“I never said we should all eat down here.” Loncére said, smoking a tobacco pipe, “I thought you were distributing the bowls, Parace.”

  “I was,” Paracelsus said, “But it feels more intimate to eat together, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, whatever.” The cook sat down. Of course he was on good terms with all his shipmates (although he was less friendly and more professional with some), but he generally liked when his more “experimental” dishes were eaten alone.

  “It’s good.” Federico said to break the ice, “Marmitako?”

  “You have a good tongue. I happened to buy a recipe book while I was there.” The cook explained, a hint of pride showing on his face, “I added a few extra spices, a bit of sherry.”

  “Oh, really?” Federico raised his eyebrows, curious, “You must have some skill if you can take a dish you’ve never made and innovate on it.”

  “You understand!” The cook replied, standing up with enthusiasm, “Finally a real gourmand.”

  At this point, Paracelsus, who was sitting next to Federico (who by now had the sense to realize his misfortune at being the cook’s likely test subject), suddenly was accosted by Loncére to swap seats. The captain now sat down next to, and shared a smile with, Serpacinno.

  “How goes it?” He asked, “Hopefully you’re at least somewhat excited - Very near to Machiave. Very near to the first piece of Kósmeidí.”

  “I’m…” She sat there, glaring at the soup like it owed her money, “Not hungry.” She suddenly stood up with a huff, and walked off.

  “More for me, then.” Tariq said, snatching the bowl up and sliding it toward himself.

  “Shit.” The captain said, standing up to follow her.

  “What was that all about?” Gareland leaned over and asked Tariq.

  “I don’t know.” He said, dumbfounded, “Sally? You were talking with the Captain for a while.”

  “I don’t know either.” Remarkably, she either completely blocked the earlier conversation, and the corresponding emotions, from her mind, or demonstrated a powerful ability to hide them, “I thought you were his best friend.”

  “I never claimed to be his best friend.” He sputtered, “I just think the Captain is a… charming man.”

  “Charming?” Gareland inquisitively put her elbow on the table and leaned her chin on her hand, “That’s the word you chose?”

  “I’m not attracted to him, if that’s what you mean.” The helmsman iterated, “But, as a friend -”

  “As a mentor?” Sally asked, causing Gareland to whoop with laughter.

  “As a friend and mentor,” He corrected the lookout, “I think he has a personable way of speaking.”

  “Personable?” Gareland asked after she had calmed down from her laughter, “You’ve been spending too much time with him if you’re now using the word ‘personable’.”

  “What?” He blew a raspberry, “Maybe I’m just getting more sophisticated.” He turned his nose in his best impression of wealthy arrogance.

  “Sophistocated?” Sally asked, chuckling, “That’s the word you choose to use?”

  “And besides -” He pointedly ignored her chiding, “I’ve gotten to try so many new things on this journey. And I met you, which never would have happened otherwise!”

  “That’s true,” Gareland said with a sigh as she looked into his eyes, “Holy shit, I haven’t noticed until now, but your eyes: they’re turning brown!”

  “I’ve noticed that it’s been harder to see during the daytime recently,” Tariq added, “And easier at night.”

  “You’ve been away from Ghazal for what - two months?” Sally asked, “Something like that, anyway. It’s only natural, you weren’t born with purple eyes.”

  “How’d you know that?” Gareland asked, “I’ve been to Ghazal a few times before and I never knew that.”

  “I read a lot.” Sally shrugged, “Plus, think of it - have you ever had a silk or a cotton blanket? They lose their color if you leave them out long enough, I suspect something similar happens.”

  “As I was saying -” Back at the other end of the table, Loncére said, his arm wrapped around the uncomfortable Federico’s shoulders, “The chili is what gives it the extra kick. Espelette, I call it.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “That’s very interesting.” Federico said, not at all interested.

  “Thank you,” The cook sat up straight and straightened his collar, “I consider myself something of an expert when it comes to food. Something I’m sure Parace mentioned at some point.”

  “Yeah, about that,” The ex-heir replied, “How do you two know each other? I know he mentioned something about briefly being a revolutionary, were you also?”

  “Oh, yes, indeed.” The Cartesian replied, “I was going through something of a manic episode. All my essays and theses were rejected by the journal I’d always sought to be published in. They called them underdeveloped and trite. Anyway, I thought to take violent revenge against a world that had wronged me.”

  “Oh? I never knew you were an intellectual.” Federico said, as earnestly as possible.

  “Quite the intellectual.” Loncére retorted, “I’ve actually got a complete set of my writings somewhere with my things. I’ll show you sometime.”

  “Oh, really?” The bosun winced, “Sounds like a plan.”

  —

  “Serpacinno!” Paracelsus shouted. She was storming away from him, and slammed the door of the officer’s quarters behind her. “Dammit, what’s gotten into her?”

  He opened the door, which was thankfully unlocked, and saw her angrily tapping her foot as she sat on her bed. She held her head in her hands and seemed to be snarling or growling. And weirdest of all, there seemed to be tears flowing down her face.

  “Serpacinno…” He gently set his hand upon her shoulder, trying to offer some form of comfort.

  “Fuck off.” She slapped his hand away, “What’s your fucking problem?”

  “I’m sorry?” He was tempted to laugh it off as he did with most problems, but he realized that such a move probably lacked tact. “Did I say something to offend?”

