Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cabin of The Southern Cross - their ship, their gate, their home - was comfortably warm, with lanterns lit in each corner providing a low, ambient lighting.  As Altheia pulled the door shut behind her, she looked up at Julian.  She could sense the restless energy of his aura, the magic that had risen up in him when he’d made the talisman under the stars, and it danced around him, like an invisible flickering flame in a draft.  His eyes as he looked at her were storm grey, with spider-thread flecks of mercury silver flickering through the irises, pupils small and focussed.  His lips were pressed together in a thin, determined line, and he squeezed her hand.

She knew he was nervous - so was she, nerves rising up and bubbling within her like a geyser trapped under ice.  Nervous that the ritual would fail, or that Julian would be hurt… worried that the ritual would succeed but that Julian might not like what he saw… terrified that those memories, despite his reassurances to the contrary, could change how he felt about her now.

But despite the nerves, the worry, the fear, he was determined to see it through.  And so was she.

She knew she didn’t need to ask, but it was important, it began the ritual.

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

Without hesitation, Julian nodded.

“Yes.  Are you?”

Altheia smiled, without hesitation.

“Yes, I am.”

She reached up and threaded the fingers of her left hand into his hair - the right still held her sword, the Rising Tide - and pulled him down into a soft, slow kiss.  When their lips slid free of each other, he rested his forehead on hers, and they closed their eyes, just for a moment, a sigh lingering in the air between them.

And Altheia stepped back.  She’d thoroughly gone over the ritual more times than she could count.  She and Julian had rehearsed it, again and again, as far as they could without using the artefacts needed for the spell to work.  They knew, like the steps of a dance they’d trod a thousand times before, what they needed to do.

Resting a hand below his ribs as he folded at the waist into a half bow, Julian held the other hand out to her with a little flourish, and looked up at her with a quirk of his brow and a half-smile pulling on his lips.

“Shall we dance, Captain?”

Altheia couldn’t help but smile - this wasn’t part of the ritual, but she should have expected Julian to add his own embellishment.  She set her sword down, mirrored his move, and took his hand.

“I would be delighted.”

And it began.

Silence and solemnity settled over them, as they took turns undressing each other.  He lifted her coat by the shoulders, slipped it down her arms and hung it up on the hook by the door.  He bent so she could pull his shirt over his head, fold it neatly and lay it on top of the dresser.  Her shirt followed, and he pulled his fingers gently through her hair, smoothing it over her shoulders and down to the top of her breasts.  His belt next, then hers, rolled up neatly together beside their shirts.  His boots - she was well-practiced in unfastening the buckles by now - and then hers, put neatly together beside the door.  His trousers, and then hers, folded on top of their shirts.  Finally, their underwear.

Stripped down, bare before each other, they stood together, chest to chest, hip to hip, hands over each others hearts.  Skin to skin.  Basking, for just a moment, in each other’s warmth and light and love, their auras mingling between them, a rushing tide meeting a sheltered azure bay.

Altheia closed her eyes and pictured it.  Golden beaches, white cliffs, seashells in warm sand, still waters.  Their ship anchored in the bay, a rowboat pulled up onto the beach, the two of them laying together in a sheltered cove, entwined, safe in each other’s arms. 

Her heartbeat slowed; so did Julian’s beneath her palm.  The nerves settled.  When she opened her eyes, she saw their marks, compasses of light faintly glowing on their chests, over their hearts, just beneath the skin.  She kissed his, he kissed hers.

They turned to two silver chalices, taken from Altheia's collection on her dressing table and filled with water from the sea.  Julian dipped a soft wash cloth in one, and reverently washed every part of Altheia’s body.  And then she did the same for him, cleansing every curve, every contour, every part of him.  As she ran her hands up his back, his muscles rippled under her touch as a shudder ran through him.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“Sssh.”  She pressed her lips to his cleansed, dewy skin, tasting the sea salt.  “You’re doing wonderfully, love.”

Without drying off, they went to the bed, where two robes were laid out neatly in preparation.  Nothing special, simple gauzy bathrobes they’d borrowed from the palace, the same they’d worn on the night of the Masquerade when they’d cared for each other in the bath.  Now, Altheia stood behind Julian, and she slid the robe up his arms and over his shoulders; he did the same for her.  His was translucent chocolate brown, hers maroon, both with gold trim.  They didn’t tie the belts, but let the silky fabric drape over her breasts and his pecs, open over their hearts, revealing the marks.

The last part of the cleansing, next.  Altheia lit a bunch of incense sticks, the type of which she wasn’t entirely sure except that Asra had told her was the most effective he knew of for cleansing small spaces.  She walked around the room, the silvery trail of smoke snaking out behind her, filling the room with its heady fragrance.  Julian took the wards that Selina had given him, smokey quartz crystals with glyphs drawn neatly on their smooth surfaces in silver ink, and placed them around the room.

In the centre of the room, Altheia had drawn a circle in white chalk with a cross through it as if to mark the cardinal points of a compass, and Julian placed his last four wards at those points.  The bag of herbs that Muriel had given them was already hanging from a wooden beam over the centre.  Altheia saw Julian’s eyes flit to the coils of red rope and the box of relics set to the side; symbols of their past.

She finished by sprinkling sea water over a large pillow and placing it in the centre of the circle before blowing out the incense, letting the last of the smoke disperse in the air above.  Julian knelt on the pillow, grimacing as his knees popped; Altheia bit her lip to suppress a smile, and stepped into the circle to stand in front of him.  His hands slid from her ankles, up her calves, her thighs, over the curve of her hips, and rested in the dip of her waist.  He turned his face up to her, eyelids heavy, already settling under the magical energy that was raising up.

Altheia ran her fingers into his hair, smoothing it back with the last of the purifying sea water.  His pale skin glistened in the lantern light, his stormy lightning-flecked eyes were the most beautiful she’d ever seen them.  

“Remember these things,” she said, her voice low and soft.  “Put your trust and faith in me.  I’ll always be here, right by your side.  Whatever else you see and feel, let yourself go, and know that I’m here, you’re safe.”

Julian nodded.  His voice was hoarse as he replied, “I know, I will.”

“When I breathe for you, take my breath, breathe with me, take the air from my lungs and let me take yours back.  Just like when we were underwater in the Cups realm together.”  She couldn’t help a slight smile as she added, “No kissing!”

Julian pouted and batted his eyelashes, but said nothing.

“And… if it hurts…”

“No.”  Julian surprised her with the vehemence of his interruption.  His cheeks flushed and he bit his lip as if he regretted it, but with a slight shake of his head he fixed her gaze with his, and it was steely in his resolve.  “You don’t stop.  I don’t care if it hurts.  Not having my memories hurts.”

“Julian…”

“Theia, you…”  He scrunched his eyes up tight, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her when he spoke, and in a rush he said, “You did what you did because you thought I would hurt if you didn’t.  You don’t…”  His eyes opened and fixed on hers again, and his grip tightened on the flesh of her waist.  “You don’t have to protect me from the pain now.  I’ll endure it.  I didn’t choose to have my memories taken away.  Let me choose how to get them back.”

A faint whimper escaped Altheia’s closed lips and her eyes burned with tears she hurriedly blinked back. 

"Besides," Julian added, with a reverent kiss to Altheia's navel, "You'll be here, won't you?  Right by my side.  I'm safe, aren't I."

Altheia swallowed back an apology, gave a watery smile, and simply nodded.

"You are.  I won't stop.  Even if it hurts."

With a sigh of relief, Julian rested his forehead on her belly.  And Altheia stepped back.  

“Are you comfortable?”

Julian nestled his knees down into the pillow, settled back on his heels, and nodded.

Altheia took up the Rising Tide, her rapier, and slid her hand into the intricately woven silver threads of the handguard, fingers curling around the soft leather-wrapped handle.  Julian had bought the sword for her as a simple gift but which was, perhaps, an intrinsic link to their past - more than that, to her .  Whether he had known, subconsciously, or it had been a coincidence, they didn’t know, and perhaps never would.  

As she lifted it, the thin silver blade vertical between her eyes, she channelled her magic into it.  Slowly, she lowered the blade in an arc, so that the line from her shoulder, all the way down her arm and along the narrow blade, pointed at Julian’s left temple, that point where his memories were stored, from which the pain radiated every time they were triggered but couldn’t be free.

The amethyst crystal focus in its socket underneath the blade, close to her hand, shimmered violet, and the symbol that Julian had inscribed upon it flared in a silver glow.  It coursed along the blade in ripples of purpose.  Julian watched it, his face expressionless but for the determination in his eyes - that he would endure, come what may.

She lowered the point of the sword so that it touched the southern point of the circle, directly in front of Julian.  The chalk line of the circle made a sizzling sound, and then lit up.  Slowly, she walked in a circle around Julian, her sword energising the guide she’d drawn, raising up the spell with her magic, and his.  It was somehow… familiar, and unknown, at the same time.  Her magic she knew, his locked within the talisman, young and fresh as she drew upon it, eager to do her bidding.  And so it was a spell that she knew, and a spell that she didn’t; it was comforting and it was frightening and it was humbling.  It was hers, and his, and theirs all at once.

She felt her senses rise up with her magic; she could hear every one of Julian’s soft breaths, smell the salt water on his skin even through the incense, see the flutters of his eyelashes and the pulse in his throat.  She harnessed the energy like scooping seashells from the bottom of a rockpool, holding it close to her chest, feeling her heart swell with it.

By the time she reached the southern point again, and the circle closed with a snap and a flash of sea-green, Julian had relaxed, slouched under the heady oppression of the magical energy she’d raised as if beneath a comforting weighted blanket.  His eyes were lazy and slow as they moved to watch her, as she went to the box and set her sword down. 

Altheia looped the ropes over one arm, and with the other, picked up Julian’s old coat, the one he’d been wearing when they first met, when he’d broken into her shop, oversized and worn more like a cape than a coat.  It seemed a lifetime ago.  She held it up to her face and inhaled deeply, and with her senses heightened could almost smell the life he’d lived; the wooden beams and hempen rope of the ships he’d sailed, the earthy petrichor of the paths he’d walked, the spices and fabrics of the markets he’d browsed, the stale ale and smoke of the taverns he'd frequented.  The blood and disease and musty papers of the plague and his research.

But there was more, as she let the heavy fabric pass through her fingers.  Now, her magic could pick through the threads of it, feel the love that had made it a gift, feel herself .

Holding her breath to steady herself, she draped the coat over Julian’s hunched shoulders.

It was as if it were made of iron, the way that Julian crumpled under its weight; a weight that pushed him underwater, constricted his chest.  He’d been expecting it, and he closed his eyes, steadied and deepened his breaths.  That throb of pain, so achingly familiar, pulsed from his left temple, and with it came an almost-memory, something close to a flashback but not quite, a ripple of a memory, of a breeze and a laugh and gratitude, relief.

He slipped briefly away, brought back to himself by Altheia’s hands on his shoulders… she was there, just as she said she would be, just as he knew she would be, just as she always was.  

She stepped away, and he watched as she took the case of his old vielle from the box; the instrument they’d found, with a pennywhistle that had belonged to her, on their ship after raising it from the bed of the ocean in the Star’s realm.  She raised it up, and played a bar of a song he’d taught her.  It was a simple little ditty, but the melody wound through Julian like a maypole ribbon, and he closed his eyes again, letting the music lift him up towards a lilting delight, a feeling of elation and joy, and then…

The almost-memory smothered him, the notes became distorted, twisted, shrieking, and he grit his teeth so hard as to make a ringing in his ears, anything to deaden the noise.  With it, carried on the haunting refrain, laughter echoed, a pennywhistle distant and ghostly, a flash of red, licorice-dark hair sweeping around a flushed face as they spun in a dance.

The net of the Forget Me spell shivered, shooting out sparks of pain in warning.  Julian endured.

Altheia’s hands slipped under the shoulders of his coat, and took with them a rope, the first tether to the net of the Forget Me spell.  She wound it around his shoulders, knotted it, and then stretched it out to fix it with magic to the northern point of the cross drawn in chalk on the floor, behind him, where she’d lain the vielle.  Then, with her sword, she drew a line of magic; the northern point of a compass.

It was deeply unsettling, the way the physical tension of the rope seemed to wind its way into his mind, into his memories, and pull at the threads of the spell holding them back.  He could feel the spell resisting, tightening like a noose.

But when it settled, it was little more than a tension headache.  And Altheia’s kiss, as she bent and pressed her lips to the crown of his head, went some way to relieving it.  

He heard the soft pad of her footsteps on the wooden floor as she stepped out of the circle again.  He didn’t open his eyes, knowing what was next; he nodded.

It was a delicate fragrance; bergamot, vanilla and sea salt.  And yet it filled his senses so sharply that he gasped and flung his head back as if to get away from the jar of bath salts that Altheia had opened just beneath his nose.  But he couldn’t get away, it pervaded, and as the scent seemed to shoot through him like an arrow into his veins, setting his blood alight, it assaulted him with another almost-memory, just as it had when they’d found her salts in the clinic.  As if he were underwater in a perfumed bath, her face rippling and distorted above the surface, her voice muffled so he couldn’t hear her words, but he could feel her skin, her warmth, her love…

He couldn’t breathe, his ribs felt unyielding, wave after wave of flashes of the memory behind his eyes but it wasn’t enough …

And then a wrench on his heart, the memory of the smell made musty and sickly by hours upon hours of wear inside his plague mask, disguising the smell of death and disease but not quite , nothing could do that, not really… and the guilt, the heartbreak that brought a burn of tears to his eyes at the knowledge that they’d been hers , and he hadn’t known , and when the fragrance faded he’d simply thrown them away, the last piece of her that he had, but he didn’t know …

She was there, real and true, hands on his cheeks, words on her breath over his face, and they may as well have been in some other language for all he understood, but it didn’t matter, she was there and he was safe, despite the pain, despite that sense of drowning …

It ebbed, enough that he could swallow and nod, feel the press of her lips onto his.

The next rope, this time winding around his bicep, this time feeling like ivy and thorns, scratching and uncomfortable, but he endured, braced himself for the tension as she fixed it with magic to the eastern point of the compass she drew around him and placed the jar of salts there.  The magic coursing through that rope seared its way up his arm and wrapped around a thread of the Forget Me spell, and he winced as it felt like a hammer blow.

Still, he endured.

Seashells.  Barely a weight at all as Altheia placed them in a line, one by one, down his thighs, and yet they burned as if she’d held them over a fire.  And with them shot the strangest pleasure-pain, and it tightened on his throat, pricking at his skin like teeth, and he grunted as that same almost-memory that had struck him on the beach tore at him again, clawing at the net of the spell so fiercely that he yelped in pain.  It was a blur now, a distortion of pain and pleasure and he could feel his arousal stirring, because the seashells carried echoes of a time he’d laid upon the beach, with her, when the realisation truly dawned on him that he cared deeply for her, and she…

A wave of pain and confusion and an eddy of memories that weren’t quite memories at all, hit him square in the chest and nearly knocked him back, and it muddied the waters with the other memories that weren’t quite memories, and he fought them, tried to reach for them, but every time they shot lightning back at him until he sobbed and stopped trying.  

A rope was slipped under and around his right bicep, again and again, knotted and fixed to the western point of the compass she drew with the magic from the point of her sword, and as the magic coursed up his neck and found the net of the spell it sought to break, a hot ball of pain ricocheted throughout his skull, and Julian’s voice tore from his throat.

He thought he might slip unconscious.  But he didn’t.  He endured.

Altheia trembled as she cradled him.  She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and moved on.

North, the vielle, a distant echo of joy.  East, the bath salts, comfort and warmth.  West, sea shells, rising passion.  Five remaining.

Altheia turned to the north east, and here was the thin leather folio of papers, written records of their time together as doctor and apprentice.  Altheia’s apprenticeship contract.  Her dismissal.  Reports from Julian’s old office in the dungeon.  

She crouched in front of him, and he forced his eyes to stay open as she turned the pages for him to see, but the words were a jumble of nonsensical scratches of ink, he couldn’t make them out, couldn’t interpret them, as his head swam and each line upon the page felt like a hot needle searing into the veins of his wrists and up through his bloodstream, setting the net of the Forget Me spell alight.  The very air in his lungs seemed to burn, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t scream, stop, please stop… don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t…

Her warm hand around his wrist, a ripple of her magic like effervescent water, moving his arm gently behind his back.  A rope around his torso bound his arm, his hand resting on the small of his back, trembling with the agony of it as the tope tautened and the spell burned.

Julian could feel tears on his cheeks, hear Altheia’s voice, her lips on his neck, but he was lost underwater with streams of almost-memories, almost-voices, almost-faces, shadows and echoes and pain …

He endured.

He almost didn’t notice when she placed powdered void quartz in his right palm, except that it may as well have been hot coal, searing his skin and his bones and his blood, and there was a desk and the smell of musty old books, tender kisses soothing the sting of papercuts on the tips of his fingers, and a victory in the darkness, that medicine that he never had been able to remember how he’d come upon the formula, but now he knew, it had been with her, magic and medicine , her and him, and there was a flash of a blur of the apparatus, the smell as it burnt…

The agony was constant now, unrelenting, threads of magic viciously pulled so that they cut into him, into his very soul it seemed, and his heart burned and pounded, blood thundered in his ears, his throat was raw from his shouts of pain and his insistence, over and over and over that she mustn’t stop.

