Tazaro stirred and blinked sluggishly as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the back of his hand. He sat up and stretched, the cool air causing his nipples to perk as the sheet fell down to pool around his middle, and when the chilly air flowed across his back, he directed a confused scowl towards the open window. Sheeva must have opened it at some point overnight, being the living furnace that she was.

  Outside beyond the scope of the balcony rail, the peaceful waves of the sea crashed upon the sandy shore. He smiled as he listened to them, then peeked over his shoulder at Sheeva. Her gentle face reflected the deep sleep she seemed to be in, and a stray lock of hair floated back and forth with soft breaths, accompanied by the adorable light snore she’d get when thoroughly exhausted. Biting back a fawning squeal, Tazaro hooked his finger around the lock and lifted it away from her face to slip it behind her ear.

  Her deep sleep was enough that the simple gesture didn’t rouse her, and after bravely pecking her cheek, Tazaro crawled out of bed as carefully as possible.

  He found his pants, untangled the knot of pantleg, and stepped into them, finding it difficult to do with how sore his legs were. Still, he boyishly grinned to himself. While they hadn’t spent all of the last two weeks in bed, they certainly had to have drawn suspicion to themselves after not emerging for about three days after their initial check-in and frequent requests for room service.

  After brushing the morning breath off his teeth and tongue and chugging two and a half glasses of water to slake his understandable thirst, Tazaro began to brush out the tangled mess he called hair. Something small and white caught his eye as it stuck in the teeth of the comb, and as he pulled it out and held it at eye-level, he was relieved to see that it was a tiny feather.

  To avoid jumping to conclusions, he bared his wings and winced a little from the sting of not revealing them in about a month as they slipped from his body. He stared at the pitiful things, too saddened by the ugliness of almost-naked, leathery-pink wings to enjoy the fact that the feathers were indeed growing back. The primary feathers were still small, but he hoped that they would be big enough for him to manage at least a glide from a low-setting hill by the time they arrived on Cruinia.

  After allowing himself to preen in gratitude for his wings’ resiliency, Tazaro finished working out the knots in his hair and slipped on his shirt, finally acknowledging that the room was much too cold for him to put up with anymore.

  He stood and tiptoed across the floor to the open balcony, and just as he reached for the shutter, Sheeva called out to him, causing him to jump.

  "Mm. Leave it open." She hummed.

  "But it's cold." Tazaro countered, then immediately scrunched his nose at himself. Did he have to sound so whiny?

  "No, it's perfect. Fitting for my ice-cold heart." She argued with a sweet, teasing smile. Tazaro snorted and smirked at her insult.

  "Pfft. Nature's thermometers beg to differ." He grunted, gesturing to his perked nipples.

  "I certainly don't mind the view." She crooned, causing an impressed raise of Tazaro's eyebrows. "But, I suppose if it bothers you so much, come cuddle with me under the covers." She invited, lifting the sheets to welcome him in.

  Tazaro feigned a defeated sigh and sauntered towards the bed, though he was sure she saw the sleepiness in his eyes. Cuddles and more sleep sounded like a wonderful plan.

  "Suppose I could play hooky from work." He chuckled with a wink and a peck of her lips. Sheeva snickered at him and welcomed his presence with open arms, returning his smooch. As they settled into the mattress with a content, cheerful sigh, Tazaro played the dangerous game of letting his eyes close “just for a second.” Before he could slip away too far, however, he turned and reached for Sheeva’s pocket watch on the bedstand table and clicked it open.

  “Have to be at the pier at three, right? Dock four?” He murmured, blinking past blurry vision at the tiny hands of the clock. Assuming he could see correctly, it was only eight in the morning.

  “Tam. We have plenty of time.” She sighed, tickling his side as he reached back to set the pocket watch down. He flinched and recoiled, grunting back a laugh and shooting her a false glare.

  “Rude.”

  “Just keeping you on your toes, dear.” She giggled, beaming up at him and running her hand along his arm to rest it on his shoulder.

  “Right. How dare I let my guard down around you?” He deadpanned. “The nerve of me.”

