. How could such a simple and natural concept like marks be such a foreign one? Each time Gale found herself tossed from one strange world to another, she found herself in a new string of conversations about something that people should have been able to read perfectly well for themselves. She had developed a standard answer, and increasingly, it was all she said about it.

“It’s a memory from my past.”

“So that you won’t forget?”

Gale turned her head to stare at him. “I could never forget.”

Denner closed his eyes and winced. “Me, neither.”

There was a long silence between them as Gale tried to decide what to make of the man. He was unlike anyone else she had met on Thorneau, which admittedly, was limited to the crew of the Mourning Reign, but everything, from his attire to his manner of speech to his behavior, seemed completely different from the others. But of everything, it was his eyes that most caught the sailor’s attention. When they were directed at her, they seemed flitting, only meeting her gaze for a few short seconds before turning away again. But when he was looking downward, or to one side or another, she saw flashes in them, flashes that changed from moment to moment. In one instant, they were filled with determination, in the next, they were overtaken by melancholy. But they were never focused for long.

Denner’s inability, or lack of desire, to look Gale in the eyes bothered her. Vasco’s “little pearl” on the Blazing Star had done the same thing. And, as Gale noted bitterly, she had Vasco wrapped around her finger, almost as though he had relinquished control of his ship to her. Just as Captain Valerie had apparently done for this man. Granted, Denner Fabellian was not half so pretty as Vasco’s fancy, nor did Valerie seem the type to become smitten, but the similarities bothered Gale. On top of everything, there was something familiar about Denner, something else that reminded her of the little murderess, and of Raiker Venn, as well, but she could not quite place it. Whatever it was, Gale didn’t like it.

“So, um, where are you from?”

Gale winced. For a moment, the man’s question brought her back to her home. Its songs lived in her memory, the scents of her native seas danced in her nostrils as if she were there. Gale closed her eyes, trying to latch on to the sensory memory, but it was already fading, replaced by the sweeter, airier Thorneau brine. Gale opened her eyes and shook her head.

“Somewhere far away from this place.”

Denner nodded. “I figured.”

“How’s that?”

“Hmm? Oh, the tattoos. Marks, sorry. You seem to be the only one here who has them, so I assumed you were from someplace else.”

Gale shook her head slightly and looked away from Denner.

“Where?” He pressed.

Gale didn’t answer him.

Denner stood there in an awkward silence for a long moment before he realized that she had no intention of answering him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then turned to look at the sea. “I’m from pretty far away, too. An island, called Sula. It’s beautiful. Well, it was beautiful, I guess. But now it’s lost. Gone. All gone.”

The note of anguish in Denner’s voice echoed in Gale’s heart as she thought about her own home, lost to her on the harsh waters of fate. Even as Gale tried not to think about it, Denner continued.

“It was a tropical island once, verdant and populous, with almost anything you could want and everything you could need. When I was young, I used to go to the shore sometimes, and just stare out over the waves. You know, just lose myself in their motions. It was the only time I could, well, ‘forget’ isn’t the right word. But put things out of my mind for a while, if that makes sense. I guess it doesn’t. What was your home like?”

Her jaw clenched, Gale turned to face the man. “You talk too much, Denner Fabellian.”

Denner stared at her for a moment, his mouth hanging slightly open. His eyes were wavering, perhaps even watering, when he lowered his head and nodded. “I know,” he said, his voice strained. He glanced back up at her. “I’m sorry.” He turned to leave and started descending the stairs. Glancing back, he repeated himself. “I’m sorry.”

And then he was gone, down to the main deck and from there down into the mess. Gale shook her head. There was clearly something wrong with that man, but more than anything, he reminded her of what she had lost, of what had been taken from her. She thought about her home then, trying to sing its songs again, trying to hear its voice. But Thorneau’s song was pleasant and persistent, and in time, Gale gave up, and instead hummed along to the sounds of the winds above, the waves below, and the creaking of the Mourning Reign.

Inside his cabin, Henri le Douce was wringing his hands. He and Beatrix had made it back to the ship before Aurélie had, so he had been able to avoid an uncomfortable confrontation with her. He had no idea whether or not Beatrix would tell Aurélie about their little excursion into the Port. On the one hand, Beatrix was one of Aurélie’s most trusted women, and of those in the revolution who had been with Aurélie the longest, only Remy had Beatrix beat. On the other, Aurélie would be furious if she knew Henri had been allowed to venture into town, and Beatrix likely wouldn’t want to have to explain why she allowed it.

But it was not Aurélie that Henri was worried about, at least not principally. The biggest contributor to Vocal Henri’s current concerns were the books, still in the bag, that he had purchased with the last of his money. He worried that he had not had time to choose them himself, and couldn’t even bring himself to look at their titles. He worried how they might be received, and what it could mean. He worried that Beatrix might realize what they were for, or that they might be discovered before they had served their purpose. But mostly, he worried about how and when he would be able to deliver them.

