“Sorry,” Arn said, and he exited for the lower decks. “That life ain’t for me. I break bricks better than I break skulls.”

Arn slipped the charm into the box he kept in his cramped bunkroom. It was foolish to bring it out, especially so close to Thanet, but he’d been feeling nervous without it over the past few weeks. Yet it wasn’t safe in his pocket. One simple error, and he might give up the whole game.

“Meffrit, are you in here?”

Arn slammed the chest shut and kicked it underneath his bed.

“Yeah?” he asked, spinning about to sit on the edge of his bunk. Lendsy entered the cabin.

“The crew is hauling in nets, and they want your help.”

“Sure thing,” he said, and grinned as if he weren’t nervous in the slightest. Together they returned to the deck. Given their lengthy voyage, the caravel dragged fishing nets daily for fresh catch to feed the passengers and crew. Despite the aid of the pullies, lifting the nets was a laborious process under normal circumstances. But with Arn’s help? Or with the help of an imperial paragon?

“Slow it down, you two, or you’ll fling the net over the damn mast and off the other side!” one of the sailors called out, and laughed.

“Don’t blame me, Lendsy’s doing all the work,” Arn lied.

Several men leaned over the edge, grasping at the soggy net squirming with fish to guide it in. Arn pretended he was straining more than he was, and let out an exaggerated sigh when one of the sailors opened the bottom of the net to dump the contents across the main deck.

“Fine work,” Lendsy said, and he clapped Arn across the shoulder.

“No need for compliments. I’ll be eating some of that fish myself.”

They stood side by side, watching the flurry of activity as fish were grabbed and gutted, parts dumped into barrels, waste to the sea. To an outsider, it would be chaos, but to the sailors, an organized process, each and every man knowing their place.

“Your comment about the devotions, and paragons,” Lendsy said, quietly enough so no one else would overhear. “It means more to me than you think.”

Arn attempted to head off the conversation with a dismissive wave.

“Just hot and empty words. Don’t put any thought into them. I rarely do.”

“But you echo a sentiment I hear all too often.” He leaned in, closing the gap between them. “We paragons are meant to inspire the populace! Yes, we are the fist of the God-Incarnate, and this often means we fight at the vanguard of his conquering forces. This is a result of our gifts, but it isn’t the purpose of them.”

Arn raised an eyebrow. A few of the passengers had come to watch the haul, and though they pretended otherwise, they had begun eavesdropping on the conversation.