For a moment, she thought the other woman would strike her. Fianna stood, stooped in the tiny cabin, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. At length, the habit of discipline won out, and she merely shook her head. “I pity you,” she said in a low voice. “I shouldn’t, but I do. You’ve forgotten what it means to be a mortal woman.” She regarded Lilias. “If, indeed, you ever even knew. And it’s a pity because it’s all that’s left to you, and all that ever will be.”

“Not quite.” Lilias gave a bitter smile. “I have my memories.”

“I wish you the joy of them!”

The door slammed on the Archer’s retort. Lilias sighed, feeling her tense body uncoil. If nothing else, at least the confrontation had distracted her from her misery. It felt as though she might survive the sea journey after all. Aracus’ will, was it? Well, let him have his way, then. It was nothing less than the Son of Altorus demanded. “I wish you the joy of it,” Lilias whispered.

Finishing the water, she curled onto her side and slept.

When she awoke, it was black as pitch inside the cabin, and stifling hot. Somewhere, the sound of breathing came from another bunk, slow and measured. Was it the Archer? Like as not, since the Dwarfs maintained a prohibition on men and women sharing quarters.

The thought of it made her stomach lurch. Moving silently, Lilias clambered from the bunk and made her way to the door. It was unlatched and opened to her touch. She exited onto the deck, closing the door quietly behind her.

Outside, the sea breeze blew cool and fresh against her face, tasting of salt. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs. For a mercy, her stomach settled in the open air. It was almost pleasant, here beneath the vault of night. The stars seemed to shine more brightly than ever they did in the mountains, and the waxing moon laid a bright path on the dark waves. Here and there, lanterns were hung from the ship’s rigging, lending a firefly glow. Dwarfish figures worked quietly by their light, tending to this and that, ignoring her presence.

It was bliss to have no keeper for the first time since Beshtanag. Lilias made her way to the prow of the ship, finding its swaying no longer discomforted her as it had earlier. To her chagrin, she found she was not alone; a tall figure stood in the prow, gazing outward over the water. His head turned at her approach, moonlight glinting on the gold fillet that encircled his brow.

She halted. “My lord Altorus. I did not mean to intrude.”

“Lilias.” He beckoned to with one hand. “Come here. Have you ever seen Meronin’s Children?”