She took the crystals and put them at the north-west point, tied his right hand behind his back, and the pain at that tension almost did for him, and his head hung low, chin to his chest, sweat dripping from his forehead and he was certain, certain , that a molten rock had been pressed into his temple, fracturing his skull.

He slipped in and out of consciousness as Altheia held him, as she cried.  But he endured.

Two more, just two.

Julian managed to lift his head just enough, pry one eyelid open just enough, to see the gently glowing jade weed, that little magical plant he’d bought for Altheia all those years ago, abandoned on the dilapidated roof garden.

“No, no, I can’t…”

He sobbed as it crashed over him, a boiling wave that surged straight through his chest, submerged the net of the spell, but it wasn’t enough, it simply took hold with a pain so forceful it deafened him, crushed him, knocked the air out of him, releasing a stream of memories he ached to chase, the scent of the herbs, the cool of the breeze, the sparkle of the stars above, warmth in his arms, him comforting her and her comforting him, and now, now he couldn’t catch his breath, his vision grew black around the edges, just as she’d warned him it might, and he was drowning…

Her touch, her breath, her mouth fixed over his and prising his lips apart until she could seal them with hers, and it was probably only his exhaustion that restrained his instinct to kiss her, no kissing, breathe with me, breathe…

Her hand was over his heart, and the almost-her, the echo, was between his legs, and his arousal rose up as it must have then, and he didn’t know quite what to do with it, until her reassuring hum against his lips told him he didn’t need to do anything.  So he simply embraced it, a sliver of something to break up the pain.  His chest rose and fell against hers with every breath she took from him and every breath she gave back.

When he could breathe alone, they broke apart and she tied the rope.  Julian endured.

The last rope was tied loosely around his neck, fixed to the southern point of the compass on the floor, in front of him.  And she took out the last relic, the one that would hurt the most.  She knelt at that southern point.  It was the most important.  She unrolled it, a scroll of completely ordinary, nondescript paper. 

Her voice was hoarse, tight, as she read.

The pain was so much, too much, “ let me sleep” , but she didn’t stop, and he forced himself to listen, at least to take in some of the words, though he knew them by heart, could whisper without reading them, each a blow of an axe to his skull,

“...remain side by side… always.”

Always .

A maelstrom, memories that weren’t memories, voices with no words, echoes of laughter tormenting him, desire and lust seducing him, his screams in the distance, her cries somewhere, and she held him, she was there, warm and true, and he couldn’t hold her but she held him tight, as he was tossed from stream to stream of things he could almost remember, almost but not quite, until he couldn’t separate the past from the present, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

The ropes burnt like the Devil’s white-hot chains, around his shoulders, arms, thighs, torso and neck, and his head felt as if was crushed in an iron vice, tightening and tightening, while at the same time being torn to pieces, swelling until he was sure he would burst.

His throat was raw and ragged as over and over he called to her, to her echoes, indistinct words, regressing to his mother tongue, barely recognisable, barely knowing himself, who he was, where he was…

Her thighs pressed down over his as she straddled him, chest against his chest, mark against mark, arms around his shoulders, and then he was inside her, the arousal confusing but the focus relieving , her movements seeking purpose, raising the energy they needed. 

A voice from the maelstrom, her voice, her echo, her…

“Sex magic is some of the most powerful there is, second only to blood magic… ”

He gave into it.  He couldn’t move, bound to her ropes, bound to her spell, bound to her, and as the seas rose she was his beacon, his anchor, his safe harbour.

He reached for her words;

“Put your trust and faith in me.  I’ll always be here, right by your side.  Whatever else you see and feel, let yourself go, and know that I’m here, you’re safe.”

The pain didn’t ease, but it settled.  All-encompassing, all-consuming, ever-present, but still.  Julian’s consciousness began to slip, not into the void of sleep, but into that place somewhere between dreams.  He felt, then, how their love, their sex, the energy of life, would rise up, and up, and overcome the agony of the restriction of their past.

Because that love was their constant.  That was the stream that bound the now to the before, down which all that they were, flowed into all that they had become.

The ropes that Altheia had tied, the magic they represented, secured his body and freed his mind… her magic sought the ties of her spell from before , empowered by the magic of their gate, their ship, their guiding star, by them … and it raged angrily, twisting and writhing away from her, with Julian its powerless vessel unable to fight.  But there, glimmers of the memories, flashes of her, of a smile, of a word, I love you, a dizzying dance, burning passion, laughter and tears and torment, and all that they had lived and endured together, side by side, always.

Always.

Pleasure and pain never did burn so hot.  He endured.

Ice will cut all ties.

He heard the crackle of it, in the tips of her fingers against his temple, and for a moment it numbed the pain, but only for a moment.  

She took hold of her sword, freezing the blade with magical ice.  Strong fingers of her other hand gripped one of the ropes, the one around his shoulders, secured to the northern point of the compass glowing on the floor.

And she cut it.

Chapter Text

It was the hardest thing Altheia could ever imagine doing.  Little by little, Julian sank into the depths of his forbidden memories, and as his body shook and his voice grew hoarse, his cheeks were streaked wet and his breaths choked, all under the weight of her magic, and she couldn’t stop .  All she could do was take a pause after each step, to kiss him, hold him, stroke his hair, but after a little while she wasn't at all sure he was even aware she was there.  

Under the guidance of Altheia’s magic, Julian had slipped under the surface of his consciousness, sinking towards where his memories lay buried, entangled in her net, smothered beneath layer upon layer of her magic and the life that he had lived after her death.  In the descent, he placed himself further under her control, trusting in her.  Because he believed it was worth it.  He believed she was worth it. They , and all that they had been and would be, were worth it.

And for that, her spell gave him pain. He hurt because he chose to hurt, because she'd promised she wouldn't stop. It was the only way, to tear at the fabric of the net so that it pulled the memories apart with it, like cutting open an infected wound to clean it and set it to heal.  In the healing, they'd find themselves.

She repeated it to herself, over and over in her mind, that it was necessary, he would heal, it would be worth it.

But her throat constricted painfully, her chest hurt, her cheeks were soaked with her tears, and it was all she could do to focus, to recall what she had to do.   To tell herself it would be worth it .

As the ritual progressed, as all the ropes were tied that bound her to him, so her energy flowed around them, ebbing and flowing, catching Julian in its waves and sweeping him out to her depths, until his aura was dispersing into hers and she barely knew herself from him. 

She cried out when she took him inside her, held his shuddering body close to hers, when they were one; one body, one heart, one soul, bonded by magic and love from then and now, and her spirit slipped to that place between dreams, and found him there.

Julian, kneeling in an inky black pool within a circle that flickered with a pale light that threatened to sputter and die.  His long torso was bent in a curve that was almost graceful, and his head hung low.  But whereas in the physical, his body shuddered and trembled in pain, here he was calm, his chest rising and falling slowly with each breath.  The red ropes were taut, binding him to the circle, Altheia’s knots - sailing knots, that he had taught her - were neat and strong.

Between them, flowing from her heart to his and back again, something like a magical rope, like a sparkling stream, clear water, their bond that would never die.

But, reaching up from the darkness of the pool, were the arms of the Queen of Cups, and they coiled around Julian’s limbs until he winced in pain.  And rather than the indigo and midnight purple that Altheia recognised, they were translucent  and dark, writhing and cold, smothering not soothing.

The Queen of Cups reversed, Altheia realised, with a jolt of fear.  A representation of Altheia from the past, a version of her that had let her emotion overwhelm her, taken Julian's choices away from him, believing she knew best.  

Altheia took a deep breath to hold back her instinct to run to Julian, to cut him free, pull him back and away from his bindings.  She couldn’t do that, because dragging him away wasn’t what he wanted.  She had to methodically cut through the ropes, one by one, ignoring the grip of the dark Queen.  Her emotions couldn't get the better of her this time.

This isn’t love.  It was best that he forgot you.

The voice, rough and low, sent a cold ripple down Altheia’s spine.  

He didn’t hurt, then.  He hurts now.

She took a second breath, held it, and ignored the voice.  She had to focus, she couldn’t let her doubt, herself from the past, get in the way.

She followed the first of the ropes which in the physical she’d tied to the vielle they’d found in the ship, but here in the spiritual was holding back memories, memories of her .  She reached towards Julian’s throat, felt his pulse beneath her fingers, and followed the trail, seeking the thread she could pick apart.

But not just a thread this time, not one to pick apart, but the net, one to cut, to release the memories trapped behind.

With her other hand, she reached for her sword.  In the physical, it was steel.  Here, in the spiritual, it was her magic crystallised, it was ice.

Ice will cut all ties .

Pressing her lips to Julian’s mouth, Altheia cut the rope.

Ilya's plan was not, in fact, going to plan.  Even by his standards - which wasn’t the highest of bars, it must be said  - it was actually going horribly wrong.  

It was a classic - put on a mediocre showing at a card table, good enough to be interesting but bad enough that the other players would drop their guard; then go all in, and with the help of charm, banter, a good story and sleight of hand, win.  And with those winnings, be on his way and leave town before anyone noticed.

It had worked before; in fact it was his favoured means of acquiring funds since leaving his post as a battlefield medic.  But in Port Tremaire, the rowdiest town he could remember visiting, there were two types of players - merchants, and pirates - and he’d learnt the hard way that he needed to be somewhat selective with his opponents.  Merchants were tight with their money, wagering little unless they were confident of victory, but with a little patience could be whittled down.  Pirates were tougher, more likely to see through him, but the games were quick and dirty and they could be goaded into betting big.  But if they did spot a cheat, they were ruthless.  

Ilya had had his fair share of pirate opponents recently, and so had chosen a tavern away from the dock, near the houses rented by the captains of merchant vessels.  The early part of the evening had gone exactly according to plan.  His entertaining stories and freeness with coin had drawn quite a crowd.  Just after midnight, when he judged that everyone was just the right amount of drunk, he decided that the next game would be the last.

In that, he'd been correct.  

But as the merchant captain across the table from him raised an eyebrow and a smirk over her cards, and oh so deliberately lay down a queen of hearts to win the game, the voices of her crew rose up in raucous cheers, and Ilya’s heart sank.

He had one card left to play, and it wasn't the one in his hand.  But, even as he dropped the card with a flourish, flashed her what he was certain was his most dashing smile, and said “Very well played, Captain, bravo!” he knew it wouldn't work.  Still, one last valiant effort.  “Let me buy you a celebratory round.  White rum, was it?”

He started to get to his feet. The captain simply leaned back in her chair, casually crossed her arms over her chest and one booted leg over the other, and snared his gaze with her piercing sea-green eyes as her mouth curled in a smirk.  She nodded towards his chair.

“Sit back down, Doctor.  Time to pay up.”

Feeling a heat rise to his cheeks, he did as he was told.  Clearing his throat, his mind racing, he reached for the stacks of coins on the table in front of him, and carefully slid them towards her, hoping that she wouldn’t scrutinise them too closely in the dimly-lit, smokey air of the tavern.

He was wrong, and she was far too wily to let him get away with betting a stash of not-entirely-legitimate dubloons.  She leaned forward, and only a cursory glance told her what she needed to know.  

“Doctor, doctor, doctor,” she purred.  “Do you really think a merchant of my standing wouldn’t recognise counterfeit dubloons when I see them?  They’re not even good ones.”  She leaned back again, cocking her head to the side as she added, “That’s quite an insult.”

Her crew, standing around them or perched on nearby chairs or tables, hissed and murmured amongst themselves, loud enough so Ilya could hear.

“She’s pulled rank,” one of them said.

“Insulted!”

“‘e’s in trouble now.”

“Better run, doctor!”

Ilya nervously fiddled with his shirt; it hung half-open, but he soon realised that trying that tactic would probably only insult the captain further.  He pulled it closed.  “I’m sorry, I…”  He peered at her.  “I’m sorry, a merchant of your standing?”  With a nervous laugh, he added, “At the risk of continuing to insult you… who have I got myself in trouble with?”

An ‘oohh!’ of disbelief went up amongst the crew.  The captain held his gaze, an amused smile tugging at her lips - a smile like a viper might smile before striking.

“Would you please enlighten him, Maurice?”

The man standing to the left and slightly behind her - who, from the style of his long tunic and coat, Ilya had judged to be her first mate - grinned with barely-contained delight.

“Of course, Cap’n.  Doctor, you’re dealing with Privateer Captain Altheia Featherstone.”

Ilya blinked at the captain as she raised one eyebrow and tipped her head a little.  He closed his eyes, gave a dramatic groan and dropped his forehead onto the backs of his hands on the table.

“Oh god.  I’m done for.”

He knew all about the Featherstones from Mazelinka and the little correspondence he had with his merchant fleet-owning aunt Tasya, not to mention the tales told in the short time he’d been in Port Tremaire.  They weren’t a large family, but were among the most successful and influential in the port, with a large estate just outside the town.  

He also knew that the youngest daughter of the family had suffered losses when she’d been sailing with four of the family’s ships and been caught by surprise in a thick fog by pirates.  She got away, but not before they’d looted two of the ships and sunk another.  

Since then, she’d had one of the family’s older ships fitted out as a fighting privateer, with enough guns to put most pirates off attacking.  At first she served as escorts for her family’s ships, and then she’d taken it further, hunting pirates along the trade routes and intercepting smugglers, picking up bounties, and eventually becoming a privateer for hire.

And it would appear that it was that fiery youngest daughter of the most influential merchant family in Port Tremaire that he’d got himself in trouble with.

“Of all the merchants in all of Port Tremaire,” he murmured half to himself, “it would be the one that’s most like a pirate that I would lose to.”

Captain Featherstone paused, and then laughed.  “And yet you continue to insult me by likening me to a pirate.”

But from the tone of her voice, she didn’t seem very insulted.  When Ilya dared to look up, he was surprised to see a genuine smile on her face.  She necked the glass of rum on the table, then sighed with an amused shake of her head.

“Alright, enough.”  She held out her hand, palm up.  “Give me what you’ve got and we’ll call it even.”

“I, er… well…”  Ilya scratched the back of his neck, and grimaced.  “You see, I… I don’t have anything.”

“No?”  The captain raised an eyebrow.  She leaned to the side, stretched one leg under the table and nudged his bags with the toe of her boot.  “What’s in there, then?”

Ilya swallowed and gave another nervous titter of a laugh.  “Oh, you know.  Just some personal effects.  Clothes and such.  Nothing of value.”

“What’s that?”  She tapped the side of a hard case within the bag with the side of her foot.

Ilya stiffened.  “It’s a vielle.  But it’s not worth anything,” he added hastily.  “It’s quite old and battered.  A family heirloom.”

Altheia narrowed her eyes as she fixed him with her gaze, judging his honesty.  More than that, he felt the touch of magic creep over him.  Ah yes, he remembered, the fiery youngest daughter of the most influential merchant family in Port Tremaire, pirate-hunting privateer, was also a magician, a tidemancer.  Her magic felt like having a summer’s tide slowly wash over him.  It was a little disturbing and intrusive, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

Apparently believing him, she softened and sat back, her magic sliding away.  “Do you play?”

The question took him aback and he frowned.  “I can string a few notes together, yes.”

She ran the tip of her finger along her bottom lip, watching him curiously.  Then she smiled.

“Good.  You can pay off your debt entertaining us on our next voyage.”

Ilya stared at her for a moment.  “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Oh!”  Ilya sat up with a grin.  “I can do that.”

“Good!  That’s settled then.”  She smacked her palms onto the table so suddenly it made him jump, and got to her feet.  “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the ship.”  As the crew around her groaned, she waved off their protestations.  “You lot can stay.  Just make sure you’re back on board before dawn or I’ll sail without you.”  

The crew cheered and raised her a toast; she rolled her eyes with a smile.

“Maurice, make sure they behave, would you?  I don’t want to be held up by a trip to the jailor in the morning to bail them out.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

She looked around at them all then with a stern gaze and a finger raised in warning.  “But anyone complaining of a hangover gets weevils for breakfast!”

With that parting shot, she turned and lifted her long crimson coat off the back of her chair and pulled it on, then retrieved her tricorn hat from where it hung on a nail in the wall behind her.  Pausing only long enough to wait for Ilya to fling his coat around his shoulders and scrabble to pick up his bags, she strode from the room, her boot heels loud on the wooden floor and her coat swirling around her calves as she navigated her way around the burly sailors crowded into the hot space, narrowly avoiding two men falling to the ground in a brawl as she gracefully sidestepped them.  

She held the tavern door open for Ilya, and as they stepped out onto the street it closed behind them, leaving them in darkness with the noise of the tavern muffled behind them.

The captain stopped on the kerb, closed her eyes, turned her face up to the night sky and took a deep breath of the cool air.  On the exhale, she said,

“That’s better.  It’s so smokey and hot in there.  And loud.”  She opened her eyes and looked at Ilya for a moment before gesturing down the street.  “This way.”

She walked in a purposeful stride with her hands behind her back, and Ilya kept step with her.  He was still in something of a daze.  His plans often didn’t go to plan, which was partly why he so often found himself in Situations, but this had taken an entirely unexpected turn.  

But as his thoughts caught up, they began to whirl with the possibilities - and excitement.  The thrill of adventure, sailing into the unknown.  He was almost glad he’d lost that game.

He was a little surprised at the captain’s silence, as they walked together through the narrow streets of the town.  The air was fresh after a recent rainfall, the dark, wet cobbles glistened in the meagre streetlights.  The streets were quiet, a far cry from the noisy bustle of the day, shops and market stalls locked up, cargo safely aboard ships or piled at the dock.  Though, every tavern they passed - and there were a lot of taverns in Port Tremaire - had a glow in the windows and the sounds of laughing, singing and fighting drifted out onto the streets.

