All choices were bad, but bad was not the same thing as wrong. She owed her whole life, from her first breath on, to a brave heart and a fool’s chance. She would sooner cut out her own still-beating heart than abandon innocents to the culling fleets.

Isabelle checked the square of her shoulders. She glanced at Don Luggia, but he was no longer there. He had never been there. Curse this madness.

She regarded her officers and summoned her voice of command. “Helmsman, set a course for Fishers Point. We’re between them and the cratonic rim. If they hope to carry their prize home, they’ll have to come through us. Vrain, get back to the Cauldron and get me updates from Fishers Point. Lieutenant Simon, feed the crew, douse the cook fire, beat to quarters, and clear for battle. Rebecca, fetch me Major Bitterlich.”

“Aye, Capitaine,” the crowd saluted as one, and hurried to their duties.

Only when they were gone did Isabelle allow the quaking shudder that had been building in her gut to come rattling out, shaking her skeleton like a sack of sticks.

She was no stranger to violence. She’d scars both inside and out. She’d killed a man with her spark-hand once, but she’d never sought out conflict. It had always been there, waiting for her, chasing her until she finally turned and fought. This time whatever happened would be on her ledger.

“Capitaine,” Bitterlich said, stepping through the door. She caught his gaze. His polite if distant expression softened a bit around the edges. He didn’t seem to know what to say.

Do I look that awful? She must show strength and composure to her men.

What do his feelings matter? He is your subordinate, said her chorus.

Isabelle rubbed the nape of her neck to make the fine hairs lay flat. She needed no more advice from the dead.

“Major.” She pointed to the orrery. “A culling fleet has attacked Fishers Point. We’re on course to intercept. I need you to find out exactly what we’re up against.”

“Yes, Capitaine,” Bitterlich said, saluting so primly that it seemed to pledge loyalty to fashion as well as l’Empire. “I shall come back with a complete count of their cannonballs.” His brisk cheer sounded strained to her ears.

She held his gaze, golden eyes with vertical pupils and lovely amber sworls around the edges. Once he’d called her a fire under snow and she’d kissed him, and then she’d messed it up somehow.

He cleared his throat, and looked like he couldn’t decide what to do with his tongue. At last he said, “Capitaine, I wish to apologize for my behavior—”

She held up a hand to stay his tongue. “I appreciate your concern, but the mistake was entirely mine.” She had made too many assumptions. “Saints grant you speed. Builder keep.”