In the distance, through the spray of the ocean, a shape began to appear.

  At first, Isaac thought it was another kraken surfacing through the waves. He started to panic again. There were many things he had learned about the creatures since the start of his voyage, more than any sailor had managed to teach. The beasts were colossal, highly territorial, and vicious when disturbed. Their natural armor was impervious to cannons and harpoons alike. And, if Isaac could see the kraken now, then it had already been watching his ship for quite some time.

  He adjusted the focus of the spyglass, fighting for balance on the swaying, salty deck. Out in the distance, the shape only grew larger. He couldn’t identify the conical body, the red slitted pupils, or the bristling colonies of parasites that would be growing along its mantle. It might’ve been a juvenile, but that would be small relief when it dragged them below the waves. There were tentacles rising very high in the air, held in taut and rigid lines. . . .

  It wasn’t a kraken. He knew exactly what the shape was, and his relief was audible.

  “Captain!” Isaac shouted. “Privateers! Starboard!”

  Behind him, the top deck of the Arms of Horn was in full operation. Deckhands were scrubbing planks and wrestling with a web of ropes. The first lieutenant, a taciturn horse by the name of Welton, stood on the gunwale and shouted to be heard above the snap of wave and canvas. Isaac could see seamen rushing through the ventilation grills below, lugging cannonballs across the gun deck to practice battle formations. Welton lead the drill with a fiery passion, as he did every day at an hour before noon. Above, a collection of young leopard boys were climbing through the rigging, trimming the sails and tossing fire onto the great, glowing sigil emblazoned within.

  Captain Vance made her way down from the helm, weaving a path through rope and deckhand alike. The otter was as lithe and tall as an afternoon shadow—when Isaac handed her the spyglass, his chin barely reached her elbow. The medals on her navy coat glinted as she made to confirm his sighting. Despite the chaos unfolding behind her, she watched the sea as calmly as a bowman hunting a deer.

  “Aye,” Vance said, after a moment. “That’s so. Not flyin’ the black yet, but that’s expected.” She turned to her first lieutenant. “Welton!”

  Despite his shouting, the horse went quiet at once. He tottered along the gunwale, more drunk than usual. “Capt?”

  “Stop the drills! Have the starboard cannons manned and loaded!”

  Welton squinted towards the ship on the horizon. “What the bloody cunt do we got a wizard for, then?”

  “We’re not takin’ chances! See to it!”

  “Aye, captain!”

  “Presly! Be ready to bare the broadside!”

  Slumped over the helm, an elderly coyote raised a hand of acknowledgement, using his other to dig biscuit crumbs from his chops.

  Vance returned the spyglass. “Warning shot again, if it’d please sir mage. Can’t kill the feline queen’s pardoned pirates.”

  Isaac made a salute. “Would the captain like them burned or frozen?”

  “Off my arse, and nothing more. And stop your bloody gestures.”

  He saluted again. “Aye, capt!”

  The otter’s snort held some fair amusement. She clapped him on the back as she passed towards the stern, expertly ducking beneath the swinging line of the foresail.

  Isaac raised the spyglass again, trying to judge the distance between the ships. It was obvious, even to an untrained eye, that the privateer vessel was on a hard course of pursuit, banking to intercept them between their stern and broadside, where they couldn’t easily return fire. They might not even bother raising the black flag before the first salvo. He thought of the range of scrolless casting, trying to judge the best—

  “Squire! Assistance!”

  He turned toward the hold, just in time to see a rainbow of feathers rush towards his face.

  The tropical bird barely avoided slashing him with its talons—instead, in a shower of wings and squawks, it flew up through the glowing sails, eventually roosting in the lookout post of the back mast. The young leopard boys swung through the rigging, avoiding several more of the birds that rushed to join it.

  Isaac was horrified. It had taken him six days of hard bushwacking to collect those specimens, the process of which had cost him untold suffering in sweat, rashes and bug bites, and now all the birds were flying free again. Their feathers were an iridescent hue of rainbows as they preened themselves in the sun.

  “Grab them!” Isaac shouted to the leopards. “Grab the birds!”

  Below, the top deck of the Arms of Horn was a chaos of fleeing animals. A colony of fire-breathing rats rushed between the legs of the deckhands, singeing the wet planks as they scattered. Fuzzy chelicerae appeared from the shadow of the hold as a megaspider peered through the doorway, blinking a dozen glittering eyes. At the helm, the elderly coyote—Samson—was trying to pet a young cockatrice while it nibbled on his coat. He seemed to be succeeding.

  Isaac saw more movement from the hold. Something large slammed into the megaspider, nearly cracking its thorax. There was a flurry of fur, spikes and wings.

  “Squire!”

  Zaria emerged onto the top deck while riding on the back of a manticore. Neither of them were enjoying the experience. The human face snarled, the lion body twisted, and the scorpion tail was flailing and stabbing in equal measure. She was wrapped around its neck, trying to wrestle it down, but the salty air seemed to invigorate the chimera. It slammed through a tangle of deckhands and nearly cut several sections of the rigging as it unfurled its thorny wings. They flapped twice, sending the fiery rats skittering across the deck, and tried to take flight.

  “No!” the manticore screamed, sounding just like a human woman. “No, please, no!”

  Isaac blasted the manticore with a gust of wind. He caught the chimera on one of its wings, and the force of the spell sent it corkscrewing through the air. Still wrapped tightly around its neck, Zaria twisted, heaved with all her strength, and slammed it down into the deck.

  The chimera thrashed—the lion body tore through the wood with vicious claws, and the scorpion tail was a blur of venom and fury. Thorny wings slashed at any deckhand that dared to approach. Zaria regained her footing and wrenched its head back as far as it could go, trying to reattach the muzzle on its human face. Its tail reared back for a strike.

  “Give me some fucking help, Isaac!”

  In the moment, he didn’t think about the value of the specimen, or how long it had taken him to capture it. Instead, he ran forward, charged a beam of light in his hand, and sliced off the scorpion tail.

  The manticore screamed in a disturbingly human voice. By now, the deckhands were throwing themselves onto the wings, flattening the appendages down to the planks. In one last desperate attempt, the chimera found its footing and tried to run, but Zaria had a solid grip on its leather muzzle and yanked it back. She kicked one of its knees, heaved to the side, and, with a yell that pierced above the others, she flipped the beast onto its back. Half the deckhands aboard the ship seemed to pile on top of it.

