Kendath was taken off guard but was hardly surprised. He'd seen worse. Meiltha mages were notorious for bartering away their own souls in pursuit of power. But there was something about the way Garthag said it - his perfect calm, devoid of remorse. This man, if he could be called a man, would commit the same crime ten times over if only for his own assets.

To his surprise, Kendath didn't feel repulsion. He didn't even feel fear, yet fear of Garthag was perfectly along the lines of gumption. He felt... a tug. Pity? No, it wasn't his business to pity anyone. Empathy? A grain of that, perhaps, though as he'd told Demon that lifetime ago, he'd never desired power.

Remorse.

It was as though, viewing Garthag in that frigid light, he felt the pangs from his crimes, his apathy. When he met the mage's gaze again, he saw nothing. A void, empty of humanity, repelling even the soft candlelight. He shifted his attention, watching the blood drip from Garthag's finger with a kind of detached contemplation.

"There is more than one kind of power," he said quietly, marveling at his own words as they left his mouth. "In a sense, Merrin has more power than you will ever know." With a shrug he let himself drop back onto the pallet. The candle was burning itself out, casting Garthag's face in shadow. But in his mind's eye, he could already see the derision, perhaps the cold amusement, etched there.

No doubt Garthag took him for a fool. And, to be honest, Kendath could almost agree.

_________________

Even after the door had shut behind Garthag Merrin stood in the hallway, her hand still poised on the doorknob, expression bemused. The mage's entire perspective, the way he viewed life as a whole, was so completely alien to her that she struggled to even grasp what he was saying.

Going in slowly and closing her own door, Merrin leaned against it in the dark for a moment, listening to rain patter gently against the roof. It was hard to even recall what Garthag had said when her mind was still awhirl from the urge to abandon reserve entirely, to stop caring what others thought and what her responsibilities were, and in firelit revelry manage to finally step past what seemed an invisible boundary. She couldn't suppress a tingle, a shiver not brought on entirely by the dark coolness of the room, when she thought of how close the words had been to leaving her lips. I love you. How easy it would have been...how easy...

Somehow she could envision his response not being a cold withdrawal, now. Envisioning that, what might or could or would have happened, made her smile - a touch wistfully - to herself, and reach for an unlit candle to stop her own fancies replaying themselves in the dark room. Then she did recall Garthag's words, and sat down on the cot provided to cradle the sliver of flame in her hands and try to puzzle them out.

You don't like seeing each other hurt. You both are such idiots that you would die for one another when... the words faded in Merrin's mind. She realized with a start that she would die for Kendath, even happily - but he would do the same? Somehow, in all their journeys, she'd always thought that his interest was for himself, never for her. You and Kendath...hah. Those words did make her cringe, make her doubt herself again. She was - what? A girl, a peasant girl, with no power or prestige or beauty to speak of. And yet she was the gods' Chosen. The two seemed so curiously incongruent that Merrin grappled inwardly with the puzzle of it, distracted from the mage's cold words.

She set the candle down and rose, pushing the wooden shutters on the windows outward with a squeak of hinges. Black water rolled in the harbour, patterned by raindrops. Absently she breathed in cool rain-scented, salty air. What was Kendath, if she was a puzzle? He had been a Meiltha. A Meiltha assassin, a dragonrider bent on destroying everything she stood for. What was he now? Renegade?

Again incongruity stood out in stark relief. Kendath was not a Renegade, not in the same way she was.

Is anyone? Merrin surprised herself with the question. Strangely, she thought the answer was no. She couldn't think of a single name, a single Renegade who believed in the gods the way she did.

So. A peasant girl, christened the Chosen of the Gods, and an assassin-turned - an assassin-turned-what?

That only presented another puzzle. Merrin abandoned them both and stretched a hand out into the rain, drops caressing her fingers. Oh and you know when this is over we are enemies, I am curious to see who dies, whether the gods will allow you to push your luck that far...

Suddenly the rain was cold rather than pleasantly cool. The whole premise seemed ridiculous. Garthag thought her and Kendath fools and neither of them, she was sure, could be said to have any particular affection for him. He could kill them as easily as breathing as soon as he no longer required their assistance in his own personal vendetta. Why? Why would he join them, why would they tolerate his presence? Was every night they slept risking that they would never awaken, risking that Garthag would decide he needed them no more and leave with a dagger in her and Kendath's backs?