  Still, let his guard down, he did, shuffling to sift against her comfortably and lay his head on her chest. Her heartbeat quickened, then slowed to a steady pulse as she traveled a hand through his hair and stroked between his shoulders. Together, they succumbed to snoozing in the serenity of a cool morning beneath warm sheets and a lover’s angelic presence.

  As a heavy, sudden gust of wind swept across the sandy shoreline and ruffled the damp, water-logged sails, the ship they stood on gave a swaying jolt. While Tazaro managed to handle the bob-and-weave well thanks to teenage shenanigans on a handmade board with wheels screwed into it, Sheeva did not and subtly took a knee to “tie her laces,” ignoring the taunting grin Tazaro sent her way.

  “You can battle a behemoth and shatter legs with a kick, but you can’t stand on a boat?” He teased, offering her a hand to help her stand. Sheeva scoffed at his comment and shot him a look of disapproval, stubbornly stood, and walked towards the captain’s cabin, but she stumbled as the ship jerked again. Reluctantly, she took his hand.

  “I prefer to keep my feet on the ground.”

  Tazaro’s lip curled in amusement at the paradox, considering that they were almost always in the sky once he got the hang of flying.

  “You’ll find your balance soon.” He assured, resting her hand in the crook of his elbow as he let her lean on him for support.

  “Welcome back, you two. Captain Burke’s waiting on you. We should check in with him promptly.” Lenus greeted, beckoning them to follow him with a wave of his hand.

  The captain’s cabin was larger on the inside than Tazaro expected. A hammock draped in the corner swung with the boat’s sway, like everything else on the ship. Captain Burke sat at a large desk with a sea chart sprawled out on the tabletop, markers propped up in squares at locations of what Sheeva assumed were schools of fish minding their own business in the depths of the cold sea.

  “You wanted to see us, captain?” Sheeva asked, scanning the rest of the room. A large bay window opened the view up to them and cast enough light that he wouldn’t need to rely on what might be dangerous lanterns–at least, not during the day.

  “Yeah.” He replied, not looking up from his hunched prop over his map.

  “Tazaro, if you’re not busy repairing the ship, I’ll have you helping the crew with their fishing duties. Sheeva, you’ll be helping Rory in the galley. But first, have Lenus give you a tour of the ship. I don’t want you two getting lost.” He summed, then finally looked up with a cheeky grin. “Suppose if you do get lost, someone will eventually find you. It is a ship, after all. There are only so many places on it.”

  He stood up and stretched, then glanced behind them.

  “There was one other guy we picked up in town. Said his name was Bart. Doesn’t appear to be here yet. Maybe he got lost. Lenus, if you see ‘im, send him my way.”

  Tazaro’s brow furrowed in question, and he curled his eyebrow at Sheeva, who seemed just as confused and concerned as he was. Somehow, Bartholomew had managed to craft a disguise and join the crew.

  “If that’s all, you can leave now. We’re about to ship out.” Captain Burke dismissed, grabbing his coat and throwing it on. He paused at the door to slip on some thick leather gloves.

  “After you, folks. Gotta say you two are looking much better than you were. And, before I forget, I do apologize for my rude assumption. Seems you took my advice.” He murmured as they passed.

  They didn’t have a chance to say anything in return since once the captain locked his door, he hurried up to the wheel and began to bark orders.

  Tazaro hoped the others were too busy working to notice how Sheeva less-than-delicately stumbled towards the doors leading to below deck to follow Lenus around.

  They both had to admit that they didn’t expect to see such spacious rooms, and despite the bed being small, Tazaro figured no one would notice if they expanded it to accommodate them.

  Lenus waited outside their door while Sheeva and Tazaro unloaded their belongings, though he didn't notice the now shrunken weapons tied to Sheeva's neck and Tazaro's belt.

  After giving them a thorough tour of all the rooms below deck and introducing them to Dr. Lucille Sivvers in the medical bay, Lenus and Tazaro dropped off Sheeva at the galleys and continued to the surface.