Every now and again, Ilya gave Altheia a sidelong glance.  He noted her hair in a tight braid reaching from underneath her hat down just past her shoulderblades, and powdered almost white… the straight bridge of her nose with a slightly upturned tip, her heart-shaped face and sea-green eyes that, when she turned once and met his gaze, gleamed in the moonlight beneath long lashes and a fringe of powdered hair.  And she wore a sword, an elegant silver rapier, at her hip.

“So, Captain,” he began, for although the silence was comfortable, he felt a need to talk to her.  “Where are we sailing to?”

“Vesuvia.  Word reached me of a smuggling racket that’s been operating out of a cove nearby.  I want to scout it out, make sure it’s not a threat to my interests.”

“And if it is?”

She shrugged.  “I’ll deal with it.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Smugglers are always a threat to someone’s interests.  If that someone is a rival, well, I can turn a blind eye.”

“Huh.”

When Altheia wasn’t forthcoming with how exactly she would ‘deal with’ the smugglers, silence fell between them again.  Until Ilya spoke again.

“So, Vesuvia.  That’s only a day’s sail, if my memory serves.”

“Your memory does serve.  It is.”  She gave him a half-smile, showing a dimple in her cheek.  “You sound disappointed.”

“Hardly!  My questionable skills with a vielle will only be needed for one day.”

“And perhaps a night.”

Ilya blinked at her, a flush rising to his cheeks at the suddenly sultry narrowing of her eyes.  She broke the gaze with a laugh.

“I’m uh, I’m sure I can manage that,” he managed to reply.

“Pleased to hear it.”

But, he realised, he was a little disappointed.  It had been a long time since he’d been at sea, and he missed it.

Altheia led them down some narrow steps towards the docks.  But halfway down, as they passed an alcove in the stone wall, a man jumped out at them from the shadows.  Ilya dropped his bags and pulled his knife, but Altheia was quicker, her sword in her hand and the point at the would-be thief’s throat in a flash and a ring of steel.  

She glared down the narrow blade for an agonisingly long moment, until the man dropped his knife so that it skittered down the steps with a metallic clatter.  Without a further word, but a flick of her head, the man scrambled past her and bolted up the steps.

Ilya stared wide-eyed, as with little more than a sigh the captain sheathed her sword, retrieved the knife and dropped it into her coat pocket, and gestured for him to follow her as she continued down the steps.

She’s magnificent.

“You seem like you’ve done that before,” he said, shoving his own knife back into his pocket and picking up his bags to hastily follow her.  “Does it happen often?”  

“Yep.”

Without elaborating further, they reached the bottom of the steps onto the harbour.  Several merchant ships were docked and more were anchored in the harbour, their bells ringing softly in the fresh breeze.  

“Does that have a name?” Ilya asked, as Altheia led them along the dock, winding their way around crates, chests and sacks piled up near the ships as their crew loaded them.

“Hmm?  Does what have a name?”

He gestured to the rapier.  “The sword.”

Altheia raised an eyebrow at him.  “No.  It’s a sword, why would I give it a name?”

Ilya scoffed.  “All the best swords have names!”

Altheia rolled her eyes with a smile.  “I suppose it’s not a best sword, then.”  

“It’s one of the finest rapiers I’ve seen.”  It was true - as he looked down at the sword secured to the belt at her hip, the handguard caught his eye; made of delicate silver, it had the appearance of ribbons - or streams, perhaps - elegantly turning and twisting around each other and around Altheia’s hand.  The blade was narrow and perfectly straight to a deadly point, sharp enough to pluck a cherry from a punch bowl.  “It deserves a name.”

Altheia chuckled with a shake of her head.  “Perhaps.  I’ll think about it.”  She leaned a little towards him, peering up at him; she wasn’t short, but thanks to him being so tall she was eye-level with his collarbone.  “Do you have a name?  I assume ‘Doctor’ is a pseudonym.”

“Almost.  I’m a doctor by profession.  But it suits as an alternative when I find myself in a, ah, situation where I’d rather not reveal my name.  ‘The Doctor’ has an air of mystery to it, don’t you think?”  His voice rose in a lightly theatrical cadence.  “A doctor of what ? they ask.  And then they stop caring about my name.”

“Are you in such a ‘situation’ now, doctor?”

He held her gaze for a moment as they walked.  Maybe this was his chance, he thought.  A chance for a fresh start.  Vesuvia was a nice enough city, he’d heard.  Mazelinka had a place there.  There were worse places to settle.  He didn’t care much for fate, but given his current Situation, perhaps it was time for fate to be kind to him for a change.

If he was going to settle, if he were to make a fresh start, then he needed to put his old life behind him.  And, attached to that life, was his name.  It wasn’t important to him, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken a new name to suit whatever city he found himself in. 

In that moment, he decided that Captain Altheia Featherstone, she who would sail him to his new life, would be the first to hear it.  And so with a grin and a theatrically flourishing bow, he replied,

“Doctor Julian Devorak, at your service.”

Altheia laughed.  “Do you always introduce yourself like that, Julian?”

“Of course.”  He cocked his brow as he straightened.  “Don’t you?”

She returned his smile.  “Maybe I should.  My hat would fall off if I bowed quite that low, though.”

“And we wouldn’t want that.  It’s a beautiful hat.”

“It’s good enough.”  She stopped suddenly, and gestured to a ship.  “Here she is.  Your home for the next day and perhaps a night.”

Julian stared up at the ship, and his eyes glided along the hull.  The ship was built from  dark-stained oak, and a wide red line was painted all the way along it on a level with the gun deck.  Her three masts reached up into the night sky, swaying slowly side to side with the movements of the sea.  He gave an appreciative whistle through his teeth.

“She’s magnificent.”  He turned back to Altheia with a smile.  “Does she have a name?”

“Of course she does.”  Altheia turned back to the ship with a smile that was both fond and proud.  “Vengeance.”

“How apt.  Very fitting.”  He looked up at the deck as they approached.  “She was razeed?”

Altheia looked both surprised and impressed that he noticed that the ship’s deck was a little lower than might be expected for a ship of that size, since the original top deck had been stripped away.  “Yes.  I needed manoeuvrability over firepower.  Pirate ships tend to be heavily armed, but old and slow.  Best way to take them out is outmanoeuvre them.  None of my family’s ships were suitable for what I wanted, so I took an old one and tinkered with it.”

The thought of the dread pirate Mazelinka being told her ship was old and slow amused Julian.  

“You’re familiar with ships and the sea, I take it,” Altheia said when she reached the ladder and gestured for Julian to go up ahead of her.  

Julian shrugged.  “A bit.  I have relatives with a merchant fleet, and another who’s a pirate.”

Altheia incredulously snorted a laugh.  “That’s an interesting mix of relations.”

“Oh there’s a lot that’s interesting about me,” he told her with a raffish smirk, as he hoisted his bags onto his back and started to make his way up the ladder.

“And I suppose you’ll show me all of it in a day, will you?”

“In a day, and perhaps a night.”

Julian winked at her, and she laughed and waved a hand to get him up the ladder.  As he climbed, he silently winced at himself.  What was he doing, dropping clumsy innuendoes like that?  He was lucky she was taking him aboard her ship at all - there were far more unpleasant ways to extract payment of a gambling debt than playing a vielle for a day and perhaps a night.

Hauling himself up onto the deck, he dropped his bags and turned to offer her his hand.  She paused, holding the rail, looking at his hand.  She didn’t need it, of course she didn’t.  But she took it anyway.

He didn’t let go immediately, even after she’d climbed over the rail and stood in front of him.  She looked up at him with a surprised but curious tilt of her head.  And she didn’t try to pull her hand back.

“Are you alright, doctor?” she asked, amusement colouring her velvety tone.

“I am, actually!” he said with a light laugh.  “Which is surprising, considering my uh, my situation .”

“And what situation would that be?”

“Being held captive by the infamous Captain Featherstone.”

“Infamous, am I?”  One corner of her lips lifted in a wry half-smile.  Still, she didn’t withdraw her hand.  

“You are, yes.”  Julian smiled against the back of her gloved hand as he pressed his lips there.  “And very gracious, to allow me to work off my debt instead of taking the clothes off my back.”

He noticed the faintest hint of a pink blush colour the sun-kissed ivory of her cheeks.  But she said,

“It was also very gracious of me not to rub your nose in the fact that you cheated , and still lost.”

Julian couldn’t help the devilish smirk that pulled at his lips and arched his brow.  He'd only known her a very short time, but he could already tell how sharp she was, and so the fact she'd noticed his cheat didn't surprise him in the slightest.

“And it was very gracious of me not to point out that you only won because you cheated.  How many cards do you have up there?”

Acting purely on a hunch and without warning, he slipped his long fingers up under her shirt sleeve, and found several cards secured to her wrist with bracelets.  

Altheia laughed loudly, genuine and bright, when Julian flipped the cards in front of her face.  

“Fine.  You caught me out.”

With a twist of her wrist she took her hand from Julian’s hold, her fingers curled around his instead, and she pressed her lips to the back of his hand.

He froze.  Tried to speak, but the words came out in a stammer and he clamped his mouth shut.  Her lips were warm, soft against his skin, and the touch sent little ripples all the way through him.

“A truce, then,” she said as she straightened, but didn’t release his hand.  “And you can stay aboard Vengeance to Vesuvia as my guest, if you like.”

Julian grinned broadly, and found his voice.

“I would like that very much.”

“Excellent.”

Their eyes met; Altheia’s smile was warm, her gaze curious.  Julian couldn’t look away from those sea-green depths; he didn’t think he’d ever seen eyes like them.  Her grip tightened around his fingers just a little, a fraction of an instant, before she released his hand and returned hers to rest on her hip.

“Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Julian followed her across the deck, suddenly struck by the movements of her hips, the way her crimson coat cinched in at the curve of her waist and flared out over her hips and down to her calves; the very slightest swagger to her walk.

He blinked out of his thoughts when she stopped by the mainmast and craned back to look up all the way to the crow’s nest at the top, lit by a single small lantern.

“Jack!” she yelled, her velvety voice clear and carrying into the night.  “Anything to report?”

A man scrabbled to his feet and looked down at them with a salute.  

“Nothin’, Cap’n.”

“Good to hear.  This is Julian, he’ll be joining us as far as Vesuvia.”

“Right-oh.”

Julian raised a hand in greeting, but Jack had already sat back in the nest.

“Talkative fellow, isn’t he?”

“Never complains about a night watch, though.”  Altheia continued towards the rear of the ship, Julian keeping step.  There was a fondness in her voice.  “He likes to read, and the only quiet place on the ship is up there.  I’m not sure if it’s a watchpost or Jack’s personal book nook at this point.”

Behind the mizzenmast, the deck was raised up, with a door set into it, and a hatch at the centre of it.  Altheia hopped up the three wooden steps to the wheel; there, slumped against a barrel, was a large man, a sword in his lap, apparently fast asleep.  With an amused shake of her head, the captain nudged his leg with her boot.

“That’s Stev, our quartermaster.  He was supposed to be on guard tonight.”

“He doesn’t look like he’s guarding very much of anything,” Julian said, peering over the captain’s shoulder at the sleeping man.

“I’m not so sure about that.”  Altheia tapped the barrel with a forefinger.  “That right there is a barrel of brandy.  Watered down, disgusting, but it’s cheap, and when you’ve a long voyage ahead of you, it’s good enough.  Does well for cleaning wounds, too.  But I suppose you know all about that, being a doctor.”

A shudder ran through Julian at that, as his thoughts flew back to a time when, little more than a teenager, he’d begun joining Mazelinka on her voyages.  Along the way, he’d had his brutal introduction to amputations, assisting the ship’s surgeon.  If there was one thing he knew about watered-down brandy, it was that it didn’t get a man anywhere near drunk enough to deaden the pain of having a limb hacked off.  The screams bearing testament to that, still haunted his nightmares.  It was a little more effective at cleaning wounds, though.

“Julian?”

He was brought out of his thoughts by Altheia’s voice and a wave of her hand in front of his face.  He managed a smile.

“Sorry, Captain.  I’m tired.”

“Hmm.”  Her eyes tightened just a little as she held his gaze.  Reading him.  She smiled.  “Think you can stay awake long enough to join me for tea?”

Somehow, the thought of not joining her for tea was entirely out of the question. 

He followed her as she hopped back down the steps, and opened the door to the cabin, leaving his bags just outside.  Inside, Altheia gave a flick of her wrist and an orb of light appeared; with another flick, it floated up to the lantern hanging from a beam in the middle of the small cabin, and the light it cast across the cluttered space resembled a flickering flame. 

“Mind your head!” she called back.

Julian had already stooped to get through the door without hitting his head on the low beam, but he smiled his thanks, and peered around the room.  In the centre was a rectangular table with four chairs around it, a map laid upon its surface and navigational instruments set to the side.  A window stretched across the opposite wall, beneath which stood a comfortable burgundy-cushioned couch and a writing bureau with papers piled neatly upon it.  To the left stood a dresser, upon which were an array of boxes, jars and bottles, and in an alcove to the right, behind a partly-open heavy curtain, Julian could see a small bed.

Altheia cleared her throat and Julian’s eyes shot back to meet hers.  One brow and the corner of her mouth were arched in an amused smirk, as she loosened the gloves around her fingers.

“Lovely bed– I mean, room!  Lovely room.  Very cosy, has a lovely ambience.”

Altheia laughed softly through her nose.

“Make yourself at home.”

She gestured to the couch, and then turned her back on him as she pulled off her gloves and dropped them onto the table.  As Julian walked past her, behind her, he couldn’t quite take his eyes off her, watching as she unhooked her sword from its belt and lay it carefully on the table, and then deftly worked at the buckles on the belt and cross-body leather baldric before laying them beside the sword.  She took off her hat, and stepped away from the table to put it on a shelf above the dresser.  

“Just give me a minute,” Altheia said, brushing her fingers through her fringe to peel it away from where her hat had plastered it to her forehead.  “Take off your coat if you’re staying.”

“If… if I… ah… hmm?”

Julian attempted a display of nonchalance by setting his hand on his hip and leaning on the window frame.  Altheia laughed softly with a shake of her head, turning from him as she opened the buttons of her own crimson coat.  

“It’s just tea, Julian.  Relax.  I won’t bite.”

A faint shiver rippled down Julian’s spine.

“Relax!  Of course, I can relax.  The very vision of relaxedness, I am.”

She turned her head enough to look back over her shoulder with an arched eyebrow.  “Relaxedness?  Is that a word?”

“If it wasn’t, it is now.”

Julian did as he’d been bidden, and took off his overcoat.  As he watched Altheia do the same, he couldn’t help but notice the movements of the lean muscles of her shoulders and back underneath her shirt, the curve of her waist, and the way her black leggings hugged her hips, thighs, and–

She turned, and Julian quickly dropped his gaze.  With a flourish, he pulled his coat from his shoulders like it was a cape, and draped it over a chair before sitting down on the couch, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other and resting an arm across the back of the couch.

“It’s not easy to relax around you, mind,” he added.  When Altheia gave a quizzical tilt of her head, he continued, “You are my jailor, after all.  And I haven’t yet paid off my bail.”

That wasn’t true at all.  He was, in fact, already relaxing thanks to the warmth of the cabin that almost matched the warmth of his host.

Altheia laughed as she turned back to him.  “Your jailor? ”

“Yes!”  Julian gave a mischievous grin.  “A fearsome privateer marched me right out of that tavern practically at sword-point to imprison me on her dread ship.”

“That’s the story you’ll tell, is it?”

Julian shrugged.  “I might add six inches to your height, an ostrich feather to your hat, an extra sword and a fireball.”

He winked, and was delighted to hear Altheia’s laugh, clear and sincere.  “You’d better embellish your misdeed, then.  Imprisoning you on my dread ship under duress of two swords and a fireball is a little excessive for a card cheat.”

It was Julian’s turn to laugh.  “Ah, not for a dashing and fearsome privateer.  You wouldn’t dare cross her.”

“Dashing, am I?”

Julian looked at her contemplatively for a moment.  He couldn’t quite read her expression, but he was sure her cheeks had flushed ever so slightly pink.  He also wasn’t quite sure why he’d said what he’d said, and didn’t know if it would be wise to take it further, considering his potentially precarious Situation.  So he merely grinned, and replied,

“And fearsome.”

Altheia gave a smile he couldn’t quite read.  And then, to his surprise, she leaned back on the edge of the table with her arms folded over her chest and an almost sympathetic, suddenly serious look in her eyes.

“You’re not my prisoner,” she said quietly.  “You’re my guest.  You can leave… if you want.”

Julian blinked in astonishment at the change in Altheia’s demeanour as she gestured vaguely towards the door.

“No!” he said, his voice verging on something close to alarm that he’d somehow managed to upset or offend her - or both.  “I don’t want to leave.  Not at all.  In fact, I’m um… I’m quite enjoying the company of a siren, who hasn’t imprisoned so much as lured me here under the spell of her enchantment, with not a fireball in sight.”

Altheia rolled her eyes, the smile returning.  “I think I preferred the other story.”  She pushed herself away from the table.  “How do you take your tea?”