Finally, steeling his courage, Henri grabbed the bag of books and moved over to his cabin door, resting his palm on the handle. He took another deep breath and opened the door, moving through as quickly as he could before he talked himself out of anything. As he stepped through, however, he glanced in the direction of Elise LaRoux’s cabin, and his heart sank as he saw Sir Ruth, Elise’s dedicated chevalier, standing guard in front of it, staring directly at him. Knowing that he could neither proceed with his goal nor return immediately to his room, he simply walked past Sir Ruth. The two stared at each other the entire time he slowly walked by, each giving a small, barely perceptible nod of recognition that was anything but a warm welcome.

Henri stepped out on the deck and stood there for a few long moments, pretending to get a few big breaths of fresh air. After an excruciating wait, he heard a knock behind him that sounded like metal on wood, and then a door being opened. He glanced behind him and, seeing a glimpse of Sir Ruth enter Elise’s cabin, quickly and silently returned to his own. He dropped the bag of books under his pillow and collapsed on his bed, exhaling deeply. Sir Ruth watched Elise better than a hawk watched its chicks. Henri was going to have to be clever.

It was nearly an hour later when, sitting on the floor with his ear to the door, Henri heard the metallic sound of Sir Ruth’s armored greaves on the wooden floor of the ship’s deck. In his head, he counted to twenty, and then he counted to twenty again, hoping that it was enough for the chevalier to have moved well and thoroughly away. Moving quickly, Henri grabbed the bag of books and took a deep breath. Then, slowly, he opened the door and moved through.

“Henri?”

Henri froze. It was Aurélie’s voice. Fortunately, the bag of books was still in his left hand, which was still in his cabin and hidden behind the door. As subtly as he could, he lowered the bag to the floor, let it go, and stepped out of his room.

“Aurélie, just the person I was looking for.”

Aurélie gave him a flat look, and Henri’s attention darted briefly to the scar running down her face. “Really,” she asked, although it hardly sounded like a question. “And why is that?”

“I wanted to know what was going on. What happened in Port Manteau?”

Aurélie shrugged. “We found a man who claims he can find the Tower of Tears. A mage of some kind. But we need to run an errand for him first.”

“Is that where we’re headed now?”

Aurélie nodded once. Henri stood there, unsure of what to say next. Finally, Aurélie cocked her eyebrows upward. “Was there anything else?”

“Um, no,” Henri said. “That’s all I wanted.”

Aurélie continued to stare at Henri until he turned around and returned to his cabin, once more defeated. Again, he hid the books beneath his pillow and waited. Hours passed, and through the porthole, he could see the sun was setting. He knew the cook would be serving dinner in the mess, or perhaps already had, but Henri wasn’t hungry. He was simply frustrated.

Eventually, though, he decided to try his luck one last time. It was night outside, and Sir Ruth would likely have retired for the night. Aurélie, too, often went to bed early and rose early, and so she was unlikely to stop him again, and Beatrix was probably in the cabin with her, as well. He was briefly concerned that Elise might also be asleep, but she tended to prefer nights over days, particularly since her nasty burn during the Queen’s bizarre visit. So, resolute, Henri once again prepared himself to leave his cabin.

Just as he was reaching for the bag of books under his pillow, however, the door to his cabin was flung open, and Remy stepped through, looking exhausted. He glanced in Henri’s direction and gave him a curt nod, then proceeded to his bunk to lie down without saying a word. Outwardly, Henri nodded and smiled. Inwardly, he was steaming. It was bad enough that he was forced to share his cabin with Remy in the first place. Remy was a constant reminder to Henri about where the real authority in the People’s Revolution rested. Remy had been a key part of Aurélie’s movement since the very beginning, and there wasn’t a soul alive that she trusted more. And Remy, while cordial to Henri, made no secret to him that it was to Aurélie that he was loyal.

Dejected, Henri laid his head down on his pillow, which was decidedly uncomfortable owing to the books underneath it, and silently cursed. He wondered if he would ever get to see her. He wondered if he would ever get to deliver his gifts. He wondered if there was any privacy at all aboard the Mourning Reign.

That night, in an uncomfortable hammock below decks, Denner Fabellian tossed and turned. His trip to Thorneau had, all things considered, not been going well. He had never been to the plane before, but had discovered it while delving for the Corsair Spiders, the second ingredient to Syl’s poison that was in the slow, painful process of killing him. The moment he had arrived, he had collapsed into what was, if such things could be measured, his most painful convulsion yet, and he had awoken in a field hours, or perhaps days, later. He had no way of knowing which.

He had travelled in the direction of the spiders, which had eventually led him to Port Manteau and the wharf. His journey there had taken days, and waiting to find a captain willing to accept him had taken even more. In that time, he had experienced several more attacks, which seemed to be increasing both in frequency and in severity. He knew that it was only a matter of time before one of them would be too much for him to handle, and either his mind or his body would finally be destroyed. The Dual-Walkers’ vengeance was nearly at hand.