  Sheeva paused just inside the double doors to examine the kitchen, a far larger room than she had originally anticipated. A string of lanterns illuminated the darker parts of the room where the light from the thick windows couldn’t reach. Along one side of the room awaited a double-oven, a fire powered range, a long flat-top, and a strange piece of equipment that she had never seen before, where a man in a chef’s coat poured over as he stirred something in it with what looked like a gigantic whisk on a pole.

  He looked up and over at her from his hunched state and nodded at her in greeting.

  “Gimmae a sec. Roux is a fickle thing to make. Yeh look away fer one second, and the damn stuff’s a burnt mess.” He announced, scraping the bottom of the container and whisking away at the now lovely golden-brown flour and butter mixture. Without missing a beat, he turned, grabbed a pitcher full of broth, and poured, whisking all the while.

  Sheeva moved out of his way and toward the opposite side of the long table lined with knives and cutting boards and waited while he threw together the beginnings of what looked like a tasty stew.

  “Alright.” He shut the lid to the giant skillet, then turned to face Sheeva, offering a hand for her to shake.

  "Welcome abard the Hafez, lass. Name's Rory. Rory Richett. But, when yer working with me, yeh'll call me 'Chef,' got it?" He began, giving a more firm handshake than she was used to from other men. It was promising; maybe she would not be treated differently in his kitchen.

  "Yer Sheeva Chorea, right?"

  "Yes…Chef?" She added carefully, unsure of when the formalities were to start. He smiled and nodded.

  No sooner than they'd finished introductions, Rory made her keep busy chopping vegetables. While he prattled on about himself, Sheeva silently nodded, focusing on familiarizing herself with the oddities in the kitchen.

  He spoke with a voice like a commander's, and beneath the cap pinned to his head rested locks of auburn hair. A tattoo of a sultry mermaid with a suggestive wink sitting atop an anchor was inked into his forearm, and despite his broad shouldered-self, he stood about as tall as Sheeva. He wore shorts instead of pants, but he also wasn’t the only person in the room judging through appearances as he gave Sheeva a look at her manly attire.

  “Tell me before we get started: what experience do yeh have in a kitchen? Aside from yer husband’s choice words, I’ll need to know, so I know what to do with yeh.”

  Sheeva pursed her lips, bubbling cheerfully at Tazaro’s habit of blurting things out. Still, she supposed she should be grateful, as it still ended up in them being passengers. Cooking in a kitchen would be a small repayment of their interference, and besides, she would likely learn a new thing or two.

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  “I would help in the kitchens for the temple I’m from and helped the kitchens in an inn I was staying at over this last winter’s reckoning.” She explained, eager to keep their communications short and sweet. “I’m decent with a knife; better with a blade. Tell me what you need, and it will be done.”

  Rory gave her a look, seemed to take her word for it, and waved her with a hand to have her follow him to the other side of the room with a large sink, another long table, and a three-compartment sink.

  “I’ll have yeh work on the cold-side today, then. I’ll need a bunch of parsnips, bias cut, for the roasted root vegetables I have planned for the side dish tonight. Half a bag, I’d say. ’ll need rutabagas, rogue-tomato, and beets when you’re done with that.” He pointed her towards a cutting board with a knife and the start of the cut vegetables in question. Apparently, Rory had been interrupted with needing to start another project.

  Sheeva rolled up her sleeves and promptly washed her hands, picked up the knife, and was pleased to learn that the knife was sharp, able to shear through the tough-skinned rutabagas without any trouble.

  “Hope yeh don’t mind me singing. Need something ta break the silence–though, I gotta say, I thought yeh’d be chatting my ears off. Not much of a talker, are you?” Rory called over the wall dividing what Sheeva assumed was lovingly dubbed “hot-side.”

  The corner of Sheeva’s lip curled at a new turn of the phrase “idle prattle” that Tazaro had come up with to poke fun at her.

  “No, Chef. I won’t waste your time with chatter. I don’t care much for insipid drivel. Besides, I’ve nothing to say anyway. We’ll not be on this boat for long.” She replied over her shoulder, swooping the cut pieces of beetroot into a pan with a dough scraper, not keen on staining her hands, though it would be bound to happen.