  After a few frantic moments, the manticore laid still on the deck. Zaria had locked a tight arm around its throat, and was breathing just as raggedly as her capture. Isaac approached with a beam of light still cocked in his hand.

  “Are you alright?” he asked.

  “Oh,” she said, “like a cunt in silk, squire, you know that.”

  “No,” the manticore whimpered. “No, please, no.”

  At Isaac’s side, Captain Vance approached with a pistol aimed at the chimera’s face. “Step aside, boatswain.”

  “Wait,” Isaac said, dropping his spell. “Don’t kill it. The company charter—”

  “My crew comes first,” the otter said, taking careful aim.

  The manticore began to sob, trying to twist its head from Zaria’s grip. Half the deckhands were keeping its body pinned to the planks. The others watched, clutching at bleeding wounds.

  “Either it’s our supper,” Vance said, “or the fish’s.”

  Isaac looked into the human face. It was still whimpering “no” between every gasp for air. He knew it was only mimicry—the local villagers had made it clear that the chimera hunted by ambush, luring travelers off the trail with a voice that begged for help. The words it spoke now were likely the last ones of its previous victim.

  He sighed, taking a step back.

  Zaria looked to Vance. The otter nodded. In one quick movement, she fell back, and the captain fired. Blood sprayed across the deck. The manticore’s wings stiffened and laid flat.

  Vance blew smoke from the barrel of her pistol, sheathed it back against her chest, and shouted: “Fresh meat, lads!”

  The crew cheered. Behind them, the cockatrice poked its head through the crowd. Samson managed to recapture its attention with a biscuit.

  Zaria rose back to her feet, adjusting her boatswain uniform. “Fuckin’ thing chewed through its cage in the night. Would’ve gotten most of the others if I hadn’t caught it in time.”

  Vance looked behind her. “All those that got cut, to the sick bay. Double rations and three days rest.” She looked down at Isaac, her short fur glistening with the spray of the sea. “You’re on surgeon’s duty. Keep this up, and the post will be permanent while away.”

  Isaac cleared his throat. “Sorry, captain. I gathered enough herbs on the last embarkment to make a stock of poultices. They’ll heal.”

  “They better,” Vance said. “My naturalist best not let his specimens run loose again, or else they’ll be paddin’ our larder.” She turned to the gathered crowd of hands. “Capture the rest and put them back in the cages! Alive, if you can!”

  “Aye, capt!” said the crew, and scattered.

  Isaac watched the blood leak from the manticore’s head. The skin around the entry wound had burned from the muzzle flash. Taxidermy wouldn’t fix it. He would have to settle for the bones and lion pelt once the butchering was done.

  “Isaac,” Vance said. “Let me be clear again. The Royal Claw may be payin’ our wages, and you might be doin’ good for the sciences, but this is my ship, and my crew, and I’ll not see them harmed. We don’t need to test that sentiment, do we?”

  “No, captain. Sorry.”

  “The feline queen is an ocean away. I’m the only law you need concern yourself with.”

  “Of course, captain.”

  “From now on, I’m holding supreme veto on any beast you decide to bring aboard. Anything I don’t like is only gracing my deck as skin and skeleton. Are we clear on this?”

  “Yes, captain.”

  Vance’s whiskers dripped with sea spray as she looked down at him. After a moment, she adjusted her tricorn hat and nodded. “Right. Enough of that. Back to pressing matters.”

  “What?”

  “Our pursuers, sir mage.”

  Isaac looked over the sea again. The privateer vessel had grown from a distant speck on the waves to a growing tangle of rope and wood. Glowing sigils burned like cattle brands across the sails. Even without the spyglass, he could see crews climbing through the rigging, tossing entire bushels of fire onto the canvas, bringing the ship into such sharp acceleration that her prow was nearly impaling the waves.

  At the front, the flag of the feline queen had been lowered. In the place of pads and claws, a black flag rose above the foremast, bearing an ursine skull and crossbones.

  “Isaac,” Vance said. “Stop us from being robbed and put to sword, and it might be I like you again. Agreed?”

  “Aye, captain!”

  “Quit fucking salutin’ me.”

  Isaac approached the starboard edge of the Arms of Horn. As he began the mnemonics, Zaria leaped onto the gunwale, grabbed a section of the rigging for balance, and shouted: “Clear the deck! Wizard firing off starboard!”

  Through the ventilation grills below, Welton the horse shouted: “Wizard firing!”

  “Wizard firing!” shouted the leopards above.

  Isaac went through the casting motions carefully, making sure the energy draw was smooth and efficient. A ball of flame appeared in each of his palms. He pressed his hands together, and, when he drew them back, there was one large conflagration, twisting and hissing with the spray of the sea. He put more energy into the cast, and the flames grew larger—they went from the size of a melon to a cannonball, surging past the point of a trebuchet missile, and, when it was about the size of a boulder, Isaac had to lean the fire out past the gunwale, lest the flames start to burn the rigging.

  Ahead, the privateers were beginning to turn and bare their broadside. Their hull was worn, rotting, and studded with cannon holes.

  “Fire at will,” Vance said.

  Isaac shot the fireball.

  It arced across the waves like a second sun blazing through the sky. Isaac wobbled on his feet, nearly collapsing from the energy transfer, but Zaria was already catching him before he fell. They watched the fireball complete its downward trajectory towards the privateer vessel. It exploded into the sea, instantly boiling the water into steam, sending a massive plume of vapor up through the air.

  The reaction was immediate. Instead of a slow turn that would bare their broadside, the privateer vessel began to pull hard to starboard, almost cracking their hull with the sudden twist. Before long, all they could see of the vessel was the stern and the back of the sails, rushing headlong back into the waves. The screams of scalded pirates echoed across the sea.

  The crew began to cheer. Much of it was mixed with taunts. Zaria kept a firm hold on Isaac, giving him enough support that he could concentrate on breathing.

  “Cunt to cactus,” Vance said. “Sure wish I’d had a bloody wizard back in the navy. Needs to be standard issue, far as I’m concerned.” She kept watching the privateers sail away. Her whiskers bent back with a snarl. “Wish it weren’t a warning. Traitors deserve worse.”

  “They’re pirates, capt,” Zaria said. “Only loyalty they’ve got is to coin.”

  “Exactly. Feline queen pardoned them. We’re flying her bloody colors. That should’ve earned some pause, at the very least. Craven sods are just using the Royal Claw as a means to pillage.”

