A captain might make orders, and men follow them, but it didn't mean they would do so happily. And the men on this ship had certain limits. A Denese in the captain's cabin during a meeting was one such example. Rina's presence while the senior ranking men ate dinner, another.

Fin delayed meetings in his quarters for a day and a half so she could relax.

At first, she slept, but there was so much of that a person could do. She had paced, she fidgeted, she thought she would go mad. And when he joined her, well, a big, uncomfortable thing sat in the room with them. Had she dreamed him crawling into bed that first night, or had it been another strange dream? She didn't think she could bear not knowing—but if she asked, and she had only dreamed it...

The tension hung too heavy between them.

Rina realised she wanted to be with her people. Unfortunately, they didn't seem to come up to the deck.

Well, survival meant adapting.

There was no way—not a chance—she would go below as a storm approached. However, remaining alone on the deck during calm seas, while Fin and Olav were both otherwise engaged, and sullen magisterium guards prowled the boat like whipped dogs, was asking for an accidental slip overboard.

So, Rina compromised.

The mess sat only one level down, still above the waterline. There were portholes large enough for her to squeeze out, if they capsised. She knew this because Fin had told her. But that wouldn't matter, because she would only go down there when no threats loomed on the horizon.

It would be a relief to refocus her attention away from what had, or had not, happened between her and Fin.

Yes, distraction.

She stood at the top of the stairs peering down steps cast half in light, half in shadow. The rails were sticky against her palms. She could smell the memory of worn-down varnish and the oil from countless hands.

A sudden sound of scraping wood against wood shot up the stairway, hitting her like a punch in the guts. Her legs wobbled, and she gulped.

Just walk friggin down.

She turned back to look up at the sky. It stretched out, a vast azure sheet blanketing a sleeping sea. Not a cloud to break the blue. Not a rumble or crackle of static.

She faced the stairs again and took the first step, then another, and another, her boots making hollow echoes as she descended. The air was warm and slightly musty. Darkness wrapped around her, and then she was in a long hall where rows of sailors devoured their meals. A few frowned at her. One spat on the ground. Another, one she'd seen speaking to Fin earlier in the day, met her eyes, quirked his lip and tipped his head in the direction of a curtain at the far end of the room.

Mumbles followed her as she walked toward it, the space squeezing tighter about her all the while.

She pulled back the fabric and found the ten other chosen Denese eating at a table. They stopped what they were doing and looked at her: four men, and six women, each with exhausted eyes.

One of them, a tall, slender woman, stood. "Rina," she said, "come join us."

Rina blinked. It was Anat, a fellow planter. How hadn't she noticed Anat was one of the chosen? Had she been so caught up in her own issues? Actually, she recognised most of the faces before her from the fields or infirmary. She knit her brow and rubbed at it with her forefinger until she realised Anat waited for her.

"Anat, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise you were—"

Anat reached out and took Rina by the shoulders, half dragging her to sit on the bench beside her. "I saw you when we left. You seemed—devastated. Are you okay?"

The images of bodies on the gallows swung to and fro across Rina's mind. Dull, cold pain skated through her soul, and she slumped into her seat, the world slowing. A flash of yellow zig-zagged across her vision. Her eyes darted to follow the light, too late.

Anat's dark, almond eyes narrowed. "Rina, what's wrong? Did you see something?"

The young woman had always been observant, and one to speak her mind. She was also fiercely loyal to the Magisterium and equally intolerant of anyone who betrayed them. No pity would come her way if she told her what happened to Pietro and the others.

Rina smiled. "No, nothing. Just... tired, I guess." The ship undulated, and she gripped the table edge.

Heads bobbed around her. A beautiful man, with dark-green eyes, said, "Well, of course, you are. The purification of the forsaking will do that." He spoke with his chin high, looking down his long, straight nose.

Rina swallowed and averted her eyes, instinctively rubbing at the crystal beneath the skin of her chest. It tingled. She'd continued to resist the call of the forsaking since she boarded the vessel.

The beautiful man picked up a pewter tankard, swirled it and took a sip, his nose crinkling. "I've little taste for ale—I much prefer wine. Aren't you going to eat?"

A few pairs of eyes rolled, and someone muttered something about him shoving his wine up his arse.

Though empty, Rina's stomach had a folded-in feeling, and she doubted she'd be able to get anything down.

Another woman slid a plate of food to her. "Here, you need to eat, or you'll make yourself sick."

Rina stared at the dish of spiced rice, beans, and vegetables, and then up to the woman. She looked somewhat familiar, but her features were more common than the others at the table. Of average height and build, she had the typical dark-brown hair and eyes, long thick lashes and light-brown skin of the Denese. Despite the unassuming appearance, she carried an air of authority. One that was confirmed by Anat a moment later.

"Listen to her Rina, Sara is—was—already one of the top medics in Amadore. She trained with Martha, remember?

"If the food doesn't make you sick first," scoffed the beautiful man, lifting a forkful of beans and letting them plop back down to the plate.

Sara shot him a glare. "Enough, Mehdi. This is good food, and if it's good enough for the sailors, it's good enough for us."

Mehdi scowled at her.

Picking up her fork, Sara said, "I suggest you get over this vanity of yours, quick smart. Mai might have chosen you, but this behaviour is hardly going to endear you to him." She took a mouthful of food, shaking her head.

Rina fought against the smile that tugged at her mouth. "Has he always been like this?" she hissed in a low voice.

Anat shrugged. "I only met him a few days before we left. He... well, let's say he's developed an appreciation for the finger things they gave us."

"Hmm." Laughing, her stomach uncoiling, Rina took a swig of her ale, and began on her meal, thinking that things might turn out alright, and remembering that her dearest friend waited for her in Nebia.

☆☽○☾☆

A/N:

Hi again, guys. Thank you for reading! This chapter part had a bit less action than some of the recent ones. I'd love to hear from you:

Did it forward the story?

Did things make sense?

Do you think Rina dreamed Fin?

Thank you again!