Hastily Merrin pulled the shutters to, rubbing her hand dry on her breeches. It was a moment until she realized the candle had gone out.

This time she groped hastily to light it, almost frightened of the darkness. Again, incongruity. How could she have been so irrationally happy down in that firelit common room, happy to feel the tingle that rushed throgh her at Kendath's touch, and then come upstairs to find a cold-eyed mage waiting to tell her she only lived because he needed to use her?

Merrin kicked off her boots and burrowed under the blankets without bothering to touch the washstand. Aye, it seemed ridiculous for them to continue with Garthag. Tomorrow she'd talk to Kendath. Perhaps the voyage down to Baste could be made without the mage's company. Merrin yawned and drifted off, even thoughts of betrayal fading beside pleasant dreams of the warm common rooms of inns and Kendath's arms around her.

But she never did blow out the candle.

_________________

Garthag answered with an amused chuckle between his teeth before taking a deep breath and striking the dagger tip into the window board. The bleeding in his fingers continued as minor as it was, it formed a small strain of blood going along Garthag`s finger. He did not even care to wipe the blood off, but let it flow as it pleased.

"You mean being `chosen of the gods`? More like a puppet of the gods, the gods certainly have immense powers, but they hardly even lift a finger to show it and when they do it comes in the form of luck. That is what she has, luck and luck tends to run out..."

Garthag said with an ice cold tone before noticing the bleeding and wiping his hand against the wall leaving a small stain of blood going along the wall. Garthag hmhed before staring out of the window, this time his eyes were concentrated and sharp, ready to cut.

"Whatever happened to your other, more darker, scalier side Kendath? And I do not mean you being a Meiltha, I was referring to Demon, that lizard would sure prove useful at a time like this..."

Garthag said openly showing his disappointment at the fact that Demon wasn`t there and his apparent, slight acceptance of the dragon who had seemed to have at least a mindset more like Garthag`s.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

"How am I supposed to know?" Kendath retorted with a trace of anger that dissipated as quickly as it'd exploded. By dint of blanking his mind, he managed to shrug off the reference to Demon. His first dragon had voluntarily abandoned him - letting his mind wander down that road now would lead to nothing but another pit of emptiness.

He dropped his head against the wall behind him and extracted another dagger, which he turned over and over between his hands, admiring the interplay of candlelight and shadows on its cruel blade. Once he thought he glimpsed a flash of crimson, reflected on gleaming steel, though he knew it to be immanent. Whether it traced to the blood on the wall or Demon's crimson eye, he didn't know.

He smirked. "Chosen of the gods? No, that's not the kind of power I meant. You still don't get it, Garthag, and I'm not sure you ever will."

_________________

"Dear gods..."

Garthag suddenly said with pretentiously disgusted and rejecting tone, bu his eyes showed clear frustration towards Kendath of whom he had expected more, but Kendath had failed him even it this matter. Apparently even he should be reminded of the battle ahead and the fact that emotions had to be discarded for the common good.

"Why does that sound like you are saying that only because you care for her? Actually as I mentioned earlier, we had a chat and it was... hah... About you two... or well I only said to her why she should keep everything locked up so to speak...

Apparently you must reminded as well, in the battle ahead I`d better not have you two dying to protect one another because if you do that will be the doom of us all. That is why I discard emotions as a weakness... you two would die for one another I can tell, you would do it probably anyway, but that disgusting way you look at each others... that is my greatest concern, I won`t have my life thrown away just because of what you two idiots have feel towards each others."

Garthag explained with a slightly angered and frustrated tone, he even expressed his disgust in the form of a hissing breath that came between his teeth.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

Kendath didn't dignify this with an answer or a glance in Garthag's direction. Anger wasn't a feeling he lacked either. Why had he been so asinine as to believe that Garthag could possibly understand, might even take his implications seriously? The mage's tone - the disdain, the seething undercurrent of anger - reminded him all too clearly of a stereotypical Meiltha potentate of the Bloodstone Council. He talked as if their quest was more important to him than anyone else, as if he had the rest of them ground under his heel, yet who was it that'd come crawling to them in the desert, dropping the Cloud Crystal at their feet?

