The wind was mercifully steady, the ship slicing through the waves with little difficulty. Around her, members of the crew went about their tasks with efficiency. The deck was a wonderfully loud pce at the start of a voyage. Laughter, voices calling out, gossip of the market being shared. The ship was alive, well, and happy. Unfortunately, an undercurrent of fear ran through her people. The Grand Admiral heard the whispers, the rumours. Samanders on board. Do you think it’s bad luck? The same sentiment over and over again. The Grand Admiral stopped at each crew member who was on deck, ensuring they were doing what was necessary, answering questions truthfully, doing what she could to calm their fears.

  Their passengers were not a secret to be kept from the crew, and by being open and honest, it quelled the rumours, or so she hoped. Most were concerned only with the idea that the Samanders would light the ship on fire. The fact that two were young only fueled their fears.

  “We have prepared for that. And if it is a repeated problem we will dump them on an isnd and call it a day.” She was, of course, only mostly joking when she said this, over and over, to fearful men and women. The ability to call fire from the very air was a well known ability of the Samanders, though only the red-haired ones could manage such a thing. Or so the stories went. But the Samanders had been isotionists for a generation, and so it was only stories. Even Dymion, their gnome, had not met a Samander, and he had travelled on ships other than the Tooth.

  The Admiral had reached a point where she craved solitude, but though the sun was setting it was not yet time to rex. She sought out the youngest of her crew mates. The girl, nearly eighteen, worked as a deckhand, mostly keeping the deck clean and running messages as required. Occasionally the Admiral sent her to the Crow’s nest. Very occasionally, she was the Grand Admiral’s ace up her sleeve.

  “Talk?” The Admiral signed, flopping gracelessly next to the girl. Epelda smiled and nodded. It was quieter below deck, nearly peaceful, except the constant sound of waves from outside.

  “About the new people?” Her hands moved fast, faster than the Admiral. And while more than half of the crew could sign a few words, danger, help, Admiral, food, thank you, only the Admiral could truly converse with the girl.

  And so, haltingly, the Admiral signed to her voiceless deckhand. She spoke as well, filling in the gaps of their piecemeal hand nguage. It was said the Sylphs could all speak a nguage like it, that children were raised to speak with their hands and not their voices, for a wind-touched Sylph could do serious damage with their raised voice. Admiral had purchased a book that taught some basics, but all of their ship-reted signs were made up by them.

  “I need you to not hum if they are above deck,” the Admiral signed. She pced her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “We don’t know them. We cannot trust them.” She spoke those words out loud, staring into Epelda’s silvery eyes as she did. The girl nodded seriously.

  “I’ll be careful and secret,” the blonde adolescent signed, struggling for a better word but finding none. “What will you tell them about me?”

  “The same that’s in any notes, that you are a child I found. None of the other details are their concern, not your injury, and especially not your lineage.” The Admiral pulled the girl into a sideways hug. “I promised to protect you. That means from busybody nobles and pirates alike.” The youth chuckled and nodded. The Admiral stood, and bid her not-quite-daughter a goodnight, stopping only to fuss with the girl’s braids. Her thin, flyaway hair was impossible to keep properly pited.

  Meals were handed out, and the Admiral asked Evander to deliver meals and tea to their guests. She hoped sending the tea would help smooth the ruffled feathers of the noblewoman.

  “It would mean more if the tea was delivered by you, Admiral,” her first mate pointed out with a mischievous grin. “‘Less you’re afraid that that soft lookin’ dy’s gonna give you trouble.”

  “I’m not afraid of a pampered noble who probably has never lifted a sword let alone seen a battle.” Her first mate made a guffaw and almost lost the tray of tea. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you know?”

  “Only what she told you,” he grinned cheekily. “Or did ya miss it?”

  “Miss what?”

  “She cimed knighthood.”

  There was a beat of silence between them as the Admiral processed his words.

  “Maybe Knighthood is inherited,” she said at st. “There is no chance that soft woman led troops to battle or fought her way to a great victory. She probably cries at the sight of blood.” She drummed her fingers on her desk, trying not to think about the pleasantly curvy, soft woman or her stormy eyes. “Their customs aren’t ours, we should stop assuming what applies to us also applies to them.”

  “Then you’ll take the tea?”

  She pyfully threw a rag at him, but snatched the tea. She stomped out of her own cabin, attempting and failing to keep her frustrations off her face. She took a breath. The salty air reminded her where she was, who she was. The Admiral lifted her left hand and knocked.

  The countess answered the door. Her long hair was no longer confined to braids but cascaded down her back in a wavy waterfall. Ael had never seen a noblewoman’s hair so free, had never seen hair that long save her own. A passing fancy echoed in her mind, that she would love to touch the hair, weave it back into braids or be the reason it was undone and in disarray. She forced the thought down,and tried to keep her embarrassment hidden.

  “Tea,” she muttered sullenly, looking down at the other woman’s boots. They were well worn, caked in dirt, and the woman’s feet were small but wide. Despite her softness, she was a sturdy woman. “I am sorry for being a prejudiced arse earlier.” She winced at her own wording. But the countess chuckled a little, a sound like rain on the sails.

  “Apology, and tea, accepted.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, likely so it would not fall into the tray as she took it. The Admiral looked away again, heat climbing up her cheeks. It was not appropriate to look at a woman in such a state. “Have I done something wrong?” The countess’s voice was light, almost pyful. The Admiral began to admire the lines in the wood of the door. It was sanded so smooth, but had maintained the grain’s beauty. “Oh.” The woman sounded almost disappointed. “I have.”

  “No, your Grace,” the Admiral replied softly. “I came when you were not expecting company… I… I meant no disrespect.”

  “Admiral, I am fully dressed and you are… you look like you’ve seen me unclothed!” The Admiral did her best to ignore the heat in her cheeks but it was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend that all was well.

  “Your hair is unbound… I…” Admiral stuttered and then turned her back to the countess. “It’s a mark of rank and respect, among my people, to have hair bound once a woman reaches maturity. We have… rules about hair length and number of braids. Women only let their hair down for their lovers and …I… I feel like I have intruded.”

  “Oh… oh! Admiral, I didn’t know.” The woman pulled up her hood, fully covering her hair. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “I… but you aren’t?”

  “No Admiral. Braids are a practical choice for travel but I don’t usually bind my hair. But I will for the duration of the journey. I would not want to unnerve you or your people.” She paused, looking out at the sea with something that might have been longing. “If my hair is covered, is that acceptable?”

  “Acceptable but not ideal,” the Admiral replied after a long pause. “If the wind is strong, the hood or cap may not hold.”

  “I’ll braid my hair when we venture out of the cabin, Admiral. I am sorry again.”

  The Admiral stuttered a quick goodnight. She took controlled, measured steps until she entered her cabin. When the door clicked shut, she closed her eyes and sank to the floor. What was wrong with her? Why did she become a blithering idiot in front of the countess?