At least he had finally found a ship. When Captain Valerie had found him in the Splintered Oar, Denner had been close to desperation, and was considering desperate measures. He hated himself for even considering them. Denner was, amongst other things, an illusionist, and while he couldn’t maintain them long, they were nearly flawless in detail, owning to his pristine memory. He had not been able to hire a ship because he had nothing of the local currency. But one quick spell, cast at the right time, could have, perhaps, fooled some captain into thinking otherwise. It would have been a swindler’s trick, and one that Denner had never stooped to before, but the temptation had been very, very real.

Now, though, he had been able to barter as he always had, on the strength of his Delver’s talent. Still, as he lay there in his hammock, he had to wonder whether or not he was still cheating the crew of the Mourning Reign. What Captain Valerie had told him about the Corsair Spiders was undoubtedly the truth. They were exceedingly dangerous. Denner didn’t know how or in what way they were dangerous, as he had had no time to research them. But, if Syl had used them in her amalgamated poison, they must have been some of the deadliest in the multiverse. And if they were to kill Denner while he tried to capture one, his promise to them would indeed be broken.

As Denner was thinking this, he was struck by another attack of the poison. His left arm and chest locked up, constricting to the point where he could hardly breathe. His body shook as though his skeleton were trying to burst through his skin. His eyes clenched shut tight and a loud, painful buzzing dominated his head. As his body shook, his thrashing tipped the hammock, and he fell to the floor, landing hard on his right arm. Yet still, the pain of his impact was nothing compared to the jolts of agony shooting through his veins. It took everything Denner had to keep from screaming out, and it was beyond his ability to stay conscious.

The pain was receding when Denner awoke. He was surrounded by several of the crew, who were trying to figure out what had happened. Struggling to both breathe and speak, Denner finally managed to tell them that he was fine, but needed some air. One of the crewmates helped Denner to the hatch, and it took the Delver nearly a minute to climb out, his arms were so weak. He knew that the crew was staring at him, wonder, concern, and fear reflecting in their eyes. He didn’t blame them. It wasn’t every day they could watch a man slowly die in front of them. And despite Denner’s assurances that his illness wasn’t contagious, the crew, undoubtedly, had to wonder.

Once he had climbed back onto the main deck, Denner staggered to the ship’s railing and stared out over the sea. Slowing his breathing, Denner began to cast his thoughts outward. There was something about being on the ocean, and seeing nothing but water stretch out, as though infinitely, in every direction. It reminded him that while his problem was one of life or death, it was not the only one. And when he thought even further, reflecting how this ocean was just one in a countless sea of oceans in the Blind Eternities, his struggle to survive seemed like an infinitesimal problem, one that mattered to far fewer than most.

Strangely, Denner found this thought comforting. Denner still had hope for his survival, and he was still determined to achieve it, but intellectually, he knew his chances were slim. He had lost too much time, and there was still so much left to do. He had, with Lukas Harran’s help, tracked down a Deviltail Scorpion, the first piece of Syl’s puzzle. The Corsair Spider, if he lived through it, was the second. He still needed to find a Glide Viper, a feat which, for all he knew, was impossible, and even then, he was still left with the fourth venom, something neither he nor Lady Nasina could even guess at. In all likelihood, Denner Fabellian was a dead man.

He had accepted this. He wanted to change it, and that’s what he was fighting for, but he had accepted the probability of it. And to a point, it no longer bothered him, at least not in the way it had at first. But, as he brought his thoughts back from the great infinity of the æther, what bothered him most was the problems he would leave behind. Syl and Chardis were still out there, and Denner could find them. Lukas Harran needed help finding his Gabrielle’s soulstone, and Denner could do that. He had promises to keep, and he didn’t want death to make him into a liar.

Suddenly, Denner was determined. Turning toward the upper decks at the ship’s stern, Denner slowly and carefully made his way upward. The night helmswoman glanced at him as he appeared, nodded, yawned, and returned to her work. Denner was briefly thankful that it wasn’t Gale, who he had seemed to offend earlier in the day. Denner made for the stairs up to the poop deck, but when he was sure the helmswoman wasn’t looking, he slipped silently over to the door behind her, which led into the Navigation room.

As Denner had suspected, there was nobody in the Navigation room. When he had first boarded the ship, Captain Valerie had briefly introduced him to Camille, the ship’s navigator, and Denner remembered seeing her down in the mess as he was being helped up. In the center of the Navigation room, there was a large table affixed to the floor, and on it was a large nautical chart. Above the chart burned a lantern lit with a magical flame. Denner moved quickly over to the chart and examined it. He could sense the Corsair Spiders he had been delving for. They were not far, perhaps a day away. With effort, Denner reached over to a nearby inkpot and quill and brought it back to the chart.