"Good night," he said brusquely, leaning over to blow out the candle. Plunged into darkness, he lay on the pallet and stared at the ceiling, listening to his heart hammer in his ears - a throb vehemently nonsynchronous to the beating of rain on the shutters. He ran over their exchange in his mind and promptly came to the conclusion - what was wrong with him? Where was all the cold pragmatism he'd always prided himself on? He'd sounded like some sniveling halfwit, with his heart on his sleeve and litanies of faith on his tongue.

The realization struck him like a dousing of cold water. He'd sounded like his father. And everything he'd said - every word of it - he found himself yearning to believe.

Garthag was right, *beep* him! Yes, Kendath would die for Merrin. Yes, it would likely be their downfall. For him, Merrin held more power than Garthag ever would. At the yoke of his existence he came crawling to her, everyday, abasing himself before the lantern she held just beyond his reach. She could warm him at will, destroy him at will. The shadow of himself with which he'd wrestled so vengefully sneered at him and called him slave. But a brighter side of him knew better.

The lantern was not beyond his reach. He was simply afraid to jump high enough, for fear of the fall if he didn't catch it.

And Garthag? The mage had proven himself beyond trust. First opportunity he received, he would ensure some form of leverage. If the mage thought he could manipulate them at leisure and discard them like offal, he could think again. Letting Garthag come with them through the portal was their first mistake. Against one as wily as him, leverage was difficult to obtain.

Kendath recalled the scorn, dripping like venom, in Garthag's voice and knew he hadn't impressed anyone there. That made two on the list, right after Demon. During the course of one foolish conversation, he'd likely changed Garthag's mind about his own usefulness. The mage could be plotting his next kill then and there, though it wouldn't occur for a while yet. For Kendath to drop dead in the night would arouse some suspicions. Whether or not the undistinguished assassin had exhausted his service, Garthag still needed the Chosen of the Gods.

Yet Kendath still found himself wide awake, faculties attuned, fingers drumming the hilt of his falchion. He suspected he would remain that way for hours to come.

-----

Ship sails billowed against a veil of overcast gray as the vessels pulled into Port Dragonhelm's deepwater harbor. Their colors flew Renegade, Meiltha, or any merchant's company in between - and while physical violence was outlawed, the captains were allowed to shout unfriendly comments back and forth. The result was that any innocent five year old wandering around the quay would go home with a markedly extended vocabulary. Not in a positive sense.

Despite it all, Port Dragonhelm's commerce had stepped up a few notches since the lovely days of two thousand years ago. For underneath the bustle was an undercurrent of order, courtesy of the watch towers. The ships pulled in without dallying. The workers unloaded in a timely fashion. Any mariner caught idly standing around and picking his nose was instantly marched to the magistrate's office, located a convenient one street away.

There hadn't been idle palaver since the meeting in the common room at daybreak, from which the threesome had marched straight to the quay for fear of missing their ship. An interrogation of the first person they came by - a runner boy who squeaked at the sight of weapons - revealed that Captain Greydon's vessel, Albatross, wasn't scheduled to dock for another half hour. They were forced to settle near the warehouses to wait.

"How much do you think this is worth?" Kendath asked, pulling out the jeweled music box and handing it to Merrin. He'd never liked unicorns, especially ones with sapphires shoved in their rear ends, but with any luck, grizzled old ship captains would.

_________________

Merrin took it with some interest, running her fingertips over gold inlaid with multicolored stones, particularly a row of brilliant emeralds around the base. Curious, she flicked it open. A tune trilled while the unicorn rotated on a miniature turntable, and Merrin looked in some surprise at the profusion of tiny gems decorating the underlid. Experimentally, she touched the tiny key to wind it up - more out of curiousity than that she actually knew what she was doing - and handed it back with a grin and a shrug. "Enough, I think."

There was a chill in the air, along with the powerful scent of salt and tar and wet wood and hemp, that made Merrin glad to be able to pull her cloak around her while they waited. The water in the harbour, opaque and grey-green, was choppy under the many keels of a surprising variation of ships. There were broad merchants' vessels, built primarily for cargo space rather than speed, and sleekly streamlined ones so trim that Merrin almost thought they could have flown down the coast. Most were either docking in Port Dragonhelm or continuing down to Baste, but one or two looked outfitted for open sea and Merrin spotted a steady stream of ships, uniformly flying Meiltha colors, filtering out of the harbour northwards.