  Zaria cleared her throat. “They’re told to do so, more or less. Price of war and all. ‘Sides, you tellin’ me it don’t pay better than navy wages?”

  Vance watched the privateers disappear into the waves. The disgust was plain on her face.

  After a moment of watching the otter, Zaria gently helped Isaac stand straight again. “Good?”

  “Yes,” he said, panting. “Thanks.”

  “Sure. My squire’s rather cute when he’s all breathless.”

  “I believe the word is dashing.”

  “Oh, that’s one of them, surely.”

  She tousled his hair. He slapped her hand away. She began to grin, but a cleared throat made it stop. Vance was watching the two of them. Zaria adjusted her boatswain coat and stood at attention.

  “Isaac,” the otter said. “Come to my cabin for dinner tonight. We need to talk.”

  “Captain, I’m sorry about the manticore—”

  “Not that. Got a missive from the Royal Claw this morning.” She shivered. “Right in the soul. Odd feeling, that. Anyway, they’re wantin’ me to give a full report on your findings. You done all your sketches and what not?”

  “Uh, yes. Mostly. I’ll finish them by tonight.”

  “After you’re through patching my deckhands.”

  “Obviously, captain.”

  Vance made a noise in her throat. “Boatswain, you’re comin’ as well.”

  Zaria blinked. “Me? I just keep the rabble in line, capt. Not deservin’ of fine dining.”

  “Aren’t you? Seems like you’ve been helping my naturalist quite a lot, as it happens.”

  “I aid him on his journeys landside, aye. You gave me leave to do so.”

  “Must be you two are working close. On return, he’s always got your scent on him.”

  “Must be all them funny creatures he’s rubbing against.”

  “Always seems to be walking bow-legged, too.”

  “He’s just sore from all the hiking.”

  “Ah,” Vance said, deadpan. “Well, I’m sure my boatswain knows I keep a strict ban on fraternizing between officers.”

  “On your ship, you mean.”

  “Aye. On my ship. Whatever happens off it is not my concern, of course.”

  Zaria slid an arm over Isaac’s shoulder and pulled him to her side. “Just so, captain.”

  “Right,” Vance said. “Then let’s pretend I’m inviting you as my officer and not the better half of my naturalist.”

  “Honored to accept, then. What’re we supping on?”

  “Fried manticore.”

  “Lovely,” Zaria said. “If that’s all, capt, then I think we’ve got our tasks to attend to.”

  “Right you are.” Vance looked down at Isaac. The grip of her pistol was shining as brightly as the medals on her coat. He fought in vain to control his blush. “Good work, sir mage. At ease.”

  She nodded at each of them and walked away, expertly maneuvering through the throngs of deckhands still chasing the fire-breathing rats. At the helm, Samson and some of the leopards were feeding rats to the cockatrice, who was flashing her scales with affection.

  “Well,” Isaac said, still catching his breath, “she was bound to find out eventually.”

  Zaria’s grip on him tightened. Before he knew it, he had been leaned back over the gunwale, and she was kissing him. The moment was drawn out and quite obvious to the crew. Isaac was about to start protesting when she dipped her muzzle down and began to drag a heavy tongue along his throat, rubbing the bristles of her muscle against the freshly trimmed hair of his beard.

  “She’s always known.” Her breath danced across wet skin. “Them ex-navy types are sharp as arrows. Just gotta follow the rules.”

  “And what’s this, then?”

  “Mutiny.”

  She began to gently nibble the nape of his neck. Isaac found himself growing painfully stiff.

  “Two days till landfall,” she said. “Gonna be paradise, so I’ve heard.”

  He struggled to recall his charter. “Tropical island. Dense forest. Highly volcanic. Natural hot springs.”

  Her hum was punctuated by more nibbles. “Could use a bath.”

  “All the baths in the world would not save you, I’m afraid.”

  Hot exhale. “Could use my squire’s magic tongue, as well.”

  “I don’t know,” Isaac said, growing aware of how many of the crew were watching them. “It seems to be taken for granted.”

  “A golden tongue, it is. The envy of bards and conmen the world ‘round.”

  He pushed her back, and she retreated just far enough to give him a smoldering gaze. Her black eyepatch clashed with tawny fur and pink, weathered scars.

  “Well,” Isaac said. “Maybe I’ll work up an appetite.”

  “Maybe the feast’ll go both ways.”

  “Maybe we should swim. Might be faster.”

  “Hmmm.”

  She stepped back. The sea spray returned. A few snickers were heard beneath the snap of wave and canvas.

  “Two days,” she said. “Be ready.”

  He nodded. She turned and strode away, as if they’d never been talking at all. Isaac had to adjust himself before doing the same. As he descended into the dark, humid depths of the gun deck, he found himself already counting the hours.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  “And so now,” Zaria said, spilling some wine as she laughed, “Isaac’s got the bloke staring daggers. I mean, he’s got naught but fury in his eyes, but sir mage here is still talkin’ as he was, telling the sod he’s got less letters than a signpost. What’d you call him, again?”

  Isaac continued to saw through the manticore steak. “Jobbernowl.”

  Vance snorted, breaking a biscuit with her hands. “Jobbernowl? What’s that mean?”

  “It’s from a poem. Jobber, as in blocky, and nowl, as in head. Blockhead. Moron.”

  “Jobbernowl!” Zaria said.

  “It’s a real word! He had a big, ugly head!”

  Isaac demonstrated with his hands. Vance hid her smile behind a sip of wine. At her side, Percival, her jackal first mate, was wiping a ship’s biscuit through the juice of his manticore steak, and obviously not hearing much of the conversation. One of his ears was gone, and the other had been burned shut from a cannon blast, and he had long ago decided to listen only when things were important.

  The captain’s cabin of the Arms of Horn was expansive. It covered the breadth of the stern, and it was not much different than the study of some noble scholar. Vance had a sizable collection of books, maps and encyclopedias shelved along the walls. Her king-sized bed made Isaac’s hammock seem like a rolled up flag, and her dining table was currently adorned with manticore meat, including the puffy white flesh of its tail, along with biscuits, dried fruit, and no lack of butter and spice.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  There was wine, as well. Vance had made a show of opening a vintage bottle. Whatever she wanted to discuss, it clearly involved some celebration. Isaac had only been properly drunk a half dozen times in his life, and he had learned not to miss the chance when it presented itself.