A few moments later, the door to the Navigation room burst open, startling Denner. He looked up to see a very displeased Gale standing there with her hand on the door. She glanced downward and saw him, quill in hand, over the navigation charts, and she was moving instantly. Denner had only a moment to wonder how she could move that fast on a ship being pitched about in the waves when he himself could barely stand before Gale was next to him, her hand first gripping his wrist, and then twisting it painfully to the side. Denner groaned in pain as Gale looked down at what the Devler had done to their maps. She stared down for a long moment before slowly releasing his arm.

Gale’s brow furrowed as she read what Denner had written underneath a small circle he had placed on the charts. “Tower of Tears.”

She looked Denner in his downcast eyes. Denner simply nodded.

Gale straightened her stance. “I spoke with the captain after our conversation. She said you would only lead us there after you got your spiders.”

Denner swallowed air. “Yeah, well, I just thought, after my convulsion, I might not make it that long.”

She continued to stare at him. “No one can hold the dead to the bargains of the living.”

“Maybe not,” Denner said sadly. “But I’m not dead now.” He put the quill back in its place and moved around the table to start for the door.

“The captain also said you can find anything,” she said, her voice wavering a bit. “Is that true?”

Denner looked back at her. Slowly, he nodded. “It’s true.”

“How?”

Denner shrugged. “I’m not sure, really. Magic, no doubt, but I’ve never learned how to do it. I just do it. And I’ve done it all my life.”

“Can you,” Gale started, then stopped. “Will you,” she began again, only to stop again. She took a deep breath. “Can you help me find my home?”

Denner stared at her, not comprehending. “You don’t know where it is?”

Gale shook her head in a barely perceivable motion.

Denner looked around him, trying to decide how he should answer the woman. “I can’t, I mean, I don’t have time to, I mean…” He slumped his shoulders, reading the sailor’s eyes. Finally he nodded. “I can’t promise I can bring you there. It could mean my death. But I’ll give you a bearing, at least.”

Gale turned away and hung her head. “I don’t think you’ll be able to do that.”

“It’s worth a try, right?” Denner said, trying to infuse a note of hopefulness into his words. “Tell me about your home. I’ll see what I can do.”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Gale gave her head a frustrated shake, and Denner saw something close to anger flash across her eyes. “I don’t know where to start.”

Denner gave his shoulder a small shrug. “It’s not as complicated as you think it is,” he said. “The place you’re looking for, I just need to know about it. Describe it to me?”

Gale squeezed her eyes shut, and she held her arms out in front of her, closing her fingers around empty air, as though she were trying to grab hold of something which could not be held. “Describe it?” she said, throwing her head back, and shaking it in frustration. “How do you describe what it means to be home? How do you describe a feeling?”

She shook her head again, and her hair swirled around her face. Then she sighed, and, when she spoke again, her voice had taken on a faraway, almost lyrical quality.

“How do you put into words what it means to sail across an ocean so blue that sea and sky become one at the horizon, and the end of the world fades away? What it means to feel the wind running like a lover’s fingers through your hair? What it means to fill your lungs with salt air, to breathe in and smell seafoam, and silverfins, and sailcloth drying in the sun? What it means to fall asleep each night to the sound of the waves calling you home? To awaken each morning to the sound of music all around you? To feel that music fill you from within, body and soul?”

Gale’s eyes opened, and she looked at Denner. “How do you put words to that song?” she asked him.

It took Denner a moment before he could speak. “I think you already know how,” he said. He swallowed, then, and was surprised to find that his mouth was dry. “Tell me about your home?” Denner said. “Please?”

So Gale did. She told him about her home, every detail she could remember, every sensation she recalled. She told him about the waters, and the islands, and the villages and ports of call. She told him about the fishing village where she had been born, and the first port she had pulled into. She told him about the bay where she had saved a ship full of sailors who had run aground, and of the straight where her beloved cutter had been taken by raiders. She even told him of that day when she had been cursed, and cast adrift to the worlds. When she was finished, Denner nodded.

“I see. So you’re a planeswalker, then.”

Gale stared at him. “A what?”

“A planeswalker.”

She continued to stare.

“Oh,” Denner said. “Oh, no. You don’t know what a planeswalker is, do you, Gale?”

Gale shook her head.

“Is this the first plane you’ve been to?”

“What do you mean?”

Denner thought. “I mean, after the raiders took your ship, and your world seemed to fade away, did you find yourself here?”

“No,” Gale’s eyes saddened at the recollection. “I was, I was on a world…with no oceans.”

“And then what?” Denner pressed.

“And then another,” Gale said. “And another. I didn’t find any water at all until I signed on to the Autumn Crane on the Archon River.”

“The Archon River?” Denner asked. “On Wreth?”

Gale’s head snapped up at this. “How did you…” Realization dawned on her at that moment, and her eyes fell. “So you’re cursed, too, then.”

“Cursed?”

She nodded. “Like I am.”

“I’m not cursed,” Denner said, then began coughing violently, even dropping to one knee. Gale crossed the room to help him stand as the coughing fit ended. “Well, I guess you could call it that. But I’m a planeswalker too, if that’s what you mean.”