  “Insipid drivel! Feh! My wife will love that one! How long’ve yeh been married, the two of yeh?”

  Sheeva slowed her cutting as she thought about it.

  “About a month and a half, now.”

  She heard him cuss and hiss at something, then peered over her shoulder to look as he currently blew at a fresh, pink burn on his inner arm. As he began to run water over it, she dismissed the advice she had lingering on the edge of her tongue and returned to her slicing. The purple carrots she held looked tasty, and she popped a slice into her mouth to satisfy the curiosity unfamiliar with purple carrots. Were they sour or bitter instead of sweet and robust?

  She didn’t know what she’d been thinking and scoffed at herself. The purple carrot seemed to taste exactly like a regular orange one.

  “Newlyweds, eh? Congratulations. My wife and I have been married for about a year now. I’m ‘bout to be a father. She’s six months along now. We’re having a girl, and I’m so excited! Gonna name her Julia.”

  Sheeva pursed her lips and glared at the innocent red potato she’d begun to dice, then gave a small hum of acknowledgment at his joy and continued to focus on her work. She hoped their journey across the sea would take much less time than proposed.

  Tazaro watched, excited as the sails unfurled with a mighty flap once they got far enough out to sea. The old, weather-abused, salt-stained things billowed out as they caught the air, and he steadied himself with a slightly wider stance as he felt the ship’s speed pick up with the gusts of wind urging them forward.

  Curious, he leaned over the rail to look and watched as the bow sheared through the deep blue waters, spilling white, curvy waves along the sides of the larch wood hull.

  Worried he was drawing attention to himself, he simmered down, noting a spot of bittersweet. Tazaro’s face fell, drumming his fingers on the wooden rail in thought. What would he do now that he could no longer write a letter to his mother as promised?

  He huffed and felt his lips curl. He supposed bothering Tyler with a letter from time to time would have to suffice. Maybe, Tyler might read them aloud to the only picture he had been able to salvage from the fire. It was the one of Tazaro's graduation when Mildred had traveled all the way to Raynak just to be there to "watch" him walk the ceremonial carpet with a beaming smile.

  He managed to collect himself in just enough time for Lenus to approach and clear his throat, and Tazaro hoped the first mate hadn’t seen the melancholic look on his face.

  “So, I noticed a few scuffs along this rail, here. If it’s not on your list of things to fix, I can add it to the list. I hope you folks have enough wax to seal it once I’m done shaving it down.” Tazaro started, veering the subject off of him before Lenus could even get started.

  As Lenus gave Tazaro the lengthy laundry list of things that needed to be fixed, Tazaro couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the crew and was mildly surprised that the ship hadn’t fallen apart. Apparently, while not impertinent yet understandably annoying, a couple of doors didn’t shut, and a few other easy-but-critical things needed to be done. Aside from fixing the gears to the rudders, all could be done in a day’s work.

  “Do you have blueprints for the gears? If not, I could make my own, I suppose.” He asked. Tazaro was more grateful that Lenus nodded in answer to his question but didn’t miss the studious questioning gaze as the man’s eyes sized him up from his head to his toes.

  Hopefully, it was strictly because he didn’t look the part of a bulky woodworker and not because he had a feather sticking to his clothes somewhere.

  “Yes, I’m a woodworker. No, I’m not sent by the gods, nor am I single.” He cracked with a smirk that made him feel better. If Lenus wanted to make people feel uncomfortable, Tazaro could play that game well.

  Lenus snorted and waved his hand, scrunching his nose in distaste at Tazaro’s quip.

  “No, I believe you. It’s just that...you two say you’re married, but you’re not wearing a wedding band. If you’re going to stick to a facade, at least look the part.” He stated, eyeing Tazaro in a suspicious light. It made worry sting itself along Tazaro’s back, and he crossed his arms to prevent a fidget that would further Lenus’s scrutiny.