  “So,” Zaria said, clawing some gristle from her teeth. “So, the bloke invites Isaac to step outside, real serious-like. Sir mage here goes, ‘nah, arm wrestling, that’s what we’re doin’.’ Everyone watching just about cracks on the spot. The bear’s got arms the size of Isaac’s head, and the latter’s so drunk he can hardly sit on his stool.”

  “Do we really need to tell this?” Isaac asked, taking a big gulp of wine.

  “No, no,” Vance said. “I spoke of runnin’ my ship aground thrice in a day. It’s only fair.”

  “Captain—”

  “We’re hearing this. Boatswain, continue.”

  “So, they sit, right?” Zaria gestured with the meat on her fork. “And while the bloke’s turned ‘round to laugh with his mates, Isaac’s moving his arms below the table, casting a spell. Nothing seems to happen, though, and he gives me a big ol’ wink and sets his arm ready. The bear grabs his hand, and they start wrestlin’. The man’s clearly not trying at first, thinking it’s already settled, but, after a moment, his eyes just about pop from his head, and he starts screaming real loud. Isaac slams his knuckles down to the table. The bear rushes from his chair, and his hand’s so burned that it’s still hissing, and he’s grabbing every drink he can find to douse the fur.

  “Isaac’s sat there, laughing about it. The rest of the crew aren’t of the same thought. They step forward, loosin’ their scabbards, and sir mage makes the flame go bright in his hand, and you can see the fire reflecting off the eyes of everyone in the tavern, and he goes ‘anyone else wanna try?’ No one answers. I suggest they get their mate to a sawbones for some salves, and they do so, huffin’ and spittin’ the whole way. I follow them out to make sure they’re actually leaving, and, by the time I get back, Isaac’s already ordering another drink.”

  “Got them free the rest of the night,” Isaac said, finishing his cup in two large gulps.

  Percival made an effort to smile, only because he could tell that the story was over, and went back to sawing at his steak.

  “My word,” Vance said, whiskers twitching. “I’ve got quite a delinquent on board. True terror with a bottle. You sure you can handle that vintage, sir mage?”

  “I’m fine.” He began to pour another glass. “I promise that—”

  Zaria kicked his shin below the table. She gave him a stern look, using her eye to order the wine bottle down. He ignored her, filling his cup. “I promise that I don’t burn the ships I’m sailing on.”

  “Ah,” Vance said, “and what about ashore, then?”

  “I prefer homes and orphans, in that case.”

  “Lovely. So long as my sails ain’t singed, I’ll loan ya kindling.” The otter finished her own cup and glanced to Zaria. “Your hand bothering you?”

  She tried to smile, still cutting through the steak. “Nah, capt. It’s fine.”

  “I’ve noticed you favor the off-hand, at times.”

  “Just an old wound. Gets a bit stiff. The sea spray ain’t helping.”

  Vance made a noise in her throat. Her smile had vanished. “How’d that happen?”

  Zaria shrugged, not looking at Isaac. “Muggers. Turned through an alley, barely managed to block the knife. Fucked the nerves, apparently. Lost the eye on the second swing.”

  “Well,” Vance said. “Them’s cutthroats for you. Just ruining lives to line their pockets.”

  “Aye, capt. Glad they didn’t do worse.”

  Vance’s gaze lingered on the hyena for a moment. She noticed Isaac was watching, let her smile return, and turned to her first mate. “Percy.”

  The jackal was picking his teeth with a knife, working out a long strand of gristle.

  “Oi! Percy!”

  Percival flinched, nearly stabbing his gums. Vance flicked her head towards Isaac. The jackal stood up hurriedly, rattling the dinnerware and trying to wriggle a scroll from his inner breast pocket.

  “’Bout time we talk business,” Vance said.

  He came around to Isaac’s side of the table and flattened the scroll along the cloth. The paper was a maze of titles, paragraphs and subsections. Just from a glance, Isaac could see that it had been inked sometime today—some of the black lines hadn’t dried properly.

  “That’s the missive the Royal Claw wanted me to pen for you.” Vance poured another cup of wine. “Some flowery preamble to start, then a new contract.”

  “New contract?” Isaac asked.

  “Go on. Read it.”

  Isaac began to do so, having to use both hands to make sure it remained flat on the table. After a moment, Zaria stood up from her seat, came to his side, and leaned over his shoulder. He heard her begin to mouth the words.

  “Oh,” Vance said, a note of surprise in her voice. “Zaria, you can read?”

  “Some. Gotta work it out, still.”

  Isaac leaned in, struggling to parse the neat, sharp curves of Vance’s handwriting. He realized that he was very drunk. The wine was much stronger than the swill he’d usually been served at a tavern. He raised his head for a moment, trying to catch the sea air coming through a portside window, and he saw the captain and first mate exchanging uneasy glances.

  “Hold on,” Zaria said. She pressed a finger to one of the words. “Ap—ate, um, rem—un—”

  “Remuneration,” Isaac said. “‘Appropriate remuneration’.”

  “The fuck’s that mean?”

  “It means we’re getting higher wages.”

  “Keep reading,” Vance said.

  “‘Great excitement.’ ‘Exotic specimens.’ ‘New charter.’ ‘Circumnavigation.’” Isaac paused. “Circumnavigation?”

  Vance was holding a quiet smile.

  “Wait,” Zaria said. “That means travel around, aye? Then . . . travelling all around the world?”

  “That’s the new contract,” Vance said. “Adding several years to the voyage. The feline queen’s quite impressed with sir mage’s funny creatures, and she’s tossing heaps of coin to get more of ‘em. Better pay, better provisions, gonna add cartographers, some escort ships—”

  “Fuck me,” Zaria said. “No one’s crossed the globe before. Half the maps are centuries old.”

  “We’ll be inkin’ the new ones.”

  Zaria clapped Isaac on the back, struggling to get the laughter out. She was the only one to try. Isaac had come to the end of the missive, and a stab of fear had gone through his gut. When he looked up, both captain and first mate were watching him carefully. The room began to spin faster.

  “What?” Zaria said, looking around. “Ain’t this grand? It’s bloody history we’re gonna make.”

  Isaac nudged her arm, pointing down at one of the paragraphs.

  “Oh, just tell me.”

  He had to lean in to read it. The wine felt like it was squeezing his skull. “The fugitive from justice currently aboard, known here as Zaria, is to immediately be taken into custody, whereby she will be returned to the mainland in order to stand trial for her crimes, listed here as murder, piracy, theft—”

  “That’s enough,” Vance said. “Listen—”

  “What?” Zaria grabbed the scroll, nearly burning it on a candle as she read. “A fucking arrest warrant?”