“I don’t, usually.  Do you have coffee by any chance?”  At Altheia’s disapprovingly-raised eyebrow, Julian hastily amended, “No?  In that case I take tea very black.  Thank you.”

Altheia watched him for a moment, a curious look in her eyes.  Then she turned, and went through a small hatch into what looked like a tiny galley kitchen.

“Black tea it is.”

Julian watched her go, holding his breath, and then exhaled heavily in something like disbelief and nerves.  It wasn’t that he was nervous or scared of her , exactly, but… he was enjoying her company.  And he’d like to enjoy it for a bit longer.  A day, and perhaps–

A night??

This night?

No she couldn’t just mean this night - it was a day’s sail if the winds were fair, and they weren’t setting sail until dawn, so if the winds weren’t in their favour and it took a little over a day, the night that was a perhaps would be the next night–

His thoughts were interrupted by Altheia’s bootheels as she stepped out of the galley and crossed the room towards him, carrying a small tray with a teapot and two cups, and some shortbread biscuits on a plate.  Julian watched as she hooked her foot around the leg of a low side table as she passed, and dragged it to the space in front of the couch.  He half got to his feet to help, but she shook her head.

“Stay there, I’m fine.”

“Er…”  Reluctantly, Julian hovered over the couch seat.  “I don’t want you to spill it…”

“Oh there’s nothing in it yet.”

“Oh.  That’s good then.”

Altheia set the tray down, and then to Julian’s surprise, she sat on the couch beside him - he’d half expected her to fetch another chair for herself.  As she leaned forward to the teapot, he caught a hint of her fragrance - a sweet warmth, something citrusy…

She scooped a measure of tea leaves into the pot, and then held her open hand a couple of inches above it, palm up.  As Julian watched in amazement, a sphere of water swirled into existence.  When it was large enough to fill her palm, she tilted her hand, and it poured into the pot.  Once more, and the pot was full. 

Julian stared incredulously, pointing.

“That… you, uh, you made water?”

Altheia shrugged.  “Something like that.”

“And that water, it… I’m going to drink it, yes?”

“I should think so, yes.” Altheia sounded amused.

Julian struggled to get his head around it.  He never could understand magic.  “It’s yours?  You made it?  Is it… magic water?  That you made?  Am I going to drink part of… part of you?”

Altheia tried to hide her laugh but didn’t quite manage it.  “No, Julian, it’s not like that.  There’s water vapour in the air all around us.  My magic simply harnesses it, coalesces it into water.  It’s easier at sea, there’s more vapour, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“I did have to spend some time figuring out how to take the salty taste out of it, though.”

“I don’t mind salt,” Julian said without thinking.  “Probably an unhealthy amount.”

Altheia simply smiled.  She curved both hands around the pot, and Julian felt a warmth emanate from them.  He gave a soft, incredulous laugh.

“And you heated it too, of course.”

“Of course.”  She replaced the lid, and leaned back.  “Let it steep for three minutes, no more or less.”

The couch was big enough for two, but not for much space between them.  They weren’t quite touching, but he could feel her warmth.  She smiled.

“Comfortable?”

“Very!” he said hastily.  “This is a lovely couch.  Very, uh… very soft, well-stuffed, not too soft or too hard...”

“Alright, don’t overdo it,” she laughed.  She twisted a little so that she could lean her elbow on the back of the couch and face him, resting her head on her hand as she looked at him curiously; he mirrored her position, but finding it hard to get comfortable with his long legs, ended up having to cross one over the other with his knee on the seat.  Altheia’s eyes flitted down to his leg, then slid up his body and back to his eyes.

Julian’s eyes widened.  Had he offended her with his leg?  “I’m sorry, I–”

He hurriedly uncrossed his leg, but so suddenly that he accidentally kicked the edge of the table, with enough force that some of the tea spilled out of the spout of the pot and a cup fell over.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!  Have you got a towel, I…”

“Julian it’s fine, please.  Relax.”

Altheia leaned over him and stood the cup up, then with a wave of her hand, the spilled tea was gone.

“You’re just showing off now, aren’t you?” Julian said with a half smile.

She held up her thumb and forefinger with a small gap between them.  “Only a little.  Now, will you please relax.  And yes, you can put your knee up on my couch if you need to.  Your legs are rather… long.”

Julian cleared his throat, feeling the tips of his ears turn hot.  “Ah, thank you.”

They both settled back, and Altheia pulled her legs up onto the couch, too, curled in front of her with her feet hanging off the edge.

“No boots on the cushion, mind,” she said.

“That goes without saying.”  He held her gaze with a smile, and then that smile slipped into a smirk.  “You’re taking a risk, don’t you think?” he said, lowering his voice.  “Letting a proven rogue into your, uh, cabin like this.”

Altheia raised her eyebrows.  “A proven rogue, you say?”

“I have knives on me, you know.  You saw one, I have others.”

“Oh?”  Altheia made a show of exaggerated disappointment.  “And there I was thinking you were just pleased to see me.”

“I am!” Julian said, too hastily, and then he stared in shock as he realised what he’d implied.  “Not like that!  I mean… not that I wouldn’t be pleased to see you like… like that , but what I mean is I’m pleased for your, ah, your company , and… you’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Altheia couldn’t hold back her mirth, and laughed brightly.  “What should I be so afraid of then, rogue ?  These knives of yours?”  She gestured with her hand from Julian’s shirt pocket, down to his trouser pockets at his hips, and then his boots.

“Ah… maybe?”

“Have you ever used them for anything other than slicing an apple?  Cutting your way out of ropes, maybe a sack or two?”

Julian tutted.  “No sacks , no.”

“Ropes?”

“Once or twice,” he conceded.

“And what if I said I don’t believe you have any other than the one in your coat pocket?”

Julian couldn’t quite read the half smirk on her lips and sparkle in her eyes, where the flame from the lantern danced across the sea-green.  But the captain seemed in a playful mood, and so Julian dared to lean forward with his most sultry curve of lips, and say,

“You can search me.  If you like.”

“Can I, indeed?”  

Her eyes narrowed playfully and she held his gaze contemplatively.  Julian felt himself flush with embarrassment.  But he held his nerve.

“This is your ship, captain.  You can do whatever you like.”

He sat up straight and held out his arms to the sides with a flourish, bowing his head.  And to his utter surprise, he felt her hands on his shoulders.

He froze.  He could feel the strength in Altheia’s hands, open-palmed, as they moved from the base of his neck outward to the tops of his arms.  Her fingers, too, carried the tension of certainty, confidence, tightening a little on the muscles of his upper arms as they moved down.  She paused over his biceps with a squeeze, then moved on to his inner forearms.  Then to his wrists, and now her thumbs rested for a moment over the veins of his inner wrists, her fingers curled around them, as if feeling for a knife strapped there.

“Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully.  “Nothing there.”

Julian didn’t dare raise his head.  He didn’t want her to stop.  Wherever she touched, a warmth rippled out across his skin like pebbles skipping over the surface of a lake, and he couldn’t tell if it was her magic, or simply her .

Her palms lay over his, fingers against his fingers, though not as long, arms still stretched out to the sides.  She leaned forward, and he could feel her breath moving through the hair around his ear.

“I can see you have nothing strapped to your chest.”

Julian huffed a laugh, and turned his head up just enough that his eyes could meet hers - they were close.  His eyebrow arched and one corner of his mouth lifted in a self-satisfied smirk.

“Like what you do see?”

Altheia released his hands and sat back, and now she didn’t try to hide her gaze sliding down Julian’s long neck to the chest exposed by his almost-open shirt.  She tilted her head a little, and after a deliberately agonisingly long pause, she looked him in the eye again.  She didn’t say anything, simply purred,

“Mmm.”

She reached out to his sides, and as her hands came to rest just under his ribcage, Julian shivered.  He tried to stop the quickening of his breaths, breathing deeply instead.  Altheia’s eyebrows twitched upwards and she bit her lip in amusement - at least, Julian thought it was amusement.  The fabric of his shirt bunched and shifted over his skin under her palms.  When she leaned forward to slide her hands around to the small of his back, her chest almost brushed his.  She reached up, up, and he felt her breath on his neck.  Her hands spreading across his shoulderblades, she said in a low voice.

“See, a real rogue would have a cross-strap here, and at least two knives, one for each hand.”

As she spoke, she drew a cross shape from Julian’s shoulder down to his waist, over his spine.  He let out a noise that was somewhere between a squeak and a grunt, but said nothing, nor did he move.

But when Altheia’s hands passed the dip of his oblique, above his hips, he squirmed and spluttered a laugh, his hands coming down to push hers away.

“Ticklish?”  Her eyes were bright with delight.

“A-a bit.  Just a bit.”

He cleared his throat as the ticklish sensation settled, and he straightened again, but couldn’t quite hold a straight face when Altheia said,

“Not very roguish of you.”  She returned her hands to his sides, careful to avoid the ticklish spot this time.  Her gaze locked with his, and with a mock sternness she said, “Stay still now.”

Julian swallowed back a whimper.  He was aware that his blood was rushing rapidly south, and he closed his eyes and willed it back north before she noticed.

It didn’t work.  How could it, when she was leaning so close, when her fingers brushed firmly over his belt, curving then over the belt and then between the belt and his body, and because his shirt was half untucked, he felt the backs of her fingers against his skin , and he wished he’d worn higher-waisted trousers, because when her hands lingered just below his navel he thought she must have noticed by now.

“Nothing there, either,” she said with a disappointed sigh, withdrawing her hands, but only so she could place them at his hips.

Julian scrunched his eyes up tight.  Focus on something else, anything else…

Her fragrance.  Now she was closer to him, he could make out the warm notes of vanilla , but the citrus eluded him still… not so sharp as orange or bitter as lemon, something delicate and fresh, oh and there was sea salt, too…

Her hands were at the crease of his thighs, fingers reaching to the opening of his pockets.  Of course she knew there couldn’t possibly be a knife there, she’d have felt it long ago.  But Julian was beginning to realise that she might not be looking for knives after all.

“Not so much as a flick-knife,” she said, her voice low and velvety.  

“N-no?  I must’ve… uh, maybe I…”

She straightened enough that she could meet his gaze, close enough that her breath skated across his flushed cheeks as she smiled mischievously.  Her hands spread across the tops of his thighs, her thumbs moving in a light caress, and she’d definitely noticed now.

Julian’s thoughts were caught in a vague space between panic and absolutely nothing, as one of her eyebrows arched, and she purred,

“Oh, there it is.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, or spoke, their breaths moving together in the hot air between them - But the fact that her cheeks were flushed did not escape Julian’s notice.  Just as Julian was scrambling to decide if he should move, or wait for her to move, or if perhaps neither of them would move at all and they’d just stay like this, Altheia’s hands slid quite suddenly down the length of his thighs and over his knees to the tops of his boots.  She slipped her fingers inside, and deftly retrieved both the knives strapped to his calves.  With a triumphant smile, she flipped both of them up into the air, caught them by the handle, and stuck them both point down into the wooden table.

Julian chuckled, lowering his arms to his lap and carefully covering his crotch with his hands - for what it was worth now .

“You er, you knew they were there the whole time, didn’t you?”

Altheia rolled her eyes.   “I didn’t come down in the last shower, you know.  They're there as a last resort in self-defence, and I'd bet you've mastered the art of drawing them with as much dramatic panache as possible.”

“Er…”

Julian flushed, scratching the back of his neck.

“I’ve met my fair share of rogues,” she continued. “And you , Doctor…”  She poked his chest.  “...are not one.”

“I’ll have you know I can be very dangerous when I want to be,” he said sulkily.

“Really?” she scoffed. “How many times have you used those knives?  Other than for cutting apples, ropes and sacks?”

“One sack!” Julian protested, barely holding back a laugh.  “One time!”  He sighed, giving in.  “I can look dangerous, though.  I’m tall–”

“I noticed.”

“...tower above most people, puff out my chest and draw knives from my boots with, what did you call it… panache, I can be quite imposing, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sure you can.”

They both laughed, and the smile that Altheia gave Julian was almost one of fondness.  She leaned forward just a little, her hand resting lightly on his knee.

“So, Julian, thank you for the concern but no, I don’t think I’m taking much of a risk letting you into my cabin.”  She shook her head, amused.  And with a squeeze of his knee, she leaned towards the teapot, and tutted.  “That was longer than three minutes.  It’s stewed.”

They settled back on the couch, teacups in hand.  Julian wasn’t particularly fond of tea, but he was increasingly fond of his host.  They talked, about everything and nothing.  She listened to his stories, told him stories of her own, and they laughed.  They got through two pots of tea and a plate of shortbread biscuits.

He barely noticed that any time had passed, until the ship’s bell rang to signal midnight.  Altheia sighed and set her cup down, stretching her arms up so high as she yawned that her shirt lifted out of her belt, allowing a peek of her midriff.

“This has been lovely,” she said as she got to her feet, smiling as she reached down and offered Julian her hand.  He took it and stood up with her.  “Bedtime now, I’m afraid, I’ll never hear the end of it if I’m not up at dawn with those scallies.  Get your coat, I’ll show you to your bunk.”

“Right, of course.  Thank you.  And thank you for the tea.”

He found himself squeezing her hand.  He held her gaze, and she didn’t move away.  Her eyes closed, briefly, as he leaned forward and gently kissed her cheek.  When he leaned back, she rocked up onto her toes and kissed his cheek in return.

She took a step back, looked at him with another smile, and then swept her coat up and onto her shoulders before striding from the cabin.  Julian took a deep breath as he pulled his own coat on, feeling the warmth of her lips as if they were still pressed to his cheek.  He exhaled heavily, and after a glance at the bed behind the curtain, followed Altheia out onto the deck, and then down the hatch below decks.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anywhere else to put you,” she said, looking back over her shoulder at him.  “Oh and mind your head, these beams are low.”

“I’m not picky,” he said as he followed her to the crew’s quarters.  “I can sleep anywhere.  Out like a light the moment my head hits a pillow.”

“Ah… I think we should have a pillow somewhere…”

The small room was lined with low bunks and several hammocks.  Altheia rummaged in a chest in the corner, and with an “Ah-hah!” pulled out a rolled up canvas, handed it to Julian and retrieved a pillow.

“Over there,” she said, pointing to a corner where Julian could see some hooks in the ceiling and wall.

“Ah.  Marvellous.”  Julian unrolled the hammock, stretching it out between his arms, and grinning with a child-like delight.  “I haven’t slept in one of these since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”

Altheia crossed her arms over her chest, seeming amused.  “You know how to hang it?”

“Of course!”

He didn’t.  Or at least, it had been so long he’d forgotten, but he reasoned that it couldn’t be that difficult.

His reasoning was wrong.

Altheia leaned on her shoulder on the wall and watched, offering words of highly amused encouragement.  But after a few minutes of entangling himself in the canvas, hanging it up twisted, and cursing at it, he finally gave up and looked at Altheia pleadingly.

“Could you uh… could you help?  Please?”

She looked at him mischievously, as if she might consider not helping and letting him struggle on a bit longer.

Julian fluttered his eyelashes.  “Please, Captain?  Will you help this poor sailor hang his hammock?”

She burst out a laugh, and pushed herself away from the wall.

“Look, it’s like this…  Are you watching?”

“Yes, captain.”

Julian knew he was standing a little too close than he ought to, his chest barely brushing her back, almost leaning over her shoulder as he pretended to be paying attention to her.  He knew she knew he wasn’t paying much attention, and she didn’t seem to mind very much.  Nor did she move away from him, even when he found himself leaning into her neck, his nose close to the soft spot behind her ear, beneath the wisps of hair that had escaped her braid.

…until the powder in her hair tickled his nose, and he span just in time to sneeze in the opposite direction.

Altheia laughed and turned to face him as he turned back, and she ran her hand through her fringe and over the back of her head as she pulled a face.  “Horrible stuff.  I hate it.”

Julian raised his eyebrows.  “Then why use it?  In Port Tremaire, I’ve only seen– ah.  Yes, nobles and merchants.”

“Ugh.”  Altheia pulled a face of disgust, and put on an exaggeratedly well-spoken tone.  “Yes, one has to put on an appearance at social gatherings , you know.  Including stupid hair powder.”

Julian snorted a laugh.  “Yes, I see that.”

“I hate it.”

“I see that, too.”

Altheia sighed.  “I’ll have to wash it out in the morning.  I’m too tired now.”

“Goodnight then, Captain.  I’ll see you in the– well, it is morning, I suppose.  I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Julian flashed her his most charming smile, and turned to sit on the hammock.

“No!  Not like–”

Altheia reached for him but it was too late - sitting on the edge of the hammock made it spin, and Julian fell back, crying out and flinging his arms out to catch his balance, but instead grabbing Altheia’s hand; she tried to pull him back up, but his momentum was too strong, and with a squeal she was pulled on top of him as he fell onto his back on the floor.

For a moment Julian lay, dazed, limbs splayed every which way and one leg raised up and tangled in the hammock.  Then he noticed the weight on his chest.  It was Altheia, and she’d somehow ended up with one leg between his and the other on the other side of him.

Julian stared wide-eyed, horror flooding his chest, as Altheia pushed herself up onto her hands and looked down at him.

“Did I… did I really just…”

Altheia snorted a laugh.  “Yes, Julian, you really just fell out of a hammock and pulled the ship’s captain on top of you.”

“Oh.”  Julian lay his head back and closed his eyes, wincing at his clumsiness and absolutely mortified.  “Oh dear.  Altheia, I–”

He opened his eyes when he felt her hand on his chest and her body shake with laughter.  Her other hand rose up to cover her mouth, but he could still hear her muffled laugh, and it was infectious.  Julian laughed along with her.