Eventually, judging by her mounting sense of impatience, Merrin thought a half hour had probably elapsed. She scanned the ships docking, squinting to make out the names painted or embossed on their hulls. Deliverence - a stout navy ship which looked as though it might collapse if it tried to fly any more rampantly Renegade colors - was at the far end of the bay, followed by several others of varying name and profession. Devil's Thunder was so obviously Meiltha by name that one hardly needed to glance up at the flag flying from its mainmast; the next few following it seemed to shrink, hesitant to proclaim their Renegade identity too clearly. Sunswatch imbued the littler vessels around it with a touch more courage, and down the line past several small fishing boats was what looked to be a freshly painted Albatross. Merrin tugged at Kendath's sleeve and pointed. "That's it there, the one just docking."

_________________

Kendath snapped to and squinted where Merrin was pointing. He could just make out white sails and the figurehead of... a duck? How very unique. The ship pulled in right after Sunswatch and would have cast a shadow on the smaller ship but for the overcast sky. It dropped anchor right next to the jetty, forcing them to push their way back down the length of the quay.

Foul moods and short breaths were high by the time they reached it. Albatross, a four-masted carrack flying the colors of a merchant trading company, towered over Sunswatch and its fellow caravels. Workers were already hauling crates down its lowered gangplank. Kendath stood on his toes and spotted the captain, a burly man sporting a plumed tricorne, conversing with a Port Dragonhelm official right next to the gangplank. Dodging the line of disgruntled workers, Kendath sidled over to eavesdrop.

"...weren't aware it?"

"I've been docking here for ten years, sir, and have paid this tax for as many years." Captain Greydon's speech, however angry, was measured, cultured. He tugged at his hoary beard.

"An influx of commerce means a raise in taxes, captain. Surely you must be aware of that," came the dispassionate response.

A muscle twitched in Greydon's jaw, but he stifled an outburst. "Business hasn't been sailing well. But I shall try. Give me three days." A stiff promise, and even he couldn't veil his doubt.

The official took a while imbibing this. At length he returned quietly, "Very well. Three days. If not by then, the magistrate will have your fortune. And your family." He turned heel without another word.

Kendath seized the opportunity to approach. "Captain?"

Greydon hastily regained his composure and turned. "Can I help you?" he asked gruffly, though judging by his tone, he'd rather not. He wasn't as old as he'd first appeared either. His face was lined and his beard and hair streaked with premature gray, but a twinkle in his eye bespoke of youth.

_________________

Merrin managed to squeeze through the press of sailors hauling crates and dock laborers and general mayhem in time to see the back of the departing official, and hear Kendath's words and Greydon's reply. "Aye," she said breathlessly, unaware of the undoubtedly tense interaction that had taken place a moment before. "Aye, we need passage down the coast to Baste."

Kendath's allegience was unclear, but by Merrin's silver cloak and its sunburst clasp she was quite obviously Renegade, and dragonrider at that. Even without them, she had the fortunate attribute of being somewhat endearing due to youth and innocence. Nonetheless, Greydon looked on the point of refusing.

"I hadn't much intention of taking on passengers, Mistress Dragonrider. The - " he'd begun speaking in what seemed a rather distracted tone, but now turned away entirely as a shout arose. There was a crate being lowered precariously by three corners off the port side of Albatross, threatening to tip and land heavily on the dock below. Pausing only to hold up a finger indicating that they should wait - and that seemed reluctant - Captain Greydon was off in a moment to bellow instructions up at the crewmen lowering cargo.

Merrin shot Kendath a questioning look. "Didn't the innkeeper say - ?"

_________________

But Kendath was already gone, sprinting up the gangplank. He knocked over a few crates, knocked over a few workers who wasted no time to turn around and swear at him, and was nearly knocked over himself before he caught up with Greydon on the ship's deck and placed a hand on the captain's shoulder. "We've got payment," he said, shoving forth the music box.

Greydon scowled and took the music box. A second later, the bulge of his eyes rivaled marbles as he imbibed the brilliant gems and the intricately carved unicorn. He remembered his slack jaw soon enough to maintain his composure. "Do you have any idea how much this is worth?"

"A bit." A pause. "No, not really."