  Isaac reached for the wine bottle and began to pour a full cup.

  “Listen to me,” Vance said, keeping a hand close to her pistol. “I am not—”

  “Is that it, then? Thanks for the work, and get fucked?”

  “Zaria—”

  She slammed the scroll on the table. Plates fell and rattled. “It’s fucking rubbish! The queen loves pirates when they’re raiding merchant ships, but not on her barnyard boat, is that the way of it?”

  Vance sent her chair clattering as she stood. “I’ll not be yelled at in my own cabin. Keep your peace.”

  “Oh, is the queen’s dog gonna start barking?”

  Percival stepped back from the table, drawing his cutlass from the scabbard.

  “Zaria,” Vance said. Her hand was tight on her pistol grip. “Calm yourself. We’re just talking. Nothing more.”

  Isaac’s chair scraped along the planks as he stood. “Take your hand off your gun, captain.”

  “Not now, sir mage. Not until—”

  “Captain! Take your hand off your gun!”

  No one moved. Candles flickered. Fire reflected off the plates and knives. Isaac was so drunk that he nearly swayed with the ship, but, no matter what, his arms were always firm and steady. After a twitch of her whiskers, Vance gave a small nod to Percival. A hand fell from a pistol grip, and a sword returned to its sheath.

  “Listen to me, ya stubborn cunts,” the otter said. “If I was meaning to follow that directive, I wouldn’t have warned you of it, would I?”

  Zaria’s breath was hot on Isaac’s shoulder. “Small relief there, capt.”

  “I had my suspicions of you. Navies these days are infested with runaway pirates. But you do good work, and I’ve not seen any reason to complain. I’d sooner have been ignorant of your crimes, and just let you go on fucking sir mage at every port we make.”

  The table cloth began to burn from a fallen candle. Percival reached over and beat the flames out, never taking his eyes off Isaac.

  “Here’s how it is,” Vance said. “We’re making landfall in two days. It’s a cove not too distant from a royal outpost called Dewclaw, a two day journey southward. From there, there’s roads leading to native cities, other ports of call, anywhere you want. Zaria, you’ll be given enough provisions to make that journey, plus all your wages and my own written recommendation, in case you wish to grace someone else’s deck. Meanwhile, I’ll tell my superiors that you jumped overboard. They’ll think you’re dead, and things will stay peaceful between us.”

  Zaria tried to laugh.

  “I can’t do nothin’ otherwise. The Royal Claw wants a clean roster, and they didn’t appreciate you lying about your past, let alone all their ships you’ve had a hand in plundering.” Her snout began to curl. “And I’ll not abide some cutthroat serving on my vessel. From the way it’s told, you’ve got quite some blood on your hands.”

  “Like you don’t, capt?”

  “My blood was spilled for country and valor,” Vance said. “Yours was for greed and malice. If you compare us again, I’ll be throwing a corpse in the brig.”

  Zaria looked around the cabin, like the books on the shelves had suddenly closed in around her. She was failing to control her breath.

  “Isaac. This contract’s for you, and you alone. The feline queen’s become aware of your little bounty with the Diet wizards, and, after seeing your work here, she’s willing to offer a pardon. You’ll have royal protection. Sign that contract, and you won’t be hunted no more.”

  The wine in their cups swayed with the sea. The air smelled of salt and manticore blood.

  “You hearin’ me, sir mage?”

  Isaac blinked. “A royal pardon?”

  “Aye. Signed and proper. Not a bearded cunt in your magic towers who’d think of crossing that. You can go home again, with nary a target on your back.”

  His sweat was clammy. His head was swimming. His mouth was sour with wine.

  “Oi,” Vance said. “You gonna put your magic hands down, or you gonna say something?”

  “I—” He was drunk. Far too drunk. He lost his balance as the deck swayed, and he stumbled into Zaria. He smelled her scent from the leather coat, and it was only then that his mind pierced the haze. “Why me? Why not her, too?”

  The otter shrugged. “You’re more important. You’re the one naming these creatures. You’re the one blasting ships off our tail.” Vance looked over Isaac’s shoulder. Her gaze hardened. “You’re hard to replace. She’s not. She’ll just be a stain on this crew, once it’s all history.”

  Isaac ended up leaning hard on the table, rattling the plates. “She is not some—”

  “Isaac.” Zaria grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. “Shut up a moment.”

  “You don’t deserve—”

  “Shut your fucking gob, squire.”

  He made to speak. She silenced him with a glare. After a moment, he stepped back, almost losing his balance.

  “Captain,” Zaria said. “Thanks for goin’ out your way for me. It’s—” She cleared her throat, refocused her gaze. “It’s appreciated.”

  “Aye,” Vance said. “Least I could do. You’ve served me well, and that deserves payment in kind.” She straightened her coat, looking the hyena up and down. “As of now, you’re relieved of duty. I’m not thinking that confining you is necessary, is it?”

  “No, capt. Prim and proper, as always.”

  Vance made a noise in her throat. “Talk to Thorne. She’s been ‘round the island before. Can give you some direction. Sure Percy here’s got a map or two of his own.”

  Percival nodded. His hand had never strayed far from the scabbard.

  Zaria leaned over the table, staring into the wine that had stained the cloth. “Don’t suppose I’m talking you out of this?”

  “I got my orders. Nothing’s changin’ that.” Her short fur bristled. “And I’m of no mind to argue them. I’ve lost too many of my mates to pirates. There’s acres of bone down below the drink—good sailors—all dead ‘cause of your kind. I’ll not abide your presence here. Not on my ship.”

  Zaria straightened herself. She looked back at Isaac. For a long moment, her eye blinked, and her ears bent back, and there was something she was just on the edge of speaking. It never came. She closed her mouth, seemed to steel herself, and said: “Aye, then. Thanks for dinner, capt. I’ll leave you three.”

  “No!” Isaac stepped forward. “You’re not going. This is not—”

  “She is going,” Vance said. “We still need to discuss your terms.”

  “There is nothing to discuss!”

  Both captain and first mate flinched at his shout. Their eyes went wide, watching his hands.

  “I’m not signing that contract,” Isaac said. “Either she stays, or I’m going, too.”

  Vance’s whiskers curled down. “That ain’t happenin’.”