“I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” she said when the laughter abated.  The fondness returned to her expression; and it didn’t escape Julian’s notice that she hadn’t yet moved.  “Did you hit your head when you fell?”

“No.  I don’t think so.”

“Good.”

“Did you?”

Altheia gave a wry smile.  “You cushioned my fall.”

“So I did.  Lucky you.”

Lucky him .

And for a moment they stayed there, on the floor, simply looking at each other.  Julian found himself reaching up and resting his palm on her cheek.  And she nuzzled ever so slightly into his touch.

She abruptly got to her feet, and carefully disentangled Julian’s leg from the hammock rope before hauling him up.  With one squeeze of his hand, she stepped away.

“Don’t sit on it like that,” she cautioned.  “You have to–”

“Lie back, spread the weight, got it.”

“Yes.  Good.  Well then, goodnight, Julian.”  

“Goodnight, Altheia.”

She held his gaze a moment longer, then turned on her heel and walked away.

Julian watched her go, then sighed heavily and lay back on the hammock - carefully this time.  He looked up at the ceiling, listening to Altheia's boot heels on the deck above, her voice faint and muffled as she woke Stev up and told him to go to bed.  As Julian closed his eyes, he could see her smile, feel her lips on his cheek and her hand on his chest.  And as the gentle swaying of the hammock lulled him towards sleep, he lay his hand over his chest where hers had been, and mused that of all the Situations that losing a card game could have landed him in, this was by far the most pleasant he could have imagined.

Chapter Text

Like falling, but falling up, an invisible resistance pressing down on him, as if swimming up towards the surface of the ocean under a propulsion that was not his own.  He couldn't breathe and he thought his chest might burst, he could see nothing but stars in an inky void, hear nothing but his own blood thundering in his ears with his racing heart.

A sense of panic overtook him as he gasped for breath that wouldn’t come, drowning… but then her lips were on his, her hand was on his cheek, her body was pressed up against his and he was inside her, one with her, and she grounded him, brought him back; for a moment there was light, sea-green and silver, and then he burst through the surface.

A sound like the wind chimes in Altheia’s bedroom window sounded in his mind, and Julian opened his eyes.   His breaths were ragged once he'd convinced his lungs that he could in fact breathe, but he was struck by complete disorientation.  He wasn’t waking up in a hammock, but on his knees; still with the slight sway of the ship beneath him, the faint creak of timber around him.

“Breathe,” she whispered, “Breathe with me.”

Her hand was on his chest, her lips on his cheek.  His hands were still bound behind his back, preventing him from holding her, from putting his hand over her heart, but she was there, her magic rippling gently over his heart, and that was enough.

She sat back enough to look into his eyes, her own brow furrowed in concern, eyes searching.  And for a moment Julian was struck by the fact that it wasn’t the Altheia he’d just been with.  A few more lines radiated from the corners of her eyes, the curves around her mouth were a little more pronounced, the creases in her forehead a little deeper.  It was disorienting, when just a moment ago he’d been drinking tea with a younger her, one that was strikingly different but also the same.

It wasn’t enough.  He needed more, he needed it all.

He realised she was anxiously waiting for him to speak.  He took a deep breath to relax, and let it out with a shaky laugh.

“Did it work?” Altheia asked, barely above a whisper. 

“It did.  It did work.”  Julian smiled at the barely-contained delight in Altheia’s expression as she bit her lip to try to hide a smile.  “And the pain, it… hasn’t gone, but it’s less.”

Altheia breathed a sigh of relief, and kissed his lips with her smile.  “What do you remember?  Something connected to the vielle?”

Julian glanced at the cut rope that lay on the floor next to him, and then he looked behind him as far as he could, at the vielle the rope had been connected to.  He shook his head as he looked back at her.

“Not entirely, not all of it.  But I didn’t just get the memories back, Theia.  I lived it.  It was like the most vivid dream, I lived it, I walked with you, I heard your voice, I saw your smile, felt your touch…”

A lump rose up to his throat and tears to his eyes as the gravity of it sank in.  Their past, a part that they’d thought they’d lost, they had no idea of, and he had it back.  Speaking of it was like telling her about a dream he’d just woken from, except it was real, it was their truth.

Altheia’s forehead touched his, her body trembling with something between laughter and weeping.

“I know how we first met!” he told her.  “We were at Port Tremaire, and you beat me at cards, even though I cheated - but you cheated too.  I didn’t have anything to pay my losses with, and I didn’t want to give up the vielle, so you took me on your ship, said I could play to entertain you and the crew.  You took me to Vesuvia.”

Altheia gave a startled laugh.  “I did?”

“Yes!  Yes, we drank tea and you helped me hang a hammock.  And then I fell off it, and you fell on top of me.”

She laughed again.  “Sounds about right.  Is that all?  There’s nothing more?”

“No, that was it.  Falling asleep in the hammock is the last I remember.”  

Altheia looked down, visibly disappointed.  But Julian was, too.

“You were wonderful,” he told her quietly.  “A true captain.  I knew almost immediately that I wanted to spend more time with you.  And for some reason, you wanted to spend time with me, too.”

He gave a faintly self-deprecating smile, at which Altheia clicked her tongue.  

But Julian had noticed the energy around them had waned a little.  Altheia had noticed too, and she kissed him gently.  

“Let’s continue,” she said softly.  

She began the slow roll of her hips again, a shuddering moan under her breath escaping her as Julian hardened once more inside her, and he lowered his forehead to her shoulder, closing his eyes as the magic around them rose again.  

They would move on now, to the next relic, the next memory, another period in time.  One that would confirm what they already knew, that they’d been together before, during the plague, when she’d been his apprentice.

But Julian couldn’t take his mind off of the Altheia he’d seen from years even before that, of their hidden past, that which they’d never even contemplated, believing that her time as his apprentice had been their first meeting, their only romance.  Now, he’d seen her in her own element, a privateer aboard her own ship, her own self, master of all she surveyed.  This may be his only chance.

“I need more,” he said hoarsely, urgently, lifting his head to look into her eyes.  “I need all of it.  Send me back.”

“I can’t just send you,” she said under her breath, though Julian could see the thoughtful look in her eyes.  “That's not how it works.  The ritual said to cut the ropes, we have to move on–”

“Never mind the ritual,” Julian surprised her - and himself - by saying.  “There must be a way.  You have to try.”  He craned forward to press a kiss on her jaw and nuzzle her cheek with his nose.  “Please.  Please?”

“I don’t know…”  She looked at the cut rope, her brow creased and her mouth twisted as she thought.  Slowly her eyes turned back to his.  “Alright.  Think back to the last thing you remember.  You were getting into a hammock, right?”

Julian nodded, almost frantic with relief.  “I was laying there, listening to you… your footsteps walking back to your own cabin, I could feel your hand on my chest…”

The faintest hint of a whimper escaped her, though her lips were pressed together.  She looked down, and Julian followed her gaze to where her hand now rested over his heart, exactly as it had then.  Only now, the compass glowed, just as it did on her own chest.  

“That’s the connection,” she whispered.  “It always has been.”

“Always.”  

She hooked her left arm around the back of Julian’s neck.

“The compass, I think… I think it will guide me.  I can feel it.”  She held his gaze with those soul-searching, piercing eyes.  “Are you sure?”

No hesitation.  “Yes, Theia, please…”

“And… the pain?”

“It’s less,” he insisted fervently.  

“Okay… close your eyes.  Think back, focus.  Keep that image in your mind… no, not the image, the feeling.  It’s always been about the feelings.”

“You’re my morning star, Venera,” he whispered.  “You can guide me.”

“And you’re my rising sun, darling.  Light my path.”

Julian felt almost delirious with the way Altheia moved again, her magic rippling from her hand and over his skin, to his heart, and the other hand on the back of his head sent out more waves to seek that which he saw, what he felt, from before.

Eyes closed, he thought back to that memory, like thinking back over a vivid dream, the way she’d sat over him, hand on his chest as she laughed… the way he’d still felt her touch as he’d drifted to sleep…

With a deep sigh, he slipped back under.

Julian was woken with a start by a shrill, piercing whistle, cheerful shouts, and heavy footsteps rushing around on the deck above him.  He all but fell out of his hammock, catching himself at the last minute with a stumble.  He hurriedly straightened his shirt, untied his hair to run his fingers through it in an effort to neaten his auburn waves to at least look a bit less like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, tied it back again, and then went to the hatch.

As he lifted himself up the short ladder and peered up out of the hatch, he was greeted by the sights and sounds of Vengeance’s crew hurrying about their duties; boots hitting the wooden deck, deckhands laughingly trading insults, ropes creaking as the last crate of supplies was hoisted up from the dock, and the rumbling swoosh of the great canvas sails unfurling.  Someone nearby was whistling a shanty.  The sun rising on the horizon cast a low golden light over proceedings, and gulls cried in the distance above.  The nostalgia caught Julian up in a buzz of excitement as they were about to set sail.  

Above the cacophony of sound, the Captain’s voice rang out, clear and commanding, and Julian turned to look up to the raised quarterdeck.  Altheia stood at the railing, resplendent in her long crimson coat and tricorn hat, her braid still powdered white, hands behind her back, eyes darting over the buzz of activity, nothing escaping her scrutiny.  Her first mate, Maurice, stood beside her, occasionally waving a deckhand over to pass on orders.  

She was utterly captivating.

Just as Julian was wondering whether to approach her, try to help or stand out of the way, her gaze settled on him, and she smiled brightly.  But then something beyond him caught her attention, and she scowled, hopping down the steps.

“Good morning, doctor,” she said as she passed, not breaking stride.  “Be with you in a moment.”  Raising her voice, she called, “Stev be careful with that!  You’re about to hit the capstan!”

Julian watched as Altheia helped guide the supply crate down onto the deck - without hitting the capstan, or anything else - and when it was settled she directed two deckhands to wind the winch back to the dock and pull up the gangplank, and send two others, with Stev and the ship’s cook, to take the supplies below decks.  She made one last tour of the deck, apparently ensuring all was to her satisfaction, before returning to Julian.

“Sorry for the rude awakening,” she said, though there was a quirk to her brow.  

He smiled.  “Morning, Captain.”  He tore his gaze from hers to look up at the sky, grey-blue dawn with charcoal clouds scudding in a breeze.  “Fair winds to be setting sail.”

Altheia pulled a face.  “I’m not quite so reliant on the winds as most, but I’d have preferred a southerly.”

Julian frowned slightly.  “What do you mean, you’re not so reliant on the winds as most?”  When Altheia gave a coquettish raise of her eyebrow, Julian realised.  “Oohh, this is a magic thing, isn’t it?  You’re showing off again.”

“You’ll see.”

With a smile and a wink, Altheia returned to the quarterdeck, then waved for Julian to join her.  “You’re my guest,” she told him.  “You can stand by my side, if you like.”

Julian felt a thrill rush through him.  “I would like that, very much.”

He did as she’d asked, a little awkwardly at first, not quite knowing how close he should stand, so after a minute of dithering he decided to stand perfectly still.  To his delight, he found that Altheia chose to stand as close to him as she could without hitting him in the face every time she pointed a command to a deckhand.

Altheia turned her attention back to the deck, as more sails were unfurled and supplies carried below decks - rather a lot of supplies.

“That’s, er… that’s quite a lot of food you have there, for a voyage of a day and perhaps a night.  Even for a return trip.”

“Oh, we’re not stopping at Vesuvia for longer than a day,” Altheia said, not looking at him.  “Nor are we sailing straight back to Port Tremaire.  I’ve got some smugglers to root out first, and after that, well… we go where the tide takes us.  We’ve got enough provisions for a month, two at a pinch, and I have victuallers in almost all the ports - and elsewhere.  I won’t be back to Port Tremaire or Vesuvia for several months, maybe a year.”

“I see.”  Julian tried not to let his disappointment show, and managed a smile.  “I’m lucky I caught you when I did.”

“Brought together by the tides of fate,” Altheia said whimsically.

Julian opened his mouth to ask if the tides of fate might allow him to stay aboard the Vengeance for a while longer.  Instead, realising how incredibly presumptuous that was, he decided to change the subject.  “Everyone seems very bright-eyed and bushy-tailed considering how much rum they got through last night.”  He gave her a curious look with a raised eyebrow.  “Would you really make them eat weevils for being hungover?”

Altheia gave a low chuckle.  “Doctor, I’d be failing in my most important duty if I let even one weevil into a ship’s biscuit.  And they know it.”  She looked over the crew again, fondness in her eyes.  “They work hard for me, they deserve a break every now and then.  Besides, Maurice’s whistle is punishment enough for a hangover head.”

With a sly smile, she nodded at the First Mate, and he obliged by blowing another long, high-pitched keening note with his whistle.  Watching several deckhands wince in response, Julian understood Altheia’s point.

Dawn still hadn’t fully broken, the sun only just peeking above the horizon, when the gangplank was lifted, supplies stowed and sails set full.  At Altheia’s signal, Jack - who hadn’t come down from the crow’s nest at all, as far as Julian could tell - rang the bell, and Altheia called “Weigh anchor!”

She turned to Julian with an enigmatic smile.  “You might want to stand back.  Why don’t you head for the bow?  You’ll get a lovely view out of the harbour.”

Julian dared to lift an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth in a smirk.  “True, true.  But if I stand back at the stern, I’ll get a lovely view of, well…”  He leaned forward to murmur in her ear, “You.”

She rolled her eyes, looked as if she might say something, but smiled instead.  Julian couldn’t help noticing the warm flush of her cheeks.

“Doctor, if I’d known you were such a flirt, I–”

Julian’s smirk became devilish and he winked.  “You still would have invited me aboard, don’t say you wouldn’t.”  Suddenly doubting himself and Altheia’s intentions, Julian quickly back pedalled.  “Unless… unless you don’t want… what I mean is, I won’t if…”

“You’re doing just fine.  If I didn’t want you here, you’d know about it.”  

Julian didn’t doubt that for a second.

He stepped back and watched as Maurice took the wheel, and Altheia stood just in front of it.  She held her hands together in front of her, pointing downwards at her feet.  She brought her arms up in a slow circle, raising up onto her toes, and as she did so a breeze rose up around her, growing stronger and whipping her coat around her legs and her braid over her shoulder.  Behind him, Julian heard the water begin to bubble and churn, and he looked back to see waves rising up from several metres away and washing up against the hull of the ship, pushing it forward.  The deckhands pulled in the last of the ropes from the moorings, and the Vengeance began to make her way smoothly towards the harbour mouth.

“Is she doing that?” Julian asked no one in particular, staring at Altheia’s back.  “Making the sea and… the wind?”

Maurice heard, and he turned his head.  “Aye.  She’s a bit special, that one.”

As Julian looked at the Captain, the way she stood firmly in command of her ship, of her crew, of the sea and the wind in the sails, ‘special’ was just one of many, many words he could think of to describe her.  But when they were out into the open water and her ship was set on its course, when Altheia turned back to Julian with bright eyes and a suddenly beautiful smile, he forgot every single one of them.

Hands behind her back, she took three steps towards him, boot heel to toe, and stopped mere inches from him.  Her smile was bright as she let out a breath, but the way she looked up at him was almost coy.

“And that’s why you’re not very reliant on the winds,” Julian said.  “You just…”  He made a fluttering gesture with his fingers.  “Make your own.”  He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head with a lopsided smile.  “Isn’t that cheating?”

She held up her hand with a little space between her thumb and forefinger.  “Only a little.”  She grinned, and then asked, “Breakfast?”

Julian nodded eagerly.  “Please, I’m famished.”

Altheia took a spyglass from her pocket, extended it, and held it to her eye, looking first straight ahead of them, and then to either side.  Apparently satisfied with their course, she gave a sharp nod, pushed the spyglass closed and dropped it back in her pocket, and turned to the First Mate.

“Maurice, the deck is yours.”  Turning back to Julian with another bright smile, she said, “Come on, we need to be quick.”

“We do?”  Julian followed Altheia as she hopped down the steps of the quarterdeck.  “What’s the rush?”

“I want to watch the sunrise.”  She paused, looked to her right, over the grey sea, as if she couldn’t make eye contact as she quietly added, “With you.”

“Oh!”  Julian’s voice was a little high-pitched in surprise, and he cleared his throat.  “That, uh… that would be lovely.  And yes, we’d best hurry, or we’ll miss it.”

He felt a rush in his chest, biting his lip to hold back a stupid smile.  This voyage, and his Captain, were turning out to be full of surprises.  Quite delightful surprises.  He almost wanted to pinch himself for the hundredth time, because the surprising Situations he usually found himself in were never quite this, well… delightful.

Glancing at Altheia, he saw her shoulders rise and fall in a sigh, and heard a quiet hum.  Then she turned, gestured to some steps behind the mainmast, and led Julian down into the lower deck.  He had to half-stoop to avoid the low wooden beams, but he didn’t mind in the slightest.  

As they passed some more steps leading down to an even lower deck below the waterline, Julian stopped to peer down.

“The orlop deck’s down there,” Altheia said.  “You could–”

She was interrupted by a gruff woman’s voice echoing up from the deck below;

“No, he couldn’t.”

“Kiri,” Altheia called down, rolling her eyes.  “Play nice.  Doctor Devorak is our guest.”

“Your guest,” the woman called back.  “Ain’t mine.”