  “Look the part?” Tazaro repeated with an indignant scoff on both his and Sheeva’s behalves. “No, we’re really married; I have the documents to prove it.” He countered, now thankful that they had requested a copy. He smiled, chuckling as he recalled how far the paper bird Sheeva had folded managed to fly from the top of the crystal flower adorning the Arc of Raynak. They’d eventually lost sight of it after it reached the canal running through the western side of the town.

  “I’m crafting our rings, but there’ve been some, uh, setbacks. Ever since Midna’s Overlook, I haven’t...” He trailed off, feeling guilty. Sure, he’d had the time. He’d had plenty of time. But did he have the dedication? Not quite, Tazaro answered himself.

  “Haven’t been able to.” He finished, realizing he’d left Lenus hanging.

  “Oh, right. What exactly happened, anyway?”

  Tazaro frowned and sighed deeply as he turned to face the sea.

  “We were attacked by a Behemoth in the Crags. Sheeva was hurt and unconscious, so I hurried her to the first town I saw. They knocked us out, imprisoned us, and dosed us. Pretty sure they would have experimented on us, given a chance.” He admitted with a visible shudder of horror as his imagination began to run away with him. Maybe, the crazy man would have sliced them open to count their ribs as he had done to the poor soul on the table during their escape or successfully hooked them on Iphsium and forced them to do things they never imagined.

  Tazaro’s mouth soured, and he swallowed back spit as his stomach churned, upset with the disgusting images it dredged up.

  “I’m going to get started on that list now. The gears will take a couple of days, at least, and we probably won’t be able to turn the ship while I’m doing so.” He announced after clearing his throat, forcing himself away from the first mate and towards the cabins to gather his tools.

  As he passed through the door to below deck, he felt as though he were being watched and, mimicking the checking of the labels above the doors, used his peripherals to check. Sure enough, an unrecognizable person had followed him down.

  Tazaro fought to remain calm at the paranoid idea that someone had survived the onslaught of Midna’s Overlook and was pursuing them, hoping it wasn’t the case. Still, he was thankful that he’d kept his tail-blade knife strapped to his side; Tazaro could use the thing as a pocketknife until he could replace the old one that had gotten lost somewhere, somehow. He hoped he wouldn’t need it and that he was simply psyching himself out.

  But, by the time he’d approached the kitchens, the stranger was still obviously following him.

  He turned the corner into a random hallway, rested his hand on the antler handle of the blade, and waited.

  As the stranger rounded the corner, Tazaro sprung, snatching the man by the collar and wheeling him around to slam his back against the wall, completing the act of declaring that he meant business by holding the sharp blade to the man’s throat.

  “Why are you following–

  –Relax, you crazy bastard, it’s just me!” Bartholomew’s voice barked.

  Tazaro blinked, confused, then looked back and forth between his teal eyes. Sure enough, they were Bartholomew’s, with their four-point star pupils minimized in fear.

  "Did you guys really weaponize Zakaria's tail-blades? That's badass!" He asked, cowering even further against the wall.

  Tazaro let him go and sheathed his blade while Bartholomew rubbed soothingly at his throat.

  “Sorry. I’m, I’m still on edge. Thought maybe you were someone from Midna’s Overlook, come to...” He trailed off, shuddered, and crossed his arms. “What are you doing here? I assumed you were going to meet us in Cruinia.” Tazaro asked, bluntly changing the subject.

  “Someone from Midna’s Overlook?” Bartholomew asked in thought. The frown on his face deepened. “Ah. No. That’s not possible.”

  With his matter-of-fact delivery, Tazaro realized he hadn't been wrong when he thought Bartholomew had slaughtered the entire town.

  Tazaro must have appeared more confused than openly frightened. Bartholomew followed up with a lowly muttered: “No one can tell the guards if there’s no one left to tell the guards.”

  Still, Tazaro swallowed his guilt, deciding that he’d rather deal with it later than in front of the “ends justify means” aligned creature. Not only would he receive no sympathy, but Bartholomew might take it poorly, as though they didn't appreciate his absurd, terrifying gesture.