  “Then we’re done here.” Isaac grabbed the wine bottle off the table. “I’ll be taking this, as well. Payment for saving your ship.”

  Percival’s hand was resting on the hilt of his cutlass.

  “Isaac.” Zaria reached for the bottle. “That’s enough. I’m not raisin’ a fuss.”

  He pulled the wine away, nearly falling onto the table. “What were you doing, captain? You’ve been sitting there all through the meal, smiling at us, knowing you’re about to rip us apart while you joke and laugh. Was this your idea of a jest? Did you think I’d be grateful that you’re about to leave her stranded?”

  “I was being gracious,” Vance said, her voice measured. “Would you rather I’d hauled her to the brig in front of you?”

  Isaac pointed at her. “You’re not half the person she is. She’s worth ten of you combined.”

  Percival took a step towards the table, his burned ear flat to his skull.

  “Isaac,” Vance said. “I don’t appreciate your tone. I’ll not put up with it much longer.”

  “That feeling’s mutual, captain.”

  She leaned over the table, candlelight reflecting off her navy coat. “Sleep this off. That’s an order. You’re upset, and three sheets to the wind, besides, otherwise I’d have you disciplined.” She pushed the contract over to him. “Read it. Think it over. We’ll be heading back to the mainland after this last mooring, and I’ll take your answer anytime ‘tween now and then.”

  “There’s nothing to think over,” Isaac said. “The answer’s no.”

  “Cunts to collars, Isaac, it’s a royal pardon. It’s the queen’s bloody wishes. You’ll never get another chance—”

  He picked up the scroll, rolled it together, and stuck the end into the flame of a candle. When the fire had fully caught, he threw the parchment at Vance’s feet.

  “Fuck your contract,” Isaac said, “and fuck you, too.”

  He made to leave. He tripped on the leg of a chair as he did, and stumbled hard across the planks, nearly throwing the bottle of wine. The cabin door seemed to rush at him. He fell into it without reaching for the knob, and the lock shattered off the wood as he plummeted through the doorway.

  The top deck of the Arms of Horn was dark, wet, and wreathed in the light of lanterns. The glowing sigil was bright against the stars, and the cold spray of the sea felt wonderful on his clammy skin. He washed the salty water down with a generous gulp of wine. One of the leopards was on watch, reflective eyes watching him in surprise.

  “Wanna drink?” Isaac shouted.

  The leopard did not respond. Isaac laughed, took another swig, and stumbled toward the rigging, determined to climb.

  Zaria grabbed him. She was forced to grapple him to keep the hold. “Quit your fuckin’—”

  He yanked on the fore-rigging, reaching up to the bottom of the sail.

  “Isaac!”

  The world spun. His stomach did, too. It stopped just enough for him to see Zaria’s face, tawny fur under a black eyepatch, grunting as she suddenly held up his entire body weight.

  “Oh, fuck me,” she said, “you’re legless.”

  Being held horizontally did not agree with him. His stomach flexed. He began to gag, her eye went wide, the world spun again, and then he was vomiting off the side of the gunwale, painting the hull of the ship just as much as the ocean. Manticore dripped off the cannon holes. He barely had gaps in which to breathe.

  When his guts stopped folding themselves, he made out fractions of conversation.

  “—ere’s the wine back—”

  “—your quarters—”

  “—not like to happen—”

  He was forced to stand and walk. When he did, Vance was watching from outside her cabin, her tall form bathed in the glowing sail light.

  “See you on the morrow,” she said, rubbing the broken lock on her door.

  Isaac was taken below deck. The process involved more dragging than walking, and every breath Zaria gave seemed to have a curse. He passed the turn that lead to his hammock. All his protests were yanked and hissed into silence. There was a flurry of bulkheads, the ripe smell of the privy, the dull iron of cannonball mounds, crewmen on watch looming from shadow.

  He was in a dark room. He was shoved onto a mattress that was as thick as a puddle. After some curses and fumbling, a hanging lantern was lit, still dripping salt water.

  Zaria was already shrugging off her top—coat, vest and shirt. She was doing it with such force that they barely survived the process.

  “Is this your cabin?” Isaac asked.

  It was little more than a shed. Her bunk was the only furniture, and it was just long enough that she could lie down without bending her knees. The sea was close, pounding loudly against the planks, and there was a constant salty dew on every surface.

  Zaria unclasped her brassiere. Isaac blinked at the sight of her breasts. Muscle, fur, scars, two pink—

  She shoved a tankard at him. “Drink the water.”

  “There they are!”

  She slapped his hand away. “Drink the fucking water.”

  “There they are!”

  She made him drink. Some groping was allowed. He downed enough water to wash the taste of vomit from his mouth, and only managed a few breaths before she was demanding more. By the end, his stomach was full again, and some small clarity had returned.

  She grabbed him. He was dragged down to her mattress. The world became a dizzy mixture of fur and motion. All resistance was met with force, and every curse was met with laughter.

  When things settled again, or near enough with the rocking of the ship, she was on her back, he was lying on top of her, and his face was buried in the fur of her chest. It was a very pleasant surprise. Everything came second nature, then—her smell, the heat of her body, the feeling of her hands. . . .

  “Fun’s over,” she said. “Lie still.”

  He tried to push himself up, but her hands were on his back, keeping him pinned. Down below, the backs of her knees were locked against his.

  “So help your furless arse,” Zaria said, “you’re sleeping here or the planks. Make a choice.”

  He fell back into her fur. His world became scent and fluff. “Is this a bribe?”

  “Aye. I’m buyin’ your compliance.”

  “You’re a foul temptress.”

  “And you best point that thing somewhere else.”

  He blinked. Then, he shifted his hips. “Sorry.”

  “He’s a good friend,” Zaria said, “but he’s sleeping indoors tonight.”

  “Oh, how he misses his sheath.”

  “I’m not your sheath! You’re my bouncin’ rod!”

  He snickered. She growled. After further prompting, he relaxed on top of her, burying his cheek into her chest. Hands began to scratch his back. There came a contented sigh, blowing out with the waves.

  But soon everything was spinning—if he closed his eyes, the bed became a centrifuge, and the nausea grew strong again. When he kept his eyes open, he could see the lantern over a spotted carpet of fur, swaying on its hook and dripping with dew. He felt her breath on his hair. It kept him centered.

  After a while, her hands stopped scratching. There were small intakes of breath, as if she was taking several attempts to speak.

  “So,” Zaria said, drawing the word out. “Quite some shouting you did back there.”