“I think it must be,” Gale said.

Denner squared up to the woman, his face serious. “Oh, Gale, if you only knew! If you only knew what was out there! Half of what’s out there! Even a small fraction! The Multiverse is infinite, Gale, and with it comes infinite possibilities. There is so much to learn, so much to see! There is so much beauty out there! The sights I could describe to you! The places I’ve been, and the people I’ve met, and every possibility you could imagine, and infinitely more than that, too! It’s everything anyone could want, Gale.”

Tears were forming in Gale’s eyes. “It’s not what I want.”

Denner Fabellian froze, his smile fading. He could see the sincerity in her eyes, hear the dirge in her voice. Once again, Denner’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Gale. I…I talk too much, I know.”

“So can you draw me a map home, Denner Fabellian?”

Denner hung his head. His mind flashed back to Anissem and the planar maps he had made for Syl and Chardis, unwittingly helping them lay ruin to an entire plane. Tears began to come to his eyes, as well. “Not one that you could read.”

Gale nodded solemnly. “That’s what I thought,” Gale said, the dejection palpable in her voice.

The sound broke Denner’s heart. “Listen, Gale, I want to help you. I swear I do! But this poison in my veins, it’s killing me. I don’t have much time left. That’s why I need a Corsair Spider. It’s part of the antidote. That’s why I don’t have time to help you, especially since you don’t know how to planeswalk already.” Denner could tell that she was fighting back more tears. “But listen, if I live, if I survive this poison and get it cured, I promise, I’ll come back for you. I can already feel your plane. I know I can get there. It’s just a matter of getting you there, and…”

Gale reached up and put her hand over Denner’s mouth, silencing him. There was something in her eyes that Denner could not quite recognize as they stared deeply into his.

“You talk too much, Denner Fabellian,” Gale said softly. Then, slowly, she pulled her hand away, leaned in, and kissed him. Caught entirely by surprise, Denner at first did nothing, but as Gale continued, Denner eventually joined in, kissing her back with as much passion as his pain would allow. After a long moment, Gale pulled away.

“You promise you’ll come back if you get cured?”

Denner nodded.

“And you’ll help me get home, if you can?”

“I promise,” Denner said.

Gale smiled at him. “Then let’s get you to those spiders of yours.”

Without another word, she moved out onto the quarterdeck and, with a quick word to the other helmswoman, Gale took her place. Denner, confused, said, “At this speed, I think we’re nearly a day away from them.”

Gale was already starting to sing, a low, soft tune. She tossed her hair back and grinned at the Delver. “I can make her faster.”

Suddenly, the winds picked up, and the sails filled. Denner felt a lurch that almost knocked him to the deck, but Gale seemed not to notice, instead singing to herself louder and louder. With a shrug, Denner looked for something to hold on to as the wind nearly doubled the speed of the Mourning Reign.

A sudden burst of speed jostled Henri out of his already light sleep. He looked around his small cabin and saw that the oil lamp was burning low, but was giving off enough light to see that Remy was fast asleep in his own bed. A glance out the porthole told Henri that it was still the middle of the night. Aurélie and Sir Ruth would both be asleep, the former in her cabin and the latter down in the mess with the crew. And, with Remy now asleep in his bunk, and facing away from the door, now was Henri’s chance.

Moving as slowly as he could possibly manage, Henri withdrew the bag of books from underneath his pillow and more slid his feet than walked to the door of the cabin. With every motion, he kept his eyes trained on Remy. Remy was a masterful spy and scout, and he was well acquainted with danger, so any movement in the room was liable to wake him, something Henri le Douce was desperate to avoid. Henri felt like he were trapped in a net as he inched his way to the door, and it seemed to taken so long he was convinced dawn would break before he arrived, but finally, he reached his goal, silently opened the door, and slipped through.

He breathed a sigh of relief, and immediately made for Elise’s door. He brought his hand up to knock and hesitated, nervous about what she might say and how she might react. Just before he went through with it, however, he heard a fabricated cough from behind him.

“Ahem.” Henri winced, and slowly turned around. There, staring impassively at him, was Captain Valerie. “Looking for something, Monsieur le Douce?”

Henri hung his head. “I suppose you’re going to stop me now, is that it?”

“Stop you?” Valerie said, laughing slightly and taking a step closer. “This is my ship. I’ll stop you whenever I want to.” She paused, looking around to each side. Then, she smiled. “But mostly, I’ve just been wondering what the hell’s taken you so long.”

She grinned and gave him two gentle, matronizing slaps on the cheek. Then she turned toward her cabin. “Carry on, Monsieur le Douce.”

And with that, she disappeared, and Henri was finally able to exhale. He turned around again and, not wanting to risk any further intrusions, knocked on Elise’s door. A few moments later, he heard her voice from the other side.

“Yes?”

“Elise, it’s Henri. May I come in?” Henri said through the door in a low whisper.

“Pardon?”