Altheia sighed, putting her hands on her hips as she looked back at Julian.  “She’s the ship’s surgeon.  I was going to suggest you could take a look at her theatre, she’s just procured some new surgical instruments which I’m sure she’d love to show off to a like-minded doctor.”

She raised her voice towards the end of the sentence, purposely so that Kiri would hear.  All that came back from the depths of the lower deck was a non-committal grunt.

“I don’t think she likes me very much,” Julian mused, as he and Altheia walked away from the stairs.  “Usually it takes at least a line or two of conversation before that happens.”

“I don’t think she likes anyone very much,” Altheia replied.  “But she’s good at what she does.”

Altheia pushed open a door and led Julian into the galley kitchen; it was tiny, barely big enough for them both, with crates of food that had yet to be unpacked.  Julian noticed an open crate of lemons and nodded approvingly.

“No scurvy on this ship!”

“None, I’m happy to say.  That was Kiri’s doing.  Luckily I have a contact with a plantation that–” she flushed suddenly, looking away as if embarrassed.  “I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear about all that.  Here, let’s see what we have…”

Julian wanted to hear everything, in fact.  He thought he could listen to Altheia talk all day about her ship, her crew, even her contacts at lemon plantations…

But he stayed quiet, hovering awkwardly in the doorway and watching as Altheia scooped bread rolls, cheese and fruits into a bag, and then filled a small bottle with water from a barrel and dropped a slice of lemon into it.

“We’ve got a few days yet before we’re down to salt beef and biscuits,” she said wryly.  “Come on.”

Julian followed her back out onto the deck and towards the bow of the ship, but rather than heading up to the bow as he’d thought, she slung the bag over her shoulder and started up the rigging of the foremast behind the sails.  She paused, looked back over her shoulder with an arched eyebrow, and asked,

“Can you climb, Doctor?”

Julian scoffed.  “Like a rat up a drainpipe.”

“That’s an… interesting analogy,” Altheia said, with a baffled raise of her brow.  

With a devilish smirk, Julian said, “Race you?”

And before the Captain had a chance to answer, Julian had jumped up into the rigging, and with a surprised laugh she clambered up the rigging alongside him.  It was close, but she got her hand up onto the yard arm before him and hauled herself up, then turned and held her hand out to him.  He didn’t need the help, and he knew she was making a cheeky point of winning rather than actually offering her help; nonetheless, he took her hand, and sat beside her, both hooking their feet into the rigging to keep their balance.

“What analogy would you use, then?” Julian asked, watching as Altheia took the bag from her back and put it on her lap.  

She shrugged.  “A cat up a tree, probably.”

“If you only knew how many cats I’ve had to help down from trees…”

“An advantage of being tall, I suppose.”  She offered him a bread roll.

“Oh yes.  Cat rescuer extraordinaire, that’s me.”

Altheia chuckled and gave him a sidelong glance.  “I’m sure there’s a joke about rats, drainpipes and rescuing cats somewhere there.”

Julian snorted a laugh, because the thought certainly had crossed his mind.  He winked at her.

“Several, I’m sure.  But I’m too much of a gentleman to tell them.”

Altheia leaned over to nudge his shoulder with hers as she laughed.  

They shared out the food, and then sat watching the sunrise as they ate.  This high up, they could feel the sway of the ship as it cut through the calm sea, feel the cool and salty breeze on their cheeks, hear the cries of gulls, the fluttering canvas sails, and the chatter of the deckhands below.

The ocean stretched out before them, unbroken.  They would turn soon to follow the coast, but for now there was nothing but sea to either side, glistening in the golden light of the rising sun.

Beside him, Julian felt the rise and fall of Altheia’s deep sigh, and he looked across to see a look of contentment on her face.

“I often watch the sunrise when it’s clear like this,” she said eventually, brushing crumbs off her lap.  “But… it’s nice to have the company,” 

Julian swallowed his mouthful of food.  She couldn’t really mean… could she?  Doing his best to act nonchalant, looking down intently at his hands brushing mostly-invisible crumbs off his own lap, he asked,  

“In, ah… in general, or…”

Altheia clicked her tongue and nudged his shoulder again.  “No, not in general.  I’m surrounded by people all day, every day.  I meant your company in particular.”

Julian’s mind went blank; he attempted to speak, stammered something incoherently, and shoved some cheese into his mouth as an excuse not to talk while he gathered his thoughts.  Only then did he realise what he should have said, but couldn’t say it when his mouth was full of cheese.

Altheia turned her head to look at him with a half smile curving her lips.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Julian swallowed again and cleared his throat, finding his words.  “Ah, it takes more than that to embarrass me, you know.  I just, er… I’m surprised.  That’s all.  But as it happens, I’m enjoying the company, too.  Your company in particular.”

Altheia laughed softly.  Looking out over the sea, she rested her hands on the yard either side of her, her left hand in the very small space between her hips and his.  Julian’s eyes flitted down, looking at the back of her gloved hand.  Hesitantly, uncertain how she would react, but thinking that it seemed enough of an invitation she might perhaps react quite well, and that if she didn’t react well he could always pretend it was an accident and he hadn’t noticed her hand there, he looked back out across the sea as she did, and slipped his hand down to lay lightly over hers.  When she didn’t move, he dared to run his fingers over the backs of hers.  And when her thumb moved up to stroke the side of his hand, his heart skipped a beat.

They sat in silence for a time; as each grew more certain that the other did, in fact, like the touch, their fingers slid over and between each others’ in light caresses.  As if by some unspoken agreement, then, Julian lifted his hand just slightly, Altheia turned hers, his palm nestled against hers, and their fingers laced between each other.

“What will you do in Vesuvia?” Altheia asked after a while, her voice soft but surprising him with the question.

“I, er… well… I haven’t given it much thought.”  He gave her a sidelong glance and a raised eyebrow.  “I only knew I was going to Vesuvia a few hours ago.”

Altheia huffed a soft laugh.  “True.”  She looked down at their hands, and her fingers tightened very slightly between his.  “Where were you going?”  She turned her eyes up to his, a slight sadness in them.  “I don’t think you were going to stay in Port Tremaire.  That bag of clothes and vielle are all that you have, aren’t they?”

Julian frowned and looked away, suddenly ashamed.  He would have pulled his hand away, were it not for Altheia tightening her grip just a little, just enough to let him know he didn’t have to pull away or be ashamed.  He swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know where I was going.  I never do.  I like to travel.”

“Alone?”

“Mostly.”

Silence for a moment.  Then, “You don’t have a special someone?”

“N-no.  No, I don’t.”  He almost added, “Apart from the someone sitting next to me right now .”  Except that would have been far too forward.  Instead, he asked, “Do you?”

Altheia’s eyes narrowed just slightly and her lips twitched towards a smile.  “No.  I travel too much.  Never settled.  I’ve had someones, but none special enough to settle with, in any case.”

Julian wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he said nothing.  But he shimmied along just enough that their thighs touched.  He heard the very softest, slightest intake of breath from her.

After another moment of silence, he asked,

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

Julian nudged her side with his elbow with a smile.

“Something else.”

“Go ahead.”

“Why did you bring me aboard?  I find it hard to believe it was just to let me pay off my gambling debt with questionable vielle playing.”

Altheia snorted a laugh.  “I’m sure your vielle playing is wonderful.  And you haven’t got out of that, by the way.  But…”  She chewed her lip a moment, glanced at him, then looked away again.  “That’s not the only reason I brought you with me, no.”

Julian felt a heady rush run through him so fast it made him giddy.  Like a teenager whose voice had only just broken, he hoarsely squeaked,

“No?”

“No.  But you’ve stayed longer than I thought you would.  I enjoy your company a little more than I thought I would.”

“Huh.”

When Altheia didn’t elaborate, Julian turned his head a little, enough that he could look at her, see the slight crease of her brow, as she continued to look straight ahead.  As if fumbling for a distraction, she took a drink from the bottle of lemon water, but as the ship pitched a little to the side, some of the water spilled onto her chin.  She tutted as she put the bottle away, but before she could raise her hand, Julian leaned over, touched his fingertips to her jaw and swiped the water from her bottom lip and chin with his thumb.

Their eyes met, sea-green and storm grey, inches apart, reading each other and finding the verses they were looking for.

Without thinking, Julian leaned down and brushed his nose over her cheekbone, and then his lips over her cheek.  He heard her sharp inhale, saw her eyelashes flutter.  When she turned her head to look at him, the tip of her nose brushed his.  Her eyes dropped, a glance at his lips and back again.  He couldn’t help his eyes sliding down to her mouth, to see the slight part of fine, dusky pink lips, a dimple above the corner raised in a half smile as she waited.

Trying his hardest to stop his nervous trembling, and not quite managing it, Julian murmured,

“Can I… can I kiss you?”

Altheia gave a slightly incredulous laugh.  “Yes.  If you want to.”

“I do, very much.”

Still uncertain, as if somehow he could have misunderstood a very direct ‘yes’, Julian placed his kiss at the very corner of Altheia’s mouth.  Her lips parted and curved into a smile, and she turned just a little, enough that their lips touched but not quite in a kiss.  Her breath was warm against his skin as she said,

“You can kiss a little more.  If you want to.”

“I do…”

His eyes closed as her lips moved against his, drawing him into her kiss, and it was like a burst of light ignited within him, rushing through him and lighting up every part of him, the attraction so immediate and intense that he found himself leaning into her.  She purred deep in her throat, her free hand coming up to hook around the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his whole spine.

He was almost dazed and had to blink to focus on her when she pulled back, and she ran the very tip of her tongue along her bottom lip as if tasting him there.

“That was very nice,” she told him.

His voice a little high-pitched, the only words Julian could gather to reply were,

“It was.”

She gave a soft giggle, and leaned in to kiss him again.  With her lips still against his, her voice low and velvety, she asked,

“Are you cold?”

“No no, not at all.”

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m… I don’t know… am I?”

He couldn’t find words, so he kissed her again, and this time he reached across her midriff to rest his hand in the curve of her waist and pull her ever so slightly closer against him, her body delightfully pliant as she twisted at the waist to press her chest against his.  He only then realised his missed opportunity to suggest she could warm him up.  Which was probably for the best, he decided.

He suddenly had an awful feeling he might taste of cheese.  He’d stuffed his face with it just minutes earlier.  Like an idiot.

But if he did, she didn’t seem to mind, and Julian decided it was best not to overthink it.  Besides, his thoughts were rapidly vaporising, as Altheia deepened the kiss further, her tongue sliding past his lips.  

He inhaled deeply, breathing her in, her scent of vanilla and delicate citrus that wasn’t lemon, but the taste of lemon water lingered on her tongue, and he hummed against her lips.  He almost couldn't believe it was real, that any of this was real.

They were interrupted by a shout from the lookout on the mainmast behind them, and Altheia sat abruptly back away from Julian, snatched her spyglass from her pocket and looked out across the sea.  Shielding his eyes and looking in the same direction, Julian could see a ship on the horizon.

“Is that…?” Altheia murmured.  “It is!”  She snapped the spyglass back and dropped it into her pocket again.  “Shit!  It’s the Crimson fucking Serpent!”

Julian blinked out of his daze as his brain caught up with the change in atmosphere so sudden he could have got whiplash.

“Who?  What?”

“I’m sorry, we’ll have to finish this later.”

“Later?  What?  Finish what?  Altheia?”

But she’d already grabbed a rope and shimmied down to the deck, leaving a very bemused Julian to follow in her wake.

The First Mate’s whistle pierced the air loud enough to make Julian wince as he dropped down to the deck and looked around.  The Vengeance was suddenly a hive of urgent activity, with crew climbing up into the rigging to adjust the sails, or hurrying up the deck, the jovial banter gone and replaced with urgent shouts to each other.  The quartermaster was directing two men to haul a large box out of the hold; within it were weapons, and some of the crew began to hand them out.  

All of this while the ship’s Captain strode along the deck, giving out her instructions in a raised, commanding voice.  Not knowing what else to do, Julian followed behind her, dodging out of people’s way.  At Altheia’s command, the cannons on the deck were armed, and the gun ports on the starboard side of the ship were opened, with the cannons there being moved into position, too.  Despite the urgency, the rush and bustle, there was no panic, it wasn’t chaotic.  Everyone seemed to be well drilled and knew what they were doing.

Except for Julian.  One minute he’d been watching the sunrise and kissed by an incredible woman, the next minute that woman was apparently leading the ship into battle.  His thoughts struggled to catch up, partly still caught in that dreamy state he’d been in with Altheia’s lips against his.  And partly because he seemed to now be sailing into yet another Situation.  It seemed to him that quite a lot had happened in a very short space of time.   

And he had no idea how to navigate any of it.

Trailing after her as she jumped up to the quarterdeck to look through her spyglass once more and instruct Maurice on the ship’s bearing, Julian half wondered if Altheia had forgotten he was even there.  As he felt the ship begin to turn beneath them, heading directly towards the other ship, he hesitantly stepped up to the Captain’s side.  

“What’s going on?  What ship is that?”

Altheia glanced at him, then handed him the spyglass.  “The Crimson Serpent.”

“Ah yes, you did say that.”  Julian looked through the spyglass at the ship, seeing red sails and a figurehead displaying the eponymous sea serpent.  “The Crimson fucking Serpent, if I heard correctly.”  He handed the spyglass back with a wry smile, and was relieved to see Altheia huff a short laugh.  “Are they pirates?”

“Not the aggressive kind, but yes.  Her captain and I have something of a history,” she said tersely.  “He’s a nuisance.”

“The Vesuvian smugglers you were talking about?”

“Either that, or he’ll know about them.”

“He’s tacking towards us, Cap’n,” Maurice called.

“I see that, thank you.  Keep steady, the wind’s in our favour.”  She grinned suddenly.  “This’ll be fun.  I do love when he puts up a fight.  I wonder if he’s got himself a magician yet.”

Julian felt the thrill of adrenaline rush through him, but he was conflicted.  He’d had enough of standing on the sidelines of a battle for one lifetime.  And he certainly didn’t relish the prospect of watching Altheia get hurt - though he couldn’t deny finding the sudden fierceness of her incredibly attractive.  And then he felt guilty for doubting she could handle herself - he was very sure that she could - and guilty for having such inappropriate feelings at such an inappropriate time.

Altheia turned her head to look properly at him for a moment, and her expression softened.  She sighed, glanced up at the sails and, apparently judging that there was enough wind that they didn’t need any of her magic, gestured to him to follow her.

“Come with me.  We’ve got a few minutes.”

She hopped down the steps and onto the main deck, and then through the door to her cabin.  Julian followed her, but as soon as the door closed behind him she swept him into her arms and pulled him down into a passionate kiss.  He was so surprised that he didn’t respond immediately, but when she pressed her thigh between his legs he melted into her.  Between kisses, he managed to murmur,

“I have… absolutely no idea… what’s going on.”

Altheia couldn’t help but laugh against his mouth, but she entwined one hand into the curls of his hair while the other wrapped around the small of his back, pulling him closer.  After a moment they broke apart for air, and Altheia gave a breathless chuckle as she rested her forehead on his collarbone, her hands on his shoulders.  Her thigh was still pressing against Julian’s now very obvious erection, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to push against it.  His hands came to rest in the curves of her waist and he looked into the bright sea-green of her eyes as she reached up to tug affectionately at a curl of hair that had escaped the tie at the back of his head.

“Julian, I…”  She paused, bit her lip, looked down.  “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Julian blinked down at her, struggling to form a thought, never mind words.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said eventually.

She lay her palm on his cheek.  “Don’t worry about me.  I’ll be fine.  But you should go below decks, I think.  Maybe with Kiri.”

Julian, still very aware of Altheia’s lean thigh between his legs, her hand on his cheek and the other on his hip, her waist beneath his hands, grappled with what she was suggesting.  He shook his head, and gave a rueful burst of a laugh.

“I can’t… quite find words,” he told her.  “Or thoughts, actually.  But I… I don’t want to hide away.  I want to be by your side.”

Altheia tilted her head a little to the side, looking at him curiously.  For a moment, Julian thought she might insist he should go below decks, and he wouldn’t be able to argue with her - this was her ship, and a doctor belonged out of the way, really.  

But instead, she said,

“Alright.  But keep out of the way.”

And fixed her mouth over his in another fierce kiss, this time so deep that Julian accidentally knocked her hat from her head and it tumbled to the floor, and they both laughed against each other’s mouths.  When they finally pulled back, Altheia suddenly reached down and cupped the bulge of Julian’s confined erection, and his eyelids grew heavy with the lust that shot through it from balls to tip.

“That's for later,” she purred.

She pecked a kiss to his lips, another to his jaw and another to his throat, and then whirled on her toes to stride to the table where she’d left her sword, bending to scoop up her hat on the way.

Julian was left completely dazed, very aroused, and not really any the wiser about what was going on except that Altheia was now strapping her sword belt to her hips under her coat, apparently about to fight pirates, and leaving him on a promise.

He snapped out of it when she pulled his knives from where she’d stuck the points into the table the night before, and tossed them to him.  As he caught them, she said,

“Try and stay out of trouble, but if you get cornered then do that thing you were talking about.”

“Look incredibly dashing and menacing with flair and panache?”

Altheia burst out a laugh.  “Yes, that.”  

With her sword settled at her hip, she gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him into one more kiss, and then strode past him and out of the door just as the First Mate’s whistle blew once more.  

