The following morning, Noah stood at the docks as the sun’s rays began to crest over the eastern horizon. He wore what he’d started to think of as his “adventurer’s outfit”—black padded cloth pants, leather boots, and a brown gambeson with a hood over a beige shirt. It had cost him more than a few favors over the last month to get it made, but it offered more protection than the shirts and pants he’d worn until now, while still being flexible enough for him to reach the crossbow slung across his back or the knife sheathed at his hip.
Hopefully it doesn’t come to that, he thought as he helped load the last of their boxes onto the ship— ones that contained food, fresh water, clean clothes, bandages for light wounds, and everything else required for a multi‑day journey by boat.
Ciri and Ken hopped lightly aboard after him, each wearing thick brown cloth coats that hid their ears and would let them pass as human from a distance if necessary. Ciri wore her usual satchel with her grimoire tucked safely inside, along with a thick sheet of paper and pencils. Beneath her coat she had on a green corset and leather pants. Her golden eyes darted around the boat as it rocked beneath her, and she quickly took a seat on one of the boxes.
Before he could join her, Ken caught him by the shoulder and spoke softly. “Ciri tells me you have been practicing writing runes with Cael. Is it true?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’ve mastered a few already.”
“Which ones?”
“Language translation. Light. Healing. A few others.”
“And you are confident you can write them?” Ken pressed.
“Cael gave me some stencils, but I don’t need them anymore,” he replied proudly. “I left them back at the house because I’ve got them memorized.”
“Do you know any runes suited for combat?”
“No.” He frowned. “Why?”
Ken unbuttoned his coat and briefly revealed the silver pen secured to an inner pocket before closing it again. “I think you should learn some on this trip.”
Noah’s eyes widened. “Ciri never told me you’re a scribe.”
“I do not advertise it. Cael’s magic is far better suited to utility than mine. Most of the runes I have memorized are only useful for killing.”
Glancing around to make sure Hannah wasn’t within earshot, Noah lowered his voice. “Look, I know I’m not supposed to ask, but… who were you before you were Ciri’s father? You know things and can do things only someone with a military background should be able to do.”
“You are correct that you are not supposed to ask,” Ken replied, his voice hardening.
The look on his face brought back memories of Lucien—specifically the times Noah had asked his brother about things he wasn’t allowed to know. “Sorry.” He raised his hands. “I won’t ask again.”
“Good.”
“Is the offer still open for that scribe training, though?”
“Of course. Not right now.”
“Thank you,” Noah said.
Ken’s eyes flicked past him, and he began to smile and wave. Noah turned to see Aelya, Vela, Thala, Bryn, Cael, and Hruk standing farther up the shore, waving back. He returned the gesture as Hannah finished unmooring the boat, letting it drift free. A few minutes later she unfurled the sails, catching the breeze and sending them out to sea, leaving the dock—and the tribe—behind.
I guess we’re really leaving the Shire now, he thought.
“Alright, I guess it’s time for the ground rules,” Hannah announced, snapping him out of his thoughts. “First rule: when we’re on the boat, I’m the captain and you do what I say. That means if I ask you to hold a rope, you hold the rope. If I ask you to grab a bucket and start bailing water, you grab a bucket and bail water. If I ask you to sit down and shut the fuck up, you—”
“Sit down and shut the fuck up?” Noah cut in.
“Look at that—the traveller gets it.” Hannah grinned at him.
“Not as dumb as I look, you know.”
“That remains to be seen,” she replied. “Now come on. I’ll give you the grand tour and the rest of the rules as we go. If you ever get confused, refer back to the first rule.”
She led them around the twenty‑meter boat Noah learned was called The Winter’s Debt. It was about five meters across at its widest point, with a single main mast in the center and a smaller foremast toward the bow. Leaning over the rail of the surprisingly open main deck, she showed them just how low they sat in the water, explaining that the hull was built for speed and maneuverability at the expense of handling rough seas. At the bow, Hannah opened the hatch to the cargo hold and led them down, demonstrating how to fasten their hammocks to the wall.
“Wait—there are only three hammocks here,” Noah noted as she showed them the knots.
Hannah chuckled. “I’m sleeping in the cabin. And before you ask: no, you cannot sleep in there, even when I’m not using it. The hatch is at the stern, and it’s locked, so don’t bother trying. That’s another rule, by the way.”
The rest of the tour took less than five minutes, most of it consumed by Hannah rattling off more rules—everything from the obvious don’t use fire magic onboard to the more ominous if you hear voices in the water, plug your ears and get ready to fight. It ended with her ordering them to haul the remaining boxes to the cargo hold, a task Noah volunteered to handle alone so that he could discreetly check on his griffon egg.
By the time he finished and returned to the top deck, the sun was fully up, letting him see their surroundings clearly for the first time.
Ciri glanced up from her book as he approached. “What are you confused by?”
He blinked at her. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You lower your eyebrows by ten percent and a wrinkle forms in your forehead when you are confused.”
She…noticed that? I didn’t even know I did that, he thought before replying. “I’m not an expert in ships or anything, but I always imagined there being more manual labor. People tying ropes to things and stuff.”
“Ah. Yes. I suspect this vessel has several spells cast on it to perform those functions.”