"This... for a passage down the coast?"

Kendath flashed back on Amarinth's shameless wealth. He looked at the music box, a masterpiece fit to lower the self-esteem of any inferior artisan, and was beginning to have second thoughts. "Eh... hold on." He snatched back his bartering chip and turned smack into Merrin, who'd followed him up the gangplank with considerably more grace. He pulled Merrin down the deck a few steps, out of earshot, and pitched his voice low. "The captain's low on funds, apparently. This music box... well, you heard him. What do you think?"

_________________

"If it gets us to Baste," said Merrin, glancing once out at the profusion of colors flown in the bewilderingly full harbour, "that's what we need, isn't it? We haven't any other means of paying him." For a moment she had visions of arriving in Baste with no money for horses and very little for provisions, and regretted suddenly that she hadn't thought to bring some trifling object of value from Amarinth. It lasted only until she realized it and smothered the thought. The gods had provided her with what she needed so far - there was no reason they could not continue to do so.

"Better than those," she added, indicating the many Meiltha vessels obviously intending to voyage down to the next major port as well. Better to pay more than they needed than to end up, for lack of other options, on one of those. Realizing she'd fallen silent, Merrin turned back to Kendath and the music box, gold and various gems glittering in his hand, nodding. "Aye, give it to him. We'll worry about getting to Thyrault once we've made it to Baste."

_________________

The sea, I have never actually seen the sea before, the only body of water I have ever seen have been the small frozen lakes of north. Seems quite vast...

Garthag thought with a rather amused face as he stared out to the sea, some feet away from where Merrin and Kendath were bartering with the captain. Garthag, wearing his snow white robe stood out like a ship on the sea and he did not seem to belong to this place at all. No matter he might have tried, with those clothes on he could have never blended into the crowd, probably even amongst mages he would stand out. Garthag scratched his neck with a bothered face as he gazed towards his `companions`, who he had almost sworn to kill right after this excruciatingly annoying journey.

Yet truth be told not even Garthag, a sharp thinker and a realist could fool himself anymore from some facts. Despite the bond that she shared with Kendath, which could be counted as a weakness, even Garthag realized Merrin actually had strengths that a quick overlook did not reveal. Looking back, it seemed to stand out in a terribly frightening way, she was determined to finish what she had begun. Or well she had never begun the war or any horrible things, but she wanted to bring it to an end. No doubt should she succeed in saving the dragons and renegades then she would be greeted as a hero alongside with Kendath. Fame? They hardly wanted it, but that would be what they would receive should they succeed, they could bask in fame and glory all they wanted with each others in the future, were they successful. What could Garthag have to do after the shadowers were defeated? Kill the two *beep*, regain the north, build an empire, enslave dragons.... all that sounded so hollow and distant to a man who had not that much power in his grasp.

Something did place itself as the only important thing to him, one that he wanted, one that was rightfully his. His brotherhood, the skyseekers all tough he had never known that at first until this whole charade began. The Crystals were rightfully their to begin with, reacquiring them might restore some of his brothers honor. Despite the internal struggle between them, they had always been a united group, killing each others had been rare and the only way to rise up the ladder was to defeat the one standing higher than you. These duels for power ended when one could not fight anymore, killing was highly discouraged due to the fact that no one wanted to lose a resource. Yet now they were gone, traveling to the past had not changed their fates and his two companions never realized his real motive, perhaps because he only mentioned it once.

Vengeance

Garthag drew power from that word, knowing that soon he would be face to face with that *beep* lich and he would make the rotting corpse to pay for what it had done. Garthag walked calmly behind Merrin, he gazed at the three in turn and raised an eyebrow.

"I hope we have a transport?"

He asked as it seemed that deal had been reached.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

Twenty minutes later, Kendath found himself aboard the Albatross, leaning against the rail and listening to the bustle of commerce in the quay. Waves lapped against the ship's hull as it bobbed in the harbor, waiting for the rest of its cargo to load. A single shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds and set the sea to a blaze of glittering azure. He shifted his gaze to the quarterdeck, where Captain Greydon, who'd handed over the music box to the magistrate, was joyfully embracing his wife and three children.

Garthag was standing beneath the quarterdeck, and Merrin a little ways off, perhaps avoiding the mage. Kendath's glance darted between the two. His eyes narrowed.

