Tavi looked blearily at Max from where he sat at the cabin’s small writing desk, poring over maps. “Didn’t sleep well last night.”

Max’s rough, handsome face flashed into a quick, boyish grin. “Aye. Tough to go back to a cold bunk once you get used to a warm one.”

Tavi gave him a steady look.

Max’s smile widened. “Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s always a good thing when your Legion’s captain is more relaxed and calm than he might be otherwise. I’m all in favor of the captain having a woman. I could see about maybe finding some kind of replacement if you aren’t too terribly particular, Captain.”

Tavi picked up his cup of tea. “If you don’t finish before I’ve drunk this, I’m throwing this mug at your fat head.”

Max folded his arms and leaned back against the door with a serene smile. “Of course, Your Highness.”

The honorific stole whatever faint amusement Max had brought with him. Tavi knew that his grandfather was dead, but he had not spoken to the others about it. He had no way to prove it, after all—and Alera had made clear that she had no intention of displaying herself to others in the fleet.

Besides, there was a considerable difference between being the rightful heir and actually assuming the office of the First Lord.

Tavi pushed the thoughts from his mind. Those problems would attend to themselves in time. First, survive today.

“You came in here for a reason, Max?”

Max’s smile faded as well. He nodded, his neck slightly stiff. “Crassus is on the way back in. He should be on deck in the next few moments.”

Tavi rose and gulped down the rest of the strong tea. He doubted the mild stimulants in it would help him much after yet another grueling night of lessons with Alera, but he was willing to try. “Get me Magnus and the First Spear. Signal the Trueblood and invite Varg to come to the Slive at his earliest convenience.”

“Already done,” Max said. “Finish your biscuit, at least.”

Tavi frowned at him but turned to pick up his breakfast, a plain square of ship’s biscuit, a stiff and greyish bread made with some of the last of their flour and some of the less noxious portions of a taken leviathan. “I am not going to miss these,” he said, but he tore into it with a will. If things went badly that day, he might not get a chance to eat later on.

“I’ve been thinking,” Max said. “Kitai might have a point.”

Tavi shook his head. “If so, I don’t see it.”

Max grunted. “Look, Tavi. You’re my friend. But you’ve got some of the most crowbegotten blind spots.”

“What do you mean?”