  “The problem -” She stood up in one powerful motion and pushed her finger into his chest, “Is that you never say anything! Nothing that matters, anyway!”

  “I - I really apologize.” He retorted, flustered, “I assure you I’ve been truthful -”

  “Truthful?” She looked away, hurt, “Maybe. But nothing of substance, and after I talked with Federico earlier -” She bit her tongue, cursing that she’d let anything at all slip.

  “Federico?” He replied, desperate to talk about anything other than himself, “What did you talk about with him?”

  “It’s nothing.” She mumbled.

  “Now who’s being evasive?” The captain question, “Please, let me in -”

  He was cut off by the shorter woman aggressively pushing herself into him, mashing her lips clumsily onto his. She was very clearly inexperienced, and found herself pulling away after a few seconds, saying, “I… I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” She turned away, ashamed, and started for the door.

  “Wait!” Paracelsus shouted, and she found herself obliging. He grabbed her wrist, and pulled her back toward himself. He wanted to say so many things, but ultimately decided on mirroring her actions, allowing his own inexperienced, enthusiastic instincts to guide him in his efforts. “I was just surprised. I mean, after what happened in Cartesia, I -”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself.” Serpacinno said. Her breathing was erratic, her heart was beating a thousand times a second, and her darker skin became flushed and red, “I shouldn’t have just thrown myself at you. I just couldn’t seem to find the words to describe what I wanted to say.”

  “No, no, it’s fine!” Paracelsus reassured her, “And you’re completely right - I have been evasive, and more than a little flighty. All the vulnerability I’ve shown has been measured and doled, because the truth is - I’m scared to let you in.”

  “Please,” She pleaded in an uncharacteristically meek, soft voice, “Please, try.”

  “Okay, okay.” He relented, “I can try. I’m not quite sure what that means in practice, but I’ll try.”

  “Well, for starters, you could tell me why you’re so scared.” She suggested.

  “It’s a lot, and -” He shook his head; he would not allow himself to make excuses and dodge questions right now, “No. I’ll tell you what - once we get to Machiave, there’s something you need to see, something which will contextualize much of what I have to say. But, I guess - the long and short of it is - my whole life has been defined by loss. So much so that I’ve allowed it to become me, and swallow me. And I don’t want you to get close, because then I’ll lose you, too.”

  “You won’t lose me.” She gripped his hands softly, pressing her forehead to his clavicle, “I understand if you need time, but I need you to promise me - from one broken person to another - promise me that you’ll let me get close. Right now, in this moment, I don’t need anything else.”

  “I promise.” He gripped her hands back. And before anything else could be said, he pressed his lips to hers, again. But whereas their first coupling was frenetic and passionate, this one was tender and slow as they sought comfort in each other’s presence. Eventually, their bodies began to mingle more intimately, their clothes fell off, and they fell to his bed in one mess of limbs.

  —

  Serpacinno breathed heavily, a forearm resting on her forehead. Next to her, Paracelsus did much the same - except his hair, which was something she lacked, looked dishevelled and threadbare.

  “Holy shit.” Paracelsus broke the silence first, cuddling up to his new… partner… or perhaps lover? It wasn’t exactly solidified what they were, “That was intense.”

  “Mmm.” She agreed, laying her head down on his chest, “We should get cleaned up, shouldn’t we?”

  “No,” He whined, pulling her in closer, “A few minutes, please.”

  After a few more moments of peace, she sighed, “I mean what I said earlier. I don’t want to leave you, so don’t push me out.”

  “I mean it, too.” He replied, “But for now, I fear we’ll have to part. Gotta do our duty, and such.”

  —

  “I see someone’s been having fun.” Federico said, looking over the quarterdeck and captain at once. “I take it Ms…”

  “Serpacinno.” Paracelsus relied.

  “Ms. Serpacinno must have taken my advice.” He continued, concealing a smile, “Though I’d have thought the captain might show a bit of discretion.”

  “Shit, is it really that obvious?” He licked his hands and tried to push his hair back into a somewhat neater form.

  “Very obvious.” Tariq agreed, though he himself bore a smirk on his face.

  “I know you’re not criticizing me.” He bit back, shaking head, “You and Gareland are about the least ‘discreet’ people I’ve met.”

  “That’s fair.” His helmsman said.

  “Speaking of, where is she?” The captain asked, “I want to talk with her.”

  “I believe she’s down with the guns.” Federico said, scratching his chin.

  After thanking him, Paracelsus descended down the stairs, finding the fairy doing her down-time duties which was to say, mostly inspecting and cleaning the cannons, making sure they were able to perform at peak efficiency at a moment’s notice.

  “Oh, hello, Parace.” She said, clearly very busy. “You look well.”

  “Don’t tell me -”

  “No, I saw Serpacinno earlier.” She ribbed him a bit. He was usually the one teasing her for her relations, and it felt good to turn it back on him, “She looked very… Happy.”

  “Great, I don’t imagine I’ll get any reprieve from this.” He sighed, “Oh well, I suppose I brought it upon myself. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you,” He took a second to pull up a chair and get comfortable, “We need to make a plan.”

  “A plan?” She asked, incredulously, “I thought you had a plan!”

  “I…” He tilted his head, as though that would help him create the answer out of thin air, “Have the skeleton of a plan.”

  “The skeleton of a plan?” Her incredulity only increased.

  “The skeleton of a plan.” His certainty grew in turn.

  “Alright, fine. Let’s get to it, then.”