He strode across the deck, circumventing the crew members busily preparing to set sail. "We need to talk," he said by way of greeting, grabbing Merrin's shoulder and steering her toward's the ship's prow. Garthag was well out of earshot, but Kendath pitched his voice low anyway. "Do you think it's too late to... kick a passenger off?"

_________________

Merrin twisted to look at Garthag where he stood, startled by Kendath's apparent reading of her mind. "What did he say to you last night?" she queried, voice likewise pitched to an undertone. "He told me -"

She stopped. Garthag had told her quite a few things, several of which she was not inclined to share. "Ah...he told me he wasn't on our side." Had that been obvious? Perhaps Kendath had already known? Merrin unconsciously bit her lip, unsure quite what to say. "He told me, I think," she started carefully, "that the only reason we're still alive is because he needs us." Except he hadn't said that, had he? She grimaced and forced the words out in a rush. "The only reason I'm still alive. Kendath - he doesn't need you, does he? What if - what if he -" curse it, she didn't know what to say! After a moment of groping she looked up at him helplessly. "No. Not too late to lose a passenger, not at all."

Her own muddled thoughts made her realize that she was hardly worried about herself at all. Garthag could easily kill Kendath and force her into submitting to whatever he needed her for, but the latter barely crossed her mind for a moment, what with the overwhelming anxiety she felt for the black-cloaked assassin opposite. Even the slightest possibility of him being in danger was enough for her to willfully cast off Garthag at the earliest possible point. Not that she wouldn't have before.

_________________

"Great," Kendath said briskly. "I'll go talk to Captain - " He half turned around, and his heart sank.

Captain mentioned was shouting orders. The crew dashed to the four winds, unfurling the sails, raising the gangplank. The sails dropped with a resounding thud and filled with wind. Albatross pitched forward into the waves, and Kendath pitched forward with it. He righted himself, cautiously took a few steps, broke into a run, and hurtled himself into the mainmast as the ship rocked again. A few mariners took the time to stop and snigger. They regretted it an instant later at his glare.

Presently he managed to find a center of balance on the rocking ship, and broke into another - slightly more graceful - run for the quarterdeck. Captain Greydon, feet wide and braced at the helm, saw him coming. "Avast there, sir! How can I help you?"

A few frowns and a heated word later, Kendath returned with the news that Greydon was - under no circumstances - pulling back into the harbor for reasons Kendath wouldn't name. Involuntarily meeting Garthag's eyes on the way down the steps to the main deck, he suspected the mage knew exactly the contents of his and Greydon's exchange. This didn't improve his mood when he reached Merrin.

"No luck," he reported grimly. He squinted over her shoulder, where the bulwarks of Port Dragonhelm were shrinking into the field of glimmering azure. Unless they managed to throw Garthag off the ship, it appeared they'd be stuck with him for the next few days. He sighed and ran a hand down his face, turning his next words over in his head. "We were talking... Garthag and I... last night... and he was right about - well, no, he wasn't right - it's just that..." He paused and braced himself for Merrin's reaction. "It's a weakness. Or at least he thinks it is. He'll use it against us." He didn't bother elaborating on it.

_________________

"What's a weakness - ?" Merrin started to say, when in confusion as to Kendath's sudden awkwardness she thought she had an inkling. She blushed noticeably, which was a feat, as her cheeks were already heathily rosy from the crisp, biting salt wind. "It's not," she said firmly. "Not at all."

There was an excruciatingly pregnant pause, in which Merrin writhed in discomfort over whether to inquire tentatively over what he meant when he said 'it', or to merely change the subject. "Do you mean, he thinks us being - concerned - for, er, the well-being of...each other...is something he can use?"

This strange outlook on life, already somewhat highlighted to the bewildered Merrin the night before, was still something she had trouble entirely grasping. Garthag loved no one, certainly, but did he think that a strength? Would he ever be satisfied, truly satisfied, with life? Power could be cold, and lonely. Even Merrin felt that. She shook her head, only half speaking to him. "No. No, he's wrong."

Now feeling an especially pressing need to change the subject, she took a breath of biting sea wind and exhaled, turning to lean over the railing. She demurred to herself that it was purely out of convenience, and not to avoid looking at him. "Well. I suppose we can put up with him for...the voyage."

_________________