Henri looked around, concerned, but spoke again, louder this time. “Elise, it’s Henri. May I enter?”

Another long pause stopped Henri’s pulse a second time before the door opened and a pale hand beckoned Henri inside. As he came face to face with Elise, he smiled warmly at her, and she at him. She stepped to the center of her cabin and signaled for Henri to take a seat on a chair there. Henri noticed in surprise that, unlike his last visit to the mage, she had a second chair. Elise seemed to note his surprise, and smiled wider at him. “I asked Captain Valerie if I could trouble her for a second chair. To receive guests. The good captain said she had one that she did not need, and had it brought here. Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Henri said, taking the new seat as Elise sat down in hers, smoothing out her gray robe with both hands as she did.

“I must say, Henri, you have chosen quite a late hour to pay a visit. I cannot help but wonder what Sir Ruth would say if she knew.”

Without thinking, Henri glanced back toward the door, and was relieved to find it shut. Elise laughed a small laugh. “I have asked Sir Ruth to knock and await my say before entering.”

“That’s good,” Henri said nervously, remembering when Sir Ruth had nearly pushed him down with the door just before Lucienne’s visit. Suddenly remembering his purpose, Henri refocused on Elise, who seemed to be doing her level best not to stare at him. “I wanted to, that is, I went into port this morning, and, well, I mean…”

“Yes?” Elise prompted.

Henri took a deep breath. “I got you something. A present.”

“A present?” Elise breathed. “Monsieur le Douce, you shouldn’t have! I mean, I should be the one, well, I mean…”

Henri lifted up the bag of books and handed them to Elise. “I remember you saying once that you loved to read. And I thought that you probably didn’t have anything to pass the time while aboard, so I…”

“You bought me books?” Elise said, her eyes wide. “I cannot believe this. Henri, thank you so much!” Henri smiled as Elise pulled the books out and began looking through the titles, holding them close to her face and squinting in the poor light. “Sir Hermine of Tache, The Regent’s Tale…”

“I asked for the shopkeep’s best sellers. I hope you like them.”

“Oh, I do, Henri, I do! Thank you, I…” Elise let out a startled gasp as she held up the next book.

“What?” Henri asked, concerned. “What is it?”

Elise’s pale face transformed from a look of bewilderment to one of pure excitement. “It’s The Lambs and the Lilies! I have been looking forward to this for over a year!”

Before either of them had realized what was happening, Elise was on her feet and embracing Henri, pulling him to a standing position as well. Henri hesitated, not knowing if Elise had healed from her sunburn yet, but when she made no move to stop him, he wrapped his arms around her, as well. Henri closed his eyes and grinned.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I have been waiting so long for his latest work,” Elise said, then laughed slightly. “I know it sounds silly, but I think I must be Foraine’s biggest fan of Raiker Venn.”

Henri’s eyes shot open instantly and his grin faded. Raiker Venn was a name that Henri would have been perfectly happy to never hear again in his life. It was the poet’s doing that had put Henri on the path he currently walked, and cursed him both with the gift of voice he had asked for and the plague of prophetic dreams that he didn’t. It was Henri’s desperate desire to speak to Raiker and fix everything that had led him to the Baroness’s Masquerade, and had led to the war the revolutionaries were currently fighting. It had even been Raiker’s poems about Henri himself that had spread Vocal Henri’s infamy across Foraine. Raiker had, in Henri’s mind, started everything, and now, the woman who held him in her arms claimed to be his biggest fan.

Before Henri could say anything, Elise pulled away, clutching the book tightly. “Let me read you one, Henri, as a thank you for your amazing gift!”

She opened up the book to its first poem, scanned the lines quickly, and started to read in the dim light of her oil lamp:

Elise sighed once. “Isn’t it beautiful, Henri?”

Henri said nothing, too stunned to manage speech. Elise, taking his silence for awe at the poem, nodded, and took a step closer.

“Henri,” she said, slightly biting her lower lip. “Thank you.” She leaned into him again, one hand clutching the book, and one coming to rest on Henri’s chest. Without a warning, she moved in and kissed Henri. She stayed there for only a few seconds before pulling away, looking down and to her left. “I am sorry, Henri. I should not have taken advantage of you like that.”

“What?” Henri said, then shook his head. “No, Elise. Thank you. I’m very pleased,” he paused, smiling in spite of himself, “that you like the books.”

They stood there for a long moment until, finally, Henri turned back toward the door. “I should go,” he said. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think anything.”

“Of course,” Elise said, smiling slightly. As Henri was reaching for the door handle, he heard Elise’s voice like a ghost from behind him. “You will visit again?”

Henri looked back at her and smiled, his face flushing slightly. “Of course,” he said, and then left as silently as he could. His smile vanished as soon as he closed the door behind him. He returned immediately to his room, no longer caring if he woke Remy or not. He moved to his bed, fluffed up his pillow once, and laid down. He couldn’t stop thinking about Elise, which was only natural. The problem was he also couldn’t stop thinking about Raiker Venn, his poem, and just what sort of an influence he had over the Mourning Reign.