  Isaac’s grunt was affirmative.

  “Them words all left you now, have they?”

  He rubbed his cheek through fur. The grunt was more affirmative.

  “Isaac. You shouldn’t have. . . .”

  Her sigh blew through his hair. Isaac felt a small stab of clarity.

  “Shouldn’t have done that,” Zaria said. “You should’ve signed the contract.”

  “Should’ve slapped her.”

  “No, squire, look—”

  “The fucking nerve—”

  “Isaac. On the morrow, I’m going back to her, and I’ll do my damndest to beg for a new one. If she pens it, you’re signing.”

  He blew a fat raspberry.

  “I’ll fucking puppet your hand, if need be.”

  “Can you even spell my name?”

  “Isaac,” she said, voice hard and firm. “You need to sign it. She’s right. It’s the only chance you’re ever gonna have to. . . .” There was another sigh. “You can go back again. This is your only chance to return.”

  He burrowed his cheek into her chest. “I’d rather die than go back.”

  “Oh, you’d rather be stranded on some foreign island, instead?”

  “With you,” he said. “I’m being stranded with you.”

  “Do you know the language? Do you got any idea of the terrain, the cities, how many bandits line the roads? Do you even know the name of this place?”

  “Do you?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Isn’t it? How’re you gonna survive there?”

  “I dunno,” Zaria said. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “We’re figuring it out together.”

  “No, you stupid cunt. I survived the street. I survived the pirate life. I’ll manage this, like I always have. You—”

  “You need my help,” Isaac said. “You need my magic, you need my reading, you need—”

  Her hands pressed on his back. “I need you to sign this. All those things you got can be put to better purpose. You realize that? I mean, what do I got to offer? Slinging a rope, swinging a sword? World’s full of them sorts. I ain’t special. You are. You’ve got a chance to be in the fucking history books. They’ll speaking your name for centuries to come.”

  Isaac felt sick again. He had to stare at the lantern. Watch the droplets fall.

  “Circumnavigation,” Zaria said. “First expedition to clear the globe. You’ll be inking the maps, making diplomacy, hauling trade, you’ll be collecting all these monsters and going to all these places and it’s just—it’s right there. You can have it. You can live something even beyond your dreams.”

  “I don’t care,” Isaac said. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Well, I’ll fucking care, if you don’t. I’m not letting you throw your life away for me. I’m just—” Her breath came through his hair. “I’m just street trash, love. I was never meant for greatness. Never had hope for it. I’m fine this way. It’s expected. I’m not . . . I’m not worth this.”

  Isaac slid his hands beneath her back, rubbing the muscle. “Yes, you are.”

  “No.” Her chest was hitching. “No, I’m not. Don’t do this. Please. You don’t know what you’re throwing away. You can have more than I’ll ever offer.”

  “Z,” he said. “I don’t care.”

  “You need to care. This ain’t right. You need to—”

  “Z. I don’t care. You know? I’ve always. . . .”

  He laid there for a moment, his cheek rising with the breath of her chest. The lantern swayed with the sea. The air was salty, and his mouth was dry.

  “I’ve always cared,” Isaac said. “Every decision I’ve ever made. It’s always—what if this is wrong, and what will others think, and I’m just not good enough, and. . . .” He swallowed. “I’m always second guessing myself. I never feel like I know what the right decision is.”

  He took a deep breath. Her scent pierced through the haze.

  “I keep thinking that my uncle’s ruined me. I’ll just be scared the rest of my life, always fretting over everything I do.”

  He tightened his arms, pulling himself against her.

  “I’m not scared now. I don’t care about the contract—adventure, posterity, whatever. If it’s a choice between you and everything else, then I’m picking you. It’s that simple. For the first time, it’s exactly that simple.”

  A smile emerged, completely on its own.

  “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with my life,” Isaac said. “All I know is that I want you to be there with me. That’s all that matters.”

  There was a long pause. Suddenly, her breathing turned ragged. When Isaac pushed himself up, she was trying to wipe the tears from her eye.

  “I thought it was happening,” she said. “I thought you were finally gonna leave me for better.” She breathed, ears folding flat. “It’s just what happens. People stab your back whenever they can. Everyone does it. They’ll take the chance, if it’s there. For a second, I was certain that you . . . even you. . . .”

  “Oh,” Isaac said, breaking out into a grin. “Is my knight losing her grace?”

  She tried to smile back. The tears kept coming.

  “Actually, I don’t think you’re my knight at all. She’s always so gallant and strong. You can’t be her, surely.”

  She turned away, furiously rubbing her eye. He wrapped a gentle hand around her muzzle, coaxing her back.

  “Maybe you’re right. I should go serve a different knight, instead. Clearly, you’re not up to the task.”

  “Shut up. Shut your fucking mouth, squire.”

  She kissed him. It was barely less than a bite. Fur and teeth assaulted his lips, clearly not designed for the task. Hot breath filled the salty air, and her tongue barreled against his own, wrestling him down before he could mount a defense. Both of them became desperate for leverage. A hand grabbed his chin, an arm balanced on the mattress, there was a war erupting between their tongues, and he had to use all his strength to keep himself lifted while she pressed the attack.

  She dipped down, dragging her tongue along the length of his throat. He took the chance to breathe. When she reached the nape of his neck, the nibbling began, her incisors gently pinching the flesh, and the hand he was rubbing through her mohawk began to go slack. His shuddering breath only encouraged her. There was a flurry of licks, each one longer than the last, and, whenever her tongue moved to a different spot, the thick fur of her neck always followed, rubbing along the slick, steaming skin.

  She attacked his clothes. He rose to his hands and knees, trying to gain leverage. Every movement he made forced a brief loss of contact. Every time, it made her growl. He went from a crawling position to kneeling back on his haunches, and, as her onslaught continued, he was tilted back further and further until he lost his balance completely. Instead of the thin mattress, he fell against the cold, damp wood of her cabin wall. By then, only his undershirt remained, and she was already using the chance to strip him of his pants. His belt buckle glinted in the lantern light. It was still glinting when it was thrown against the opposite wall.

  Zaria stood off the mattress. Her pants hit the planks. Right then, she wore nothing but the light of the lantern, and Isaac could not decide where his gaze should settle—the spotted fur, the curve of her hips, the slope of her breasts, the muscles, the scars, the thin hint of pink already glistening between her legs.

  “Take it off,” she said.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “Take it off.”

