The air was acrid with the scent of cannon powder. I could hear faraway shouts that I suspected were the cries of men who were aboard the ships we had (I hoped) sunk that were blockading Sky Bay by means of its only wharf, Twilight Harbor.

But there were no cries of men closer to (say, on our deck) that would make me believe anything but that we were safe, and we’d been triumphant.

I did not look through a porthole to ascertain if I was correct in this assumption, for we were in a cabin that did not have a view to the action (I’d already checked).

I also did not look because I was fuming due to the fact we were in a cabin at all.

I could use a sword, very well.

Finnie, I’d learned, was also proficient.

And Circe was known as the Golden Warrior Queen, for the goddess’s sake.

That said, from the ferocious scowl her husband sent my way when I was arguing the need for the women to stay belowdecks (which I had to admit, was a scowl of a level of ferocity that caused a trill of trepidation to skim over my skin, and I didn’t not feel such a sensation often), I did not fight Circe’s quarter.

Or Finnie’s.

Just my own.

I also lost.

“From what you’ve told us,” Circe said, and I stopped lounging on the daybed in the cabin, fuming, and instead lounged on the daybed and looked to her (still fuming), “you face many battles. Perhaps it’s best you conserve your energy for ones that are worth it.”

“I’m sorry?” I asked.

Circe cast her gaze to Finnie, who took over.

“They are…I mean, the men in this world are…” She faltered as I adjusted my thinking to take into account these two had long been of this world, but they were not of this world. They were of an entirely different one that, along our journey, they’d shared much about.

Including fantastical stories about things called “cars,” “computers,” “smartphones,” “sushi” and “fluffernutter sandwiches.”

All of which they very much missed.

But love kept them here.

Love for their husbands and then love for the families they had made with said husbands.

And I was thinking, in my present mood, that was the most fantastical part by far of any of their tales.

“Well…men,” Finnie finished weakly.

“They are men,” I agreed.

“That is to say, they’re more men than most men,” she went on. “Yours included.”

I stared at her.

She, also lounging on the daybed (as was Circe—Jasmine and Hera were outside the door, guarding it, and at least they were allowed to perform duties they’d trained since girls to do), leaned my way to reach out a hand to circle my wrist. She left it there, squeezing what I suspected she thought was reassuringly.

“You will, as the years pass, get super freaking pissed at him,” she said.

To this, I blinked at her.