It was less than an hour after dawn when the cry came up from Pierrick in the crow’s nest that he had spotted a colony of Corsair Spiders directly in front of them. Captain Valerie ordered the crew to drop anchor a safe distance away, and she, Denner, Aurélie, Josette, and Gale met at the ship’s wheel to discuss the plan. The morning was cool and overcast, but the wind which had pushed them hard throughout the night had died down to a gentle breeze.

As they were gathering, Denner studied the Corsair Spiders through a spyglass Captain Valerie had allowed him to use. They were a fascinating species. Their colony was actually a massive pontoon of webbing, nearly as wide as the Mourning Reign was. Through the spyglass, Denner could see the Corsair spiders moving all around the strange structure, crawling along the top and sides, and even descending down into the center. The spiders themselves ranged in color from white to silver, and seemed to be about the size of Denner’s hand, although it was difficult to judge accurately from this distance.

As Denner was watching them, he noticed a small spout of water just beside the web pontoon, and then a flurry of movement as the largest of the spiders moved in that direction. Several of the spiders leapt off the structure and onto the water, walking over it as though it were solid ground. Others dove beneath the waves and disappeared for a few seconds. A few moments later, a large fish breached the surface, thrashing and bleeding. The spiders on the surface dug their forelimbs into the struggling creature and, with surprising ease, hauled it up and into their webbed vessel, where it was swarmed by Corsair Spiders.

Denner chose to stop watching at that point.

When he looked back at the women on deck, they were all four staring at him. Captain Valerie indicated toward the colony. “I’m not bringing this ship any closer to those things than this. Corsair Spiders can scale a ship this size in a few seconds, and their venom is excruciating, sometimes deadly. And they attack in swarms.”

Denner gulped. “I see that.”

“If you’re bent on going through with this,” Valerie continued, “use that boat.” She pointed to one of the rowboats kept on the main deck. Denner took a deep breath. “But I still think this is going to kill you.”

Denner nodded. “I know. But I’m dead if I don’t.”

“Captain,” Gale said suddenly. “I’d like to go with him.”

“What?” Valerie said, disbelieving.

“That’s not a good idea, Gale,” Denner said.

“Neither is you going alone,” she warned, then turned to Valerie. “Captain, I have more experience in a boat than anyone here. I can keep him alive long enough to come back, so that you can receive your payment.”

Valerie seemed to consider this. While she did, Denner shook his head. “There’s no sense in you risking your life, too. If I don’t get a Corsair Spider, I die, but you’ll still live.”

“I want to see you fulfill your promises, Denner Fabellian.”

Denner shot her a look. “But that doesn’t mean…”

“What if you have another convulsion,” Gale interrupted, “like you did below decks last night? Without anyone else there, you’ll be helpless.”

Denner had no answer for this, and Captain Valerie nodded. “I don’t like this, any of it, one bit. But, if you’re volunteering…”

Gale nodded once. “I am, Captain.”

Valerie glanced over at Josette. “Very well. Have the crew make ready. And if any of them have any last words for these two, let them know they have little time left to say them.” She looked pointedly back at Gale and Denner before walking away.

Aurélie squared up to Denner. “You’d better come back.”

Denner smiled faintly. “You’ll get your tower,” he said, then glanced at Gale. “I promise.”

Almost before Denner knew what was happening, he, Gale, and the rowboat were being lowered into the water. Gale took up the oars, and Denner took a seat at the front, where he could see the spiders coming. The plan, or at least the hope, was to get just close enough for one of the spiders to come and investigate, and then back away while Denner trapped it with the ætherweb trap Lady Nasina had given him. Both of them knew how unlikely their plan was to actually work, so Gale had several knives on her, as well. Denner hoped it would be enough.

The skies were beginning to darken with the first signs of a coming storm when the spiders seemed to become aware of Denner and Gale. Once Denner spotted the first one begin to move in their direction, he signaled to Gale and she reversed their direction, rowing backwards to try to keep some distance between them and the colony. Unfortunately, as soon as she did, the spider that had been coming for them stopped and skittered back to the web pontoon. Denner looked back at Gale, who shrugged, and started to close the distance once again.

This time, two spiders came at them, and Gale backed off again, slower this time, hoping to keep one interested but lose the other. Both of them retreated. Denner and Gale each sighed, and again Gale moved closer. This time, the spiders seemed to ignore them, even as they got closer than they had either time before. Denner strained to see any movement on the water towards them, but the spiders seemed perfectly content to let the rowboat do as it will. Denner glanced back at Gale, who just shook her head. He looked back, but the pontoon was as it always had been.

Gale sighed. “This isn’t working.” Denner looked back at her just as she seemed to make up her mind. “I’m going in.”

“What?” Denner said, shocked. “You can’t do that!”

“They’re not biting. We need bait. And between the two of us, I’m the better swimmer.”