  They both turned and looked as Sheeva emerged from the kitchens, a little staggered and appearing nauseated by the look on her face. She was sipping from a cup of tea and had turned to move towards the deck but paused as she saw Tazaro and a stranger trading stern, angry looks.

  “Everything...all right?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Everything’s fine. Bartholomew decided it’d be funny to scare the daylights out of me.”

  Sheeva lowered the cup of tea, staring at them and appearing less phased than Tazaro had.

  “Don’t you remember? I told you Ta’hal could take on a Sferran form. But, the others call me ‘Bart.’” Bartholomew reminded her. She gave a small nod and a soft, “hm,” taking another sip of the tea she held, then scrunched her face at the bitterness.

  “Bart, huh?” Tazaro asked, happy to find a spark of witty comments flowing to his senses. “More like Barf.”

  Sheeva’s nose scrunched even more, and she made a face of pure disgust.

  “Ugh. Please don’t remind me.” She sighed, turning away from them and heading for the stairway to the deck.

  "Oh. Seasick already?" Tazaro wondered aloud.

  "Unfortunately. One might think I am as frail as a gossip-girl at this point." Sheeva pouted, continuing on her staggered way.

  “Don’t listen to Tazaro when it comes to my name! I’d prefer Bartholom-ew if anything!” He cackled, amused with his own joke. She didn’t seem to hear or, if she did, had chosen not to say anything instead. Her footsteps faded away as she crossed through the door.

  Tazaro turned back to Bartholomew, wondering about something.

  “How did you manage to change your appearance?” He voiced.

  Bartholomew looked around, then waved his hand, turning back into his regular, towering form, needing to slouch greatly to avoid banging his head on the ceiling. He waved his hand again and shrunk back into the teal-eyed, black-haired man he’d chosen as a disguise. Tazaro could only blink and nod, lost for words because apparently, it was that easy.

  “I can’t get it to last longer than a few hours, though, so I might have to make multiple trips to a bathroom or my cabin.” He explained.

  This reminded Tazaro that he’d been on his way to get his tools, and he dismissed himself, hurried to his bunk, and grabbed the leather roll from his bag.

  Above deck, aside from watching “Bart” stumble around like “either a newborn babe or a drunk, I kinna tell,” Lenus seemed to hover over Tazaro’s shoulder, watching him work and poking and prodding at more things about himself and Sheeva. Namely, “why yeh’d let yer wife lug around a sword,” to which Tazaro was proud to throw it in the shocked man’s face when he boasted that Sheeva had actually trained him and could shatter legs with a kick.

  This shut the first-mate up for the evening, and he quickly left to hover around someone else for a change.

  Contrary to what Tazaro had assumed, the ship’s railing took far longer than he’d expected, some knicks in the ship being so deep, he wondered if the fishermen had used them to stick a filleting knife into as a makeshift woodblock. It was a miserable thought, and he amused himself by promising that he’d whack someone upside the head with an oar if he caught anyone doing so.

  By the time dinner had been served, they had eaten, and all had been released for the evening, Sheeva was already in bed, a half-drank mug of ginger tea swaying on the bedside table. Tazaro tucked the covers over her shoulder with a pity smile, wished her better fortunes, then sat down at the desk.

  He cast a muffling spell on the area and began to resume his work on their wedding bands, noticing a few spots that he had worked on poorly from the one and only time he’d tried to work on it after Midna’s Overlook. With a scoff of disapproval, he grabbed his shavings and glue. Short of sanding it down to rid the band of the unsightly chips–absolutely not an option–this would fill the rugged spots and be sturdy enough that he could sand over it later.

  The orange light he’d cast to hover over him dimmed as he felt the tire on his eyes and, after he stole a glance at Sheeva’s pocket-watch, chuckled at himself. Naturally, what he thought was “just an hour or two” had easily become three or four.

  Hoping it wouldn’t affect him the next day, he stripped himself of his clothes and slipped into the bed, sighing with contentment at Sheeva’s warm, naked self against his chest, which fought to contain his rapidly beating heart. With a final peck on her shoulder, he let his head lay slack on the pillow as the swaying waves from a slowed sail rocked him to sleep.