For a moment, Julian simply couldn’t walk… but after taking several slow breaths, he tucked one knife into his boot and the other into his belt, and followed.

Altheia had raised up her magic and filled the sails again, and the Vengeance was closing in on the Crimson Serpent.  

“She’s at full sail,” Altheia said.  “Maurice, do you think our friend is trying a bait and switch?”

“Could be,” the First Mate said.  “What’s your orders?”

Julian noticed the narrowing of Altheia’s eyes and the curve of her lips that was almost playful, but in the way a cat might play with a mouse.

“Chain shot.  Slow her down.  I’m in the mood to dance.”

The message was relayed down the gun crews and they loaded up the cannons.  Julian glanced at Altheia to see her eyes narrowed as she stared intently ahead, the raised quarterdeck giving a good view of the length of the main deck, over the bow, and across the sea to where the Crimson Serpent was cutting towards them.  He almost didn’t want to break her concentration, but curiosity got the better of him.

“What, uh… what do you mean, dance?”

Altheia’s eyes flicked to him in a sidelong glance, then focussed straight ahead again.

“I don't want to kill anyone,” she surprised him by saying.  “No amount of silks or fine furs is worth a life.”  She paused, and then one side of her mouth lifted in a wicked half-smile.  “But I do want those silks and fine furs.  Look how heavily she’s sitting in the water, that’s why she’s at full sail.  She’s got quite a cargo.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if that’s water weight, though,” Maurice put in dryly.

Altheia snorted a laugh.  “True.  Alright, here we go.”  Her voice took on that commanding tone again.  “Take us past her starboard side, then hard over once we’re clear.”

They drew up alongside the other ship, and it didn’t escape Julian’s notice that the pirate ship was bigger, with more crew and more guns.  But he remembered Altheia’s words, that she won by the manoeuvrability of her ship, and her crew certainly seemed more disciplined, loading up their cannons faster.  At her command, they fired a round of chain shot, each with two cannonballs tied together with chains, and they whistled through the air before shredding through the sails of the enemy ship.

“Again!”

The second shot crossed paths with the shots from the Crimson Serpent, but most of their shots missed and landed harmlessly into the sea, and the jeers of the Vengeance’s crew carried across the small space between the ships as they drew almost level, because their shots had clipped the top of the Serpent’s mainmast, and it hung precariously, only prevented from falling by virtue of being caught up in the rigging.

“Hold fire and shorten sail!” Altheia called to the crew.

She leaned forward onto the rail of the quarterdeck as they drew level.  Julian saw the captain of that ship, who could best be described as big - tall, and broad with muscle, with a cutlass hooked to his belt and arms crossed over his chest.  

“Still haven’t improved your aim I see!” Altheia taunted.

“Don’t get cocky, Featherstone,” the pirate captain retorted.  “I’ve got a surprise for ya.”

A boy, no older than thirteen, stepped around from behind the captain.  He was slim, with tanned skin and wild flame-red hair, wearing an ochre coloured vest and loose trousers, cuffed just above some beaded anklets, that seemed to float around his legs, and a red asymmetrical sash was tied around his waist with the ends hanging down to the side of his right leg.   He seemed absurdly small standing beside the big captain, but carried himself with a cocky posture, hands on his hips.  

Julian glanced at Altheia to see her frown at the boy, then look back at the captain incredulously.

“And?”

The pirate merely leered at her.  The boy beside him raised a hand, palm up, and an apple-sized flame sputtered to life.

Altheia’s eyes widened as she hissed under her breath.  “Shit!  He did get himself a fucking magician.”

“A pyromancer,” Maurice said, his voice wavering with something approaching panic.

“Does he have the same morals as you about the whole… silks and fine furs not being worth a life, thing?” Julian asked, trying to keep his tone light-hearted.

“Julian, this ship is made of wood, canvas, hemp, tar, and barrels of gunpowder,” Altheia said through gritted teeth.  “All of which are very flammable.  A pyromancer is just about the worst weapon he could have.”

“Lucky for us that we have a powerful tidemancer, then,” Julian said with a measure of surety and a smile, hoping he didn't sound as nervous as he felt.

Altheia gave him another sidelong glance, but with a half-smile.  “True, we do.”  She took a deep breath and exhaled heavily, turning to look at him fully.  “We’ve fought many times.  Neither of us have taken loss of life.  But that’s not to say he won’t try to sink us, and I’m a little too attached to my girl to lose her.”

“What do you think to that, princess?” the captain taunted, interrupting them.  “This is Bo.  I’ve told ‘im to go easy on you if you’ll sod off and leave us be.”

The boy flashed a smile and waved which, combined with the pirate calling her ‘princess’, seemed to have the desired effect of irritating Altheia.  Clenching her fists by her side, she narrowed her eyes before shouting back, “You’re trying to threaten me so I’ll sod off without a fight?  All I’m hearing is that you’re scared to face me, Wolf!”

She turned back to the sails and raised her arms, and Julian stepped back from the wind that gathered quickly around her before filling the sails so that the Vengeance picked up speed.

“Hard about!” Maurice called as the ship passed the Serpent, and then spun the wheel so they turned their broadside to the other ship’s stern.

The young pyromancer climbed up to the stern rail, and to the surprised shouts of Altheia’s crew, flung his flame towards the Vengeance.  But before it got anywhere near them, Altheia’s sword was in her hand and with one arcing sweep she effortlessly raised up a sheet of sea water in the space between the two ships, and the fireball dissipated with a hiss.

She held out her hand, and motioned towards herself with two flicks of her fingers as she smirked roguishly at the boy.

“Captain, I don’t think–”

But if she even heard Julian’s voice, she gave no sign of it, as she yelled,

“Come on then, Bo.  Let’s see what you’ve got.  Don’t go easy on me!”

Bo raised his hands in a graceful arc, drawing flames up between them, then span with an elegant grace and flung them across the space between the ships, to be quenched by Altheia’s water once again.

Vengeance was swifter than the Crimson Serpent, and once turned fully so they were on the same heading, began to draw up alongside her again.  Julian watched, completely dumbfounded and feeling utterly useless, as Altheia and Bo fell into a kind of dance; the pyromancer skipping along the deck, twirling and flinging fire, apparently aiming for the sails, while Altheia kept step, her rapier flashing in the morning sunlight and calling on the sea to rise up in waves, arcs and spouts.  Every now and again she’d shoot a shard of ice whistling across to the Serpent, to be melted by Bo’s fire.

The guns didn’t stop, though, and the two ships were rocked with each shot.  Large splinters of wood were flung into the air when a shot connected - more on the Serpent than on Vengeance.  But as Altheia and Bo moved in step down towards the bows of their ships, one shot - probably more by accident than design - struck a rail and sent one sharp piece of wood to embed itself like a knife in the thigh of one of the Vengeance’s crew and, to Julian’s horror, another to fly towards Altheia.  She turned just in time, and it shredded the sleeve of her coat at her upper arm, her brief cry of pain telling that it had cut into her arm.

Julian started towards her, but she shot him a glare, as if knowing he’d try to help her.

“I’m fine!  Help Renata!”

Julian nodded and crouched by the injured crew member, who lay groaning on the deck with two others around her.  One reached to pull the wood from her thigh, but Julian shoved him away.

“Don’t!  You could make it worse.  It has to be removed carefully.  If you want to help, get some of that brandy.”

“Who are you?” Renata asked through teeth gritted in pain, her tone coloured with suspicion.  “An’ ‘ow would you know anythin ‘bout wounds?”

“I’m a doctor, my name’s Julian,” he said, managing a reassuring smile and his calmest voice.  “You’re Renata, I presume?  Lovely to meet you, though the circumstances could be better.  You’ll be pleased to know I have plenty of experience with war wounds, did my apprenticeship on a battlefield with the finest of Prakra’s doctors.”

As he spoke, Julian removed his belt and made a hurried makeshift tourniquet tied above the wound to stem the blood loss.

“Aye alright, stop yer prattling,” Renata muttered.

But by then Julian was talking as much for his own benefit as for hers, as visions of the horrors of the battlefield flashed in the back of his mind, of amputations with no anaesthetic, and if he stopped talking he’d hear his own thoughts, they’d overwhelm him.  So he didn’t.

“Not a fan of brandy myself, I’m more of a rum man, maybe a bitter or five if there’s salt in it.  I’ve heard this stuff’s particularly disgusting, but should be good enough to clean a wound with.”  He took a bottle the crewmate thrust at him.  “Might sting a bit, hold still.”

Renata hissed as Julian poured some of the alcohol onto the wound, and then gave her the rest of the bottle to chug.

“Well done, you’re doing great.”  He got to his feet, and turned to the two crewmates.  “Two strapping young men like you ought to be able to carry her below decks, yes?  Kiri has some new surgical instruments, I heard, I’m sure she’ll be able to put them to very good use and have you right as rain in no time.”

Renata grumbled something that could have been a thank you, as the two men hoisted her up and hurried her below decks.  

Julian took a deep breath, closing his eyes and doing his best to block out the shouts and firing of the cannons.

Altheia’s shout caught his attention and he whirled back to face the bow.  Over on the other ship, the boy pyromancer had made a vertical circle of fire, and with a cheeky wave at Altheia, he bounded through - only to disappear…

…and reappear in a burst of fiery light right in front of her, and he waved again.

“Hi!”

Before anyone could react, he jumped up and grabbed her hat, then turned and bolted back towards the stern of the ship.  The sound of Wolf’s belly laugh, as well as cheers from the pirates, carried over from the Crimson Serpent.

Altheia’s face was thunder as she started after Bo.

“You little shit!”  

The boy ran, dodging anyone who reached for him, including Julian.  With a grin and a wave, he put the hat on his head and jumped up into the rigging of the mainmast.

“Hey!  Give that back!”

With barely a thought, Julian jumped up into the rigging after him, Bo’s laughter only serving to fuel him.  Just as the boy reached the crow’s nest, Jack the lookout leaned out and hit the top of his head with a book.  The boy yelped, but hauled himself up onto the yard and started shimmying across.  He made a circle with one hand, and what must have been a fiery portal appeared at the end of it.  Julian reached out and grabbed his foot just as he jumped through, and was pulled with him.

For just a few seconds, he tumbled through a hot, black void, and the next thing he knew he was rolling onto the deck of the Crimson Serpent, looking up to see Wolf towering over him, looking just as shocked as he was.

“What the fuck?”

“Er… Shit.”

Julian scrambled to his feet and pulled his knives, whirling to face the captain but not at all sure that any amount of flair and panache would help, as his thoughts struggled to catch up to what the hell had just happened.

Suddenly they stumbled as the ship ground to an abrupt, jerking halt and a cold air rushed over them.  Stunned, he looked towards the bow to see that the ship had run into a sheet of thick blue ice that coated the sea for several metres in every direction, and that Altheia was standing on the rail at Vengeance’s bow, holding onto a rope with one hand and her sword with the other, standing on the rail.  Julian’s heart jumped to his mouth and he started forward, noticing then that the Vengeance’s crew had moved away from the cannons and were readying ropes with grappling hooks.

“Enough games, you little shit!” she shouted over, even as Bo ran forward and flung fire down to melt the ice.  But Altheia must have been expecting that, and one arc of her sword brought a large enough wave out of the water that she could hit Bo square in the chest with it, quenching his fire and sending him staggering back.  Altheia flung a grappling hook over, and then swung gracefully across to the Crimson Serpent , dropping onto the deck, as all along the ship her crew followed her lead.  

The young pyromancer recovered to pull a knife and start to call fire to its tip, but Altheia gave an exaggeratedly irritated sigh and simply flicked it out of his hand with the tip of her rapier, sending it spinning into the sea.  Barely breaking her stride, she swooped down to pluck her hat from his head and place it on her own, and then spun to level her blade with Wolf’s throat, forcing him to come to an abrupt halt, cutlass in hand.

They stared at each other for an agonisingly long moment, Altheia breathing heavily but her glare unfaltering.  Bo started towards her, but Julian grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and though the boy scowled up at him, he didn’t try to escape, simply crossed his arms over his chest sulkily.

Altheia held out her hand then, and after another moment and then a heavy sigh, Wolf handed her his sword, handle first, in a gesture of surrender.  As she took it, he reached out and mussed her still-powdered hair.

“Alright, princess,” he said with a chuckle.  

“Fuck off,” she muttered, shoving his hand aside.

“You win.  I’ve got furs, booze, couple of exotic animals, couldn’t tell ya what they’re called.”

Julian could see Altheia still bristling at being called ‘princess’, but she didn’t falter.

“That’s why you’re sailing heavy?  Barrels of booze?”

“Eh…”  Wolf scratched the back of his neck.  “That, and we got a leak.”

Altheia laughed.  “I knew it!  Maurice, you were right!” she called to the First Mate as he swung over and landed on the deck.  “He’s taken on water.”  She looked back at Wolf as Maurice gave a mocking laugh.  “Alright, I’ll take the booze and half the furs.  It’s too close to the summer for them to sell well.  You can keep the animals, but take them back to where they came from.  Let them loose.”

To Julian’s surprise, the burly pirate captain actually bowed his head.  Altheia sheathed her rapier on one side of her belt, and the pirate’s cutlass in the other.  Doing so showed the wound of her arm, and Wolf gestured to it.

“Looks nasty, that.  Sorry.”

Altheia snorted.  “Don’t apologise, it’s not like you did it on purpose.”

She turned to Bo then, who wriggled in Julian’s grasp but stared at her defiantly.  She bent, resting her hands on her knees, so she was eye level with him.

“You don’t want this life,” she said, surprising Julian again, but this time with the sudden solemnity and almost sadness to her voice.  “And you definitely don’t want your magic to be the reason a ship catches fire and sinks, even if it’s by accident.  Go home.”

Bo stared at her with wide eyes for a moment, then nodded vigorously and bolted below decks.  Wolf followed, leading Maurice down to the hold, as more of Vengeance’s crew swung over with ropes to lash the two ships together and set gangplanks between them.

Altheia turned on her toes to face Julian with a little spring in her step, her eyes bright and fierce in victory.  Julian couldn’t remember ever wanting to kiss anyone more than he did in that moment.

But her torn coat sleeve caught his eye, and he reached for it as she turned her head and lifted the arm to glance at it.  Holding her arm with one hand, he carefully peeled back a little of the tear with one gentle finger.

“It’s bleeding,” he muttered.

“It’s fine.”

He held her gaze.  “It might need stitches.  You really don’t want an infection.  Let me take care of it.  Please?”

Her eyes narrowed just slightly and she tilted her head a little.  Then her lips curved in a smile softer than he’d yet seen from her, and she nodded.

“Alright.  We’ll be here a while waiting for all the cargo to be transferred anyway.  Come to my cabin.”

Chapter Text

“I think you’ve got off lightly,” Julian murmured, as he examined the cut on Altheia’s arm.  “It should heal fine without stitches.”

Altheia was sitting on the couch in her cabin, and Julian had pulled up the chair from the desk to sit in front of her.  He’d helped her out of her coat, hoping the tear could be mended, but cut through the sleeve of the shirt up to the shoulder with a sweep of his knife.  He sat now, his own shirt sleeves rolled up, with her outstretched arm cradled in his hands; the cut up the inside of her upper arm was long, but it wasn’t deep, and had stopped bleeding.  

“Thank you, doctor,” Altheia said, and made to pull her arm back.  

But Julian tutted, and kept a hold of her.  “Oh no you don’t.  It doesn’t need stitches, but it does need a bandage and some salve.”

Altheia relaxed with a gracious smile and a slight bow of her head.  “Whatever you say, doctor.  I’m in your hands.”

The way she turned her eyes up to him made his cheeks flush, but he returned her smile.

“Yes, you are.  Now hold still, this might sting a bit.”

Julian reached down to the small medic bag at his feet that he’d retrieved from his belongings before meeting Altheia in her cabin, and rummaged around for a small pot and a roll of bandage.  

“You always carry bandages around with you?” 

Julian raised an eyebrow.  “I am a doctor, you know.  Wouldn’t be much good if I didn’t have the basics with me, now would I?”

Altheia chuckled.  “Ah, true.”

As Julian scooped a pea-sized amount of the strong-smelling salve onto the tip of his finger, he met her eyes.

“You didn’t believe I’m actually a doctor, did you?”

“In my defence–”

“You really didn’t!”

“In my defence, Julian,” Altheia laughed, “you were calling yourself ‘doctor’ as part of your bit while you were cheating at cards.”

Julian gasped and pressed his hand over his chest melodramatically.  “I’m hurt!  You wound me, Captain!”

Altheia leaned forward, close enough that her breath danced over Julian’s cheek.  “I’ll have to kiss you better then, won’t I?”

“What a good id–”

His words melted into a hum against Altheia’s lips as she did just that.  Her kiss was as warm as her smile, relaxed and easy.

“There,” she said as she pulled back.  “How’s that?”

“Better, but I might need a second dose later.”  He gave a smirk and a wink, making Altheia laugh.  “Now sit still and let me clean this up before you get blood on the lovely couch cushions that you wouldn’t let me put my boots on.”

As he turned to his task of gently smearing some of the salve along the edges of the wound - murmuring a ‘sorry’ at Altheia’s wince - Julian tried not to dwell on just how good it felt to be with her, how at ease he felt with her and she seemed to be with him.  He thought that being held up by the fight with the pirates and loading their cargo would mean that the perhaps a night almost certainly would be a night, and there might perhaps even be another.  And then?  