“You’ve never seen me swim,” Denner said.

“Your point?” Gale asked as she peeled off her shirt.

“This is insane.”

“Denner Fabellian, do you need to catch a spider, or not?” she asked him, as she was tying her hair back in a knot. She gave him a straight look before standing up in the small boat. “Because, if you do, then this is our best chance. I can get much closer in the water than I can in the boat, and I can swim faster than I can row.”

“Getting any closer would be suicide,” Denner said, looking around him as if to find something he could use to convince her. “You’ve seen how fast the spiders can move.”

“I will grant you that they’re fast,” Gale says. “But I’m faster.”

Without another word, Gale dove into the sea while Denner watched, shocked and afraid. She disappeared almost instantly beneath the waves, and Denner, not knowing what else to do, fished one of the spheres of ætherweb out of his pocket, hoping he could be fast enough if the Corsair Spiders came after Gale. The spiders atop the pontoon gave no indication of noticing anything was happening, and Denner started to get worried. It seemed like Gale had been under water for far too long.

A sudden noise from behind him startled Denner as, in a single motion, Gale breached the surface of the water and vaulted back into the boat, landing in a crouch. Denner stared at her in awe as the ocean water cascaded down her marked body. Gale smirked at him.

“I think I got their attention.”

Denner turned back to look at the Corsair Spider colony, but the spiders still hadn’t changed their behavior or made any further attempt to approach the rowboat. Denner shook his head. “I still don’t see…”

“Denner!” Gale yelled suddenly.

Looking back to see what Gale was yelling about, Denner spotted movement to his right. A large, white shape had crawled out from under the water and was mere inches from his hand. Before he could react or even withdraw his hand, steel flashed as a knife impaled the Corsair spider against the side of the boat. Denner panicked and scrambled backwards, tripping over the rowboat’s seat and falling hard. Gale, conversely, leapt up to stand over him, two more knives in her hand, and pinned two more spiders to the wood, one on each side.

The spiders were swarming them from underneath, and they just kept coming. Gale killed them as quickly as she could, but there were too many of them, and they were in danger of being overrun completely. Though dazed from his fall, Denner reached upward and grab the oars, and managed a few strokes to push the boat backwards and hopefully out of the spiders’ range of interest. Before he could make much progress, though, one of the Corsair Spiders, a smaller one, scaled the oar in Denner’s right hand, and would have succeeded in biting him had Gale not flicked it away with a quick slash.

Desperately, Denner gathered his mana and summoned two illusions, hoping against his luck that the Corsair Spiders could be fooled by such things. The first illusion was to make himself and Gale vanish by projecting an illusion of an empty boat on and around them. The second was for an illusionary Gale to jump into the sea, following the precise movements she had made a few moments before. At first, the illusion served to confuse Gale more than the spiders, but after a moment or two, the Corsair Spiders began to disperse, paying no more attention to either Denner or Gale. Almost as one, both breathed a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, Gale was moving, throwing her weight down atop Denner. When she was in a seated position on his stomach, a knife flashed in her right hand. She brought it down instantly toward Denner’s face, and he cringed and closed his eyes, then felt a small spray of liquid on his cheek. A moment later, he opened his eyes and looked to his left to see a Corsair Spider no more than a finger’s breadth away from him, its head impaled by Gale’s blade. Denner forced himself to sit up as much as he could with Gale sitting on him, and saw another blur of movement. Without thinking, he threw the sphere of ætherweb silk, striking a large Corsair Spider that was poised to bite Gale’s bare foot.

Even before the silk had fully enveloped the captured spider, Gale had grabbed the oars and was rowing like mad away from the spider swarm. They were more than halfway back to the ship before Gale finally slowed down and shifted her weight off of Denner. She quickly checked the sides of the rowboat, but there were no more spiders crawling around. The rest must have returned to the web pontoon to wait for easier prey. Denner pulled himself up and sat across from Gale, who was staring at him intently.

“You saved my life.”

Denner scoffed. “You saved mine a lot more.”

Gale shrugged. “You can owe me. Get me home and we’ll call it even.”

Denner looked down at the Corsair Spider wrapped in Lady Nasina’s ætherweb. “I have a long way to go before that,” he warned her, then looked back up at her. “And there is no guarantee that I’ll live that long. But if I do, if I get my cure, I’ll come back for you, and we’ll find your home. I promise.”

Gale nodded. “Then you’d better get going.” She glanced up at the ship. “Don’t forget about me, alright?”

“I can’t forget anything,” Denner said. “But even if I could, I could never forget you.”

Then Denner laid a hand on the spider beside him, closed his eyes, and vanished. Gale closed her eyes too, and she hoped he would keep his promise. She hoped he could. As she rowed the rest of the way to the ship, she started to sing a song she hadn’t heard since she had been torn from her world. The skies darkened further as the wind and the waves moved to join her song. Then she wished Denner luck as she craned her neck upward to bathe in the first drops of the morning rain.