  He removed the last of his clothes. She rushed for him.

  The thin mattress did not cushion the impact—he felt more wood than cloth as she sunk her weight down on him, and he felt even more wood when his back was pressed to the wall. She had a plan, clearly, but she spent more time kissing him then following it, and every shift of position only came gradually. They developed a pattern—lick, breath, move. A kiss, a grab, a turn. By the end, Isaac was sitting cross-legged, Zaria was hovering above him, and she was rubbing the head of his cock through the slick creases of her cunt, trying to reach the appropriate angle. Both of them felt it when she did.

  Their foreheads pressed together. She was gazing into his eyes as he entered her.

  A wave crashed against the hull, burying the sound of their gasping breaths. Her descent came slow enough that Isaac felt every bump and fold of her inner walls. She was slick, tight, burning hot. Every trace of the wine seemed to vanish from his mind. There was nothing but her scent, her breath, her grip tightening on his shoulders, the weight of her fuzzy thighs sinking into his lap.

  When he was fully hilted, they kissed again. She shifted her legs, wrapping her calves were around the small of his back. Her arms pressed him into a hug, one that encompassed the breadth of their bodies. With her breasts on his shoulders, and his face in her chest, it felt as if there was no part of them that was not in contact with the other.

  She began to rock back and forth. The penetration barely changed, the heavy weight of her thighs never quite left his lap, but every motion earned a hitch in his breath and a whine from her chest. She never changed the pace. It remained slow, firm, and steady.

  “Do the—”

  He pulled back just enough to take her nipple in his mouth. A sharp breath blew through his hair. As he tugged and licked, her hands roamed along his back, seeking for a place to grip. She settled on kneading her fingers through his hair. The shift in attention only barely slowed the rocking of her hips, and he felt her walls contract as he worked her breast. Every reaction he sought to earn was received in ample supply.

  “My squire.”

  She pushed him back. He only had a second to glimpse her face before it was bending down to kiss him. The contact rapidly devolved into licks. He was forced to close his eyes against the long, heavy drags of her tongue. Soon, the wetness on his face was more saliva than sweat, and every attempt he made to pull away only earned a growl and a tighter grip.

  “My squire.”

  She kept licking. He continued to resist, more playfully than not.

  Down below, their point of connection had turned sopping wet. As her fur ran across his thighs, it left streaks of their emissions. Every sensation came together as one—her lips brushing against his groin, her walls gripping him like a fist, all the heat and wetness almost making him forgot the growing ache in his legs. She was sitting heavy in his lap, keeping him buried as deep as he could go, and, with her legs and arms wrapped tightly around him, he did not think that he could pull away, even if he wanted to.

  A whine came from deep in her chest. When he looked, she was crying again, wiping her face until the clasp of her eyepatch came undone. Her other eye blinked open, the iris milky white. She blinked it shut, turning her head away as the whine was buried under the crash of a wave.

  Isaac reached for her face, taking her cheek in his palm.

  “Fine. I’m fine.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “Shut up. Stop.”

  He used his hand to coax her head down. When it was in reach, he kissed her eye. Slowly, he began to kiss his way around the rest of her facial scars. Her tears broke through again, and she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.

  “Just a thief,” she said. “Just a thief.”

  His other hand found its way to hers. “I know. You’ve stolen my heart.”

  “That’s awful, Isaac.”

  “Oh, you deserve worse.”

  She laughed, hooking her chin against his shoulder. With their hands still entwined together, she sent their arms on a journey down her body—through the valley of her breasts, the furry grassland of her abdomen, and, finally, the sodden heat of her thighs. She pressed his hand to the hood of her sex, and Isaac did not dally with the task. His fingers rubbed around her nub, kneading her lips in circling motions. The rocking of her hips began to falter. There was a sharp breath, a tightening grip.

  “Don’t stop.”

  “Is that my knight’s command?”

  He felt the growl travel through his body. Her chin left his shoulder, and, as she rose to her full height again, his head was forced between her breasts. There was no effort required to keep him there.

  “That’s my squire,” she said, now fucking his hand as much as his cock. “That’s my—”

  The ship lurched with a wave, perfectly timed with a stroke. He had never been deeper before.

  “My squire.”

  His hair was a mess of hot breath and kneading fingers.

  “My—oh—”

  A wet, burning friction. The rocking came faster.

  “Oh, Isaac.”

  His arm wrapped around her waist. Her arm wrapped around his shoulders. Their hands were still together, down below.

  “Isaac.”

  His face buried deep, an entire world of warmth and fur and smell.

  “Hey.”

  “Z.”

  “I’m—”

  “Yes.”

  “Hm?”

  “Hm.”

  “Hm!”

  It was all she needed to hear. The rocking came even faster. She bent down, hooking her snout against his head.

  There was a growing pressure. Isaac had almost forgotten that this would happen.

  There were hot breaths. Hot skin. A burning heat between them.

  Cold, salty air, dripping from wood and lantern.

  Hands together, searching for grip.

  Fur and scars and warmth.

  Her voice. Her smell.

  Her.

  They came together, every contraction of his cock receiving a similar response in kind, and their bodies were already entwined to the point that, when the waves of pleasure surged through them, they had nothing to do but tighten their grips, breathe as one, gasp and moan and shake until it was hard to tell one voice from another. Isaac felt like he’d spent his soul inside of her. When the sensations began to retreat, they left behind a euphoria that spread through every vein of his body, a feeling of contentment that left all his muscles tingling and warm.

  Neither of them moved. The lantern was growing dim, a wave pounded against the hull, and it was fairly obvious that her mattress had been soaked to ruin, but, still, they held on to each other, breathing deep and long. Nothing but their touch seemed to matter.

  Isaac was the first to break the spell. He rubbed his cheek through her chest, relishing the fur and breathing deeply of her scent, and, in a quiet voice, he said: “I love you.”

  She stiffened, pulling slightly away. A stab of fear went through his heart. All the old worries came flooding into his mind. Was that the right thing to say? Was it too soon? All this time, had his feelings not—

  Her hands came away—one from his back, one from her thighs. When they returned, they held his face in their palms, the pads soft and the claws applying gentle pressure. He looked up, and she was already coming down to kiss him.

  She had no lips, her nose was cold, and Isaac was very aware that one of her hands was wet, but, right then, he could not have imagined a better kiss in all the world.

  When Zaria pulled back, her old grin had already returned.

  “I love you, too, squire.”