He decided not to think about the ‘and then’.

“Your hands are very steady,” Altheia said quietly, as she watched him work.

“As sure and steady as the sunrise.”

Altheia smiled.  After a moment, she said,

“I’m sorry for what I said.”

Julian paused and looked up at her in surprise.  “About what?”

“About not believing you were a doctor.”

He gave a dismissive wave.  “You don’t have to apologise for that!  I wouldn’t have believed me either.  There, all done with that, I think.”

As Julian screwed the lid back onto the small pot of salve and reached for the roll of bandage, he could feel Altheia’s eyes on him… not scrutinising, exactly, more… searching.  

“It must have brought back memories.  The fighting, I mean.”

Julian didn’t really know how to answer that, so he busied himself with unrolling the bandage and measuring it out.

Eventually, he managed to say, “Yes, a bit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.  I’m alright.”

Julian’s mouth dried, and he cleared his throat before focussing again on his task.  Then he asked,

“Why did you let him go?”

“Wolf?”  Altheia raised an eyebrow; Julian nodded.  She snorted a derisive laugh.  “What would I want a leaky old ship full of half-assed pirates for?  It’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

“But won’t he just go back to smuggling again?”

“Of course he will.  Me punching a few holes in his sails won’t suddenly make him change his ways.  He’ll lick his wounds and start again.”  

“But that’s… not good, is it?”  

“It is if I catch him again.”

Julian looked up again, startled.  And seeing her sly smirk, the penny dropped, and he barked a laugh.

“So what you’re saying is, you let the pirates do all the hard work for you.”

“Smuggling is awfully hard work,” Altheia said glibly.  “Listen, I’m not here for good , Julian, I don’t want to arrest anyone.  I’m protecting my family’s interests, and if fate so happens to drop a cut of my rivals’ interests into my lap, well, I’m here for that, too.”

“So the smugglers steal from your rivals, and you steal from them.”

“I prefer to call it liberating the goods.  But, yes, basically.  My family gets a cut, of course.”

“Only a cut?”

That surprised Julian a little; what surprised him more was the sudden change in Altheia’s eyes.  There was something almost wistful in the sea-green.

“Wolf knows better than to go for Featherstone goods.  Most of the pirates do, once they’ve fought me a few times.  They see my flag, they run or we play a little.  I don’t want to simply be a sword for the Featherstone Trading Company anymore.  I want…”  She sighed, and watched Julian as he carefully wound the bandage around her arm.  “I want something of my own.  Not much, just a ship or two.  Nothing big enough to trouble my family.  I’d operate in different waters; they might not ever even know.  And then I’d get my own little place, somewhere on the coast.  Nothing so grand as an estate, just a nice cottage on a cliff near a cove to anchor the Vengeance.  But to do all that, I need money.  My own money.”

“You’ve really thought this through,” Julian said.

“Mmm.  It’s silly, I know.”

Julian looked at her again to see her looking wistfully out of the window, across the sea.  She looked back at him when he said,

“I don’t think it’s silly at all.  Do you want to know what I’ve dreamed of?”

Altheia tilted her head curiously.  “Go on.”

He faltered.  It had been so long since he’d spoken of it that he almost didn’t know how to give it voice, and worried that she would think it foolish.  He gently smoothed the bandage over her arm as he stretched the last of it over her arm and twisted the ends.

“A boat!  My own little sloop.”

“And where would you go with it?”

“Anywhere, everywhere.  There’s so much world to explore.  I want to drink with pirates in every port town - no offence.”

“None taken! Pirates are fun drinking partners.  They know the best games.  They'll have you on the floor if you're not careful.”

“I'm nothing if not careful.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Ah you know me so well already.”

Altheia sniggered, then went on, “What else would you do with this sloop of yours?”

“I want to find treasures on little islands that aren’t on any map, even if those treasures are only seashells and sea glass.”

“ Only? ”  Altheia gestured with her free arm towards the shelves nearby, with its jars of seashells and glass smoothed by the ocean to look like blue, green or cloudy white crystals.  “They’re the best kind of treasure.  That, and driftwood.”

“Oh you can’t beat a good piece of driftwood.”  It delighted Julian not only to be able to speak to her about his dream without her thinking him foolish, not only for her to understand it, but to see her eyes light up and her smile brighten.  “That’s where the stories are.  Give me a piece of sea glass or driftwood, and I’ll tell you where it came from.”

Altheia laughed.  “You will?”

“I will!  You see that green piece near the top of the jar?”  He pointed with his free hand.  “Glass from a bottle that carried a message to a lost love all the way from Firent to the Strait of Seals.”

“They must have been very lost if they were at the Strait of Seals.”

“That’s why they had to send the message in a bottle, of course.”

“Oh, of course!  But then how did it end up on the beach near Macawi Port, where I picked it up?”

“A whale.”

Altheia blinked.  “A whale?”

“Yes.  A whale.”  Julian managed to keep his expression absolutely deadpan as Altheia stared at him, waiting for more.  Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he added, “And that’s all I can say about it.”

Altheia burst out a laugh.  “And what about that piece of driftwood?”

“That, my dear, is from the mast of a ship lured to the rocks by a siren’s song and wrecked.”  He sighed dramatically.  “A tragedy.”

“Very good!  That explains why I picked it up at the bottom of a cliff just south of Nevivon.”

As she laughed, Altheia leaned very slightly closer.  Julian could feel the warmth from her breath, saw the slow blink of her eyes as they slipped down to his lips and back again.

“That’s where I’m from, you know,” he told her.  “Nevivon.”

“Is it?”

“Yes…”

Altheia lay her free hand on Julian’s cheek, her gaze meeting his and her smile fond.  

“Are there sirens at Nevivon?”

“Er… not exactly.  Lots of seals, though, and a lovely lighthouse, have you seen it?”

“Mmhmm.”

She kissed him again, with a softness that sent warmth rippling through him, and he closed his eyes as he returned it.  She leaned into him to deepen the kiss, and he, forgetting he hadn’t tied off the bandage, craned up to meet her - but she pulled back, sucking her breath sharply through her teeth in pain as Julian accidentally brushed against her partially bandaged cut.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!”  He caught the ends of the bandage from where they’d loosened, and tutted at them.  “I’ll have to start again.  That was stupid of me, Altheia, I’m sorry, I…”

His voice trailed off as Altheia caught his chin with the fingers of her free hand and turned him to face her as she raised an eyebrow with a half smile.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”  She gave a flirtatious quirk of her eyebrows.  “Well, except for being completely irresistible.”

Julian blinked, and felt his cheeks and the tips of his ears burn as his heart leapt.

Irresistible?  

He searched his suddenly empty brain for something smooth, or suave, or at least funny in a charmingly self-deprecating way.  But all he could come up with was,

“Umm… Uh, really?”

He suppressed a wince at himself, disguising it with a nervous laugh.  At the very least, he could have told her he wasn’t as irresistible as her.  A terribly cheesy cliche, but better than a stammered  “Really?”

But Altheia bit back a smile, and simply hummed.

“Sorry.  That was a bit forward of me.”

“Oh no, it wasn’t!” Julian said in a rush.  “Well… alright, it was , but…”  

What the hell was he even saying?  

“It was?”  Worry flickered over Altheia’s expression.

“In this particular situation, yes, but only because of your arm, you see, so…”

Better, that was better.  He relaxed into a smile.  

The worry slipped from Altheia’s gaze.  “So?”

“Keep still and let me finish this, and then you can be as forward as you like.”

His heart raced and pounded against his ribs so hard he was sure she could hear it.  He turned back to the bandage, winding it carefully around Altheia’s arm again.  She stayed very still, very quiet, until he finished tying the knot and sat back.  She flexed her fingers and then made a fist a few times, and the strength of her fingers and the shift of the muscles of her forearm under lightly tanned ivory skin couldn’t help but catch Julian’s attention.  But the bandage held steady, and Julian gave a nod of satisfaction.

“That’s a sound knot,” Altheia said approvingly.  “You’re very good with your hands, aren’t you?”

There was a certain sultry playfulness in her eyes and the slight quirk of one eyebrow that brought a heat to Julian’s chest, and another kind of heat flickered much lower down in enjoyment of the praise - and anticipation of what Altheia was likely alluding to.

Swallowing back his nerves, he replied, “It’s ah, it’s quite an important skill in my, uh, my line of work.”

Smooth.  There was playing it cool, and then there was… whatever the hell that was.

“It’s important in my line of work, too.”

Julian’s eyes widened a little in surprise that she hadn’t just laughed at him.  “It is?”

“Mmhmm.  But I tie ropes, not bandages.”

“O-of course you do.  Of course.  Lots of… of ropes, and knots.”  His stomach turned somersaults as his mind raced but tripped over itself, hardly believing what he was hearing, whether she could possibly mean what he thought she meant, and certainly that he shouldn’t show that’s what he thought she meant, because if she didn’t then he’d look like even more of a fool than he was sure he did already.  “There are lots of types of sailing knots, aren’t there?”

“Lots.  I can show you, if you like.”

Julian just about melted, and felt his eyelids grow heavy at the thought of it.  He held both of her hands in his, feeling her fingers lace between his.  One corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided smile.

“That’s very forward of you, Captain.”

“Ah!”  She sat back, a flush coming to her cheeks.  “I’m sor-”

Panicking that he’d said the wrong thing and deciding that it might be best if neither of them spoke for a little bit, Julian cut her off with his mouth fixing over hers.  Her fingers tightened between his for a moment before she pulled one hand free, and as she leaned into him, deepening the kiss and finding his tongue with hers, she reached up and managed to untie his hair with just one hand.

As the loose curls of his hair brushed the back of his neck, Julian smiled against Altheia’s lips.

“Ah yes, that’s quite a skill.”

She leaned back again, just enough to look into his eyes, but he could feel the faintest tremor in her hand as she curved it around the back of his neck, sending a beautiful shiver rippling down his spine.

“Tell me to stop if…”

Julian blinked at her, completely baffled as to whatever he could be doing that she could possibly think meant that he might ever want her to stop .  

Her fingers twined into his hair and tugged gently, enough to move his head to reveal a long stretch of his neck.  Julian could feel his pulse quicken as Altheia ran the backs of her fingers over it, and he shivered and closed his eyes as she leaned forward to kiss him there.  Her lips were soft against his skin, her kisses tender as they travelled the length of his neck.  

He drew in a shuddering breath when he felt the sharp scrape of her teeth; at her questioning “hmm?” he mumbled something at least comprehensible as an agreement, if not a word.  

He wasn’t expecting her to nip at his skin, and the sudden sharp sting of it, just below his jaw, made him gasp.  She flicked the tip of her tongue over his skin, kissed just below it, and nipped again, a little harder.  The pleasure-pain shot down Julian’s neck, down his spine, straight to the growing swell between his legs.  If anyone had asked him an hour ago, he would never have said that being bitten could have felt good, and yet it did , and he leaned his head back further, opening up more of his neck.

Altheia obliged, indulging in little kisses, bites that grew increasingly harder, soothed by her tongue, and before long she was drawing out soft moans from between his barely parted lips as he closed his eyes.  

Just beneath his pulse, her teeth pressed a little harder, and then she was sucking his flesh between them, hard enough to bruise, and Julian let out a whimper at the pain and the pleasure, his hands moving almost of their own accord to her waist, to slip up under her shirt enough to feel the warmth of her smooth skin beneath his fingers as they pressed into her flesh.  

She gave a self-satisfied hum as she leaned back away from him, and Julian forced his eyes open and straightened up.

“That was– oh!”

He let out a startled laugh as Altheia gripped the shoulders of his shirt and tugged him up, turned him, and he flopped back onto the couch, lifting up his hips and shimmying across so he was laying along its length.

“No boots on the cushions, remember,” she said, her eyes narrowed playfully, her breaths heavy.

“O-oh?  Ah…”

Before he could think to take his boots off, she’d lifted his right leg up onto the back of the couch, and shoved his left foot off the couch entirely, leaving both feet away from the cushions - and his legs quite apart.  She knelt up between them, nudging his thighs apart further with her knees, and Julian groaned softly in the back of his throat as she deftly unfastened the front of his trousers, then bent over him, her hand sliding down his stomach.

“If I show you how good I am with my hands,” she said in a purr, running kisses up his jaw to murmur in his ear, “Will you show me how good you are?”

“Anything you want,” he breathed.  “You don’t have to–”

His eyes closed and he groaned as he bit his lip and arched his back up into her touch when her fingers slipped down his trousers to reach beneath him, her palm stroking the full length - and it really was at its fullest by now - of his erection, and he wanted to tell her that he’d do anything she asked, anything at all, she didn’t need to do anything for him first, or in return, or even at all really… but words failed him, thoughts failed him, because she was just as good with her hands as she’d promised.

She leaned down, holding her weight with her hand on the arm of the couch behind him, pressing her lips on his, and then moving kisses, nips and sucks down his neck as her strong fingers curled around his shaft and she stroked him gradually firmer, faster, occasionally reaching deeper into his underwear to stroke his balls and his perineum.  He tried his best to hold back but he was hurtling embarrassingly fast towards his climax, and pressed his fist to his teeth to try and muffle whatever sounds were stuttering over his tongue from deep in his throat.

She stopped and pulled back slightly, but with her hand still around him, and Julian couldn’t suppress a whine as she circled his leaking tip with her thumb.  It took all his strength of will to keep his hips against the couch and not buck up into her hand for the friction, but he wanted this to last as long as he possibly could.

The heat of desire had her sea-green eyes burning like a desert oasis as they indulgently tracked his body.  With her free hand she pulled his shirt fully open, and bit her lip as she took her time exploring the curves and contours of his shoulders and chest, the planes and crevices of his stomach and hips.  

She dragged her eyes back to his as she asked,

“Is this okay?”

Julian blinked in astonishment that she could even ask and gave an incredulous laugh.  “Yes?  Please…  Please don’t stop…”

With a pleased hum, Altheia bent and explored Julian’s body once more, but with her lips this time, and Julian closed his eyes as he submitted to her attentions.  Her kisses were hot and hungry, her teeth nipping here and there, and his cock ached in her barely moving hand.  Everywhere she touched, be it with fingers or lips or the tip of her tongue, a warmth swirled over his skin, an effervescence.  

Still, she kept him maddeningly at the edge, until he was whimpering and pleading with her in all but words.  Eventually, she leaned down and ran his ear lobe between her teeth before whispering,

“How do you feel about leather?”

He looked at her in surprise as she sat back again, one eyebrow arched and a positively filthy smirk curling her lips.

“I think I uh… I think perhaps…”  He watched as Altheia bent to retrieve her black leather gloves and slowly pull them on, making a show of wriggling into the fingers.  A rush of excitement spread through Julian’s lower half until he didn’t think there was much blood in his upper half at all, and certainly not in the part of his brain responsible for cognitive thought.  “I think I’m about to feel quite strongly about it.”

He tentatively moved his hands to her hips, almost thinking he was doing something wrong, something forbidden.  She lay her now-gloved palm over his sternum.

“Your heart’s racing,” she told him, her voice low.

Julian could barely think, but he managed to say,

“Is yours?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

Deciding to show off just a little, Julian deftly undid the buttons of Altheia’s shirt with one hand, and gave a triumphantly roguish grin and quirk of his eyebrow.  Altheia chuckled, and then drew in a sharp breath as Julian’s hand slid up from her hip, gliding over the curve of her waist and belly, and then up to nestle between her breasts.  Beneath her ribs, her heart pounded almost in time with his.

“Oh it is ,” he murmured.  “Your heart beats for me like mine beats for you.”

It was a whimsically romantic notion, but a look flickered over Altheia’s face that Julian couldn’t quite fathom.  

And then that sultry, heavy-lidded gaze came back, and she wrapped her fingers slowly around his erection again, the leather of the gloves creaking.  A shudder ran through Julian; the leather was a wholly different sensation to her skin; cool, smooth, less pliant, and it was heightened by that feeling of it being somehow sinful, forbidden, decadent ; that these gloves were not just clothing but were part of Altheia’s tools while she worked, were her armour , saw use as a part of her, and now she was offering their touch to him.

Her touch was sure and true, her rhythm purposeful and building him up again in a rush.  Julian couldn’t hold back anymore, he had to chase her friction and his climax, but he couldn’t , it was too soon.  

“Let me show you,” he grunted, his voice hoarse.  “My hands.  Please?”

Altheia nodded, a little frantically in a way that surprised Julian; and she knelt up, allowing Julian to unfasten the front of her trousers with one hand - earning him a purr of “Very good,” that almost made him come undone right then and there.  

She helped him pull her trousers down enough that he could reach his hand between her legs, and he let out a shuddering groan when he felt how wet she was as he slipped one exploratory finger between her folds.  He knew well enough to find his way around, but he didn’t know what she liked, or how she liked it, and that was important.  And so he paid attention to every shudder of her hips, every sharp intake of breath and half-formed word, every tiny shiver of the bead of her clit.  He slipped a finger inside her, and at her insistent moan and rock of her hips, he added another, and he revelled in the delight of being able to touch within her, to give her pleasure as she gave to him.  

It didn’t last long, then, with her grinding her clit into his cupped palm and him writhing beneath her as her strokes of his cock grew firmer and more erratic, and then quicker, but he held back for as long as he could, painful though it was.  Her body seized for a moment and she let out a choked cry as she clenched around his fingers, and as the orgasm crashed over her she fell down against him, her sweat-slicked chest pressed against