“You’re damn right,” Hannah added, clearly having overheard. “A cutter this size usually needs a crew of five. The right spells cost me far more than I’d like, but it still beats hiring a crew.”
“I’m starting to get the feeling you don’t really like…people,” Noah said.
“You wouldn’t like people if you’d been born a crime too,” she shot back.
He paused. “I’m sorry. What?”
Hannah looked between Ciri and Ken. “You’re kidding, right?”
“It was not relevant,” Ciri said.
“Not relevant,” Hannah muttered, shaking her head.
“Okay, I’m just the new guy here, but I’d really like someone to explain so I don’t accidentally get us into trouble. I’m guessing it has to do with you being half‑Fae?”
Hannah narrowed her eyes as she adjusted the tiller. “Maybe you aren’t as dumb as you look.”
“Just ignorant. Give me a chance and I might surprise you.”
She pursed her lips. “Fine. Purely in the interest of our continued survival.” She exhaled. “Humans and Fae aren’t supposed to have kids. In the Summer and Winter Empires they’ll kill both the parents and the child just for existing. They call us Sorvæl'veth.”
Noah furrowed his brow as he attempted a translation. “Short...root?”
“Shallow-rooted,” Ciri corrected him.
“Exactly. And just killing one is a mercy compared to what Ferrum Vale would do to a half-Fae if they got their hands on one.”
“What about here in Therondale?” Noah asked.
“It’s not illegal here, which is the only reason I’m still alive,” Hannah said. “But everyone knows the Fae empires send agents to make sure half‑bloods like me conveniently disappear.”
“That is a rumor retold in taverns by drunks,” Ken replied.
“Oh, Ken.” Hannah smiled without warmth. “I hate to break it to you, but I’ve seen more of Therondale than you have. I know what I’m talking about.”
“Sorry—can we go back a second?” Noah said. “Why do they kill half‑bloods?”
“Fear,” Hannah said simply.
“The Fae empires have nothing to fear from humans,” Ken countered. “Each is several times larger in population and military strength.”
“Sure, now. What about in fifty years? Or a hundred? Humans only live to fifty or sixty, but they breed a hell of a lot faster. And if enough of them decide they like the look of Fae…” Her eyes flicked between Noah and Ciri. “Well, the empires can kiss their precious ‘unsullied’ bloodlines goodbye. That’s why they keep humans reliant on Fae magic—so they can’t rise up and fuck them in a century.”
Noah looked at Ciri, then Ken. “Is that part true?”
“What she is saying isn’t entirely wrong,” Ken admitted evasively.
“Not entirely wrong?” Hannah repeated, laughing humorlessly. “Come on, Ken. Think about it. Every time a Fae—Winter, Summer, even Wild—agrees to teach humans magic at the academy, they’re branded a traitor. Every year, a few of those instructors go missing. An academy without Fae instructors produces conduits and scribes who can only cast basic spells. That keeps Therondale reliant on imported ensorcelled goods.”
“You seem to know a lot about this,” Noah observed.
“I’m a trader,” she said. “It’s my job to understand the market.”
“I believe I’ve heard enough,” Ken said, rising. “I’m going belowdecks to rest. Call me if you need me.”
Noah watched him go, then moved to sit beside Ciri, resting a hand on her thigh. “Hey,” he said softly.
“…hello.” Her voice was small, her eyes fixed on her book.
“Are you okay? When you get nervous, you pretend to read, but your eyes aren’t moving.”
She stiffened. “I…did not realize you noticed.”
“You’re not the only one who pays close attention.” He squeezed her leg. “Want me to cover my eyes and you can tell me what’s on your mind?”
“No. I do not need that anymore. Not after how…close we have become.” She took a slow breath. “I wish to say something.”
“Go ahead.”
“Most of what Hannah said is factual. She has drawn conclusions from those facts.”
“They seem reasonable, given what she said,” Noah said.
“They are one set of conclusions,” Ciri emphasized. “Not the only. But I digress. I am concerned you might feel I neglected to teach you certain facts—ones that would give a negative impression of Fae society.”
“You didn’t neglect anything. You may have left out that it feels like a deliberate strategy by the Summer and Winter Fae, but you’ve mentioned before that humans shouldn’t have access to certain spells.”
“Yes.” She met his eyes. “Are you angry?”
“No,” he said immediately. “Of course not. You’re teaching me an entirely new world. A few months isn’t enough to teach me everything, and it’s natural to leave out things you’re embarrassed about—even if they aren’t your fault.”
“Thank you. For understanding.” She exhaled, tension draining from her shoulders.
He leaned in and kissed her, fully aware Hannah was pretending not to watch. When he pulled back, they both smiled and shifted closer, letting the sound of waves fill the quiet.
“There is something I would like to show you,” Ciri said. She tucked her book away and pulled out another.
He watched as she flipped through the pages, then handed it to him. It was a sketch of the two of them in front of her house—his arm around her, both smiling. He mimicked the pose, pulling her against him as he studied it.
“It’s incredible. I didn’t know you could draw this well.”
“It is a useful skill when I must capture details of a ruin or a rune,” she said. “Though…I did not draw this for that purpose.”
“What inspired you?”
“It is a dream I had. Of us. When we return from this journey together.”
“I think I like this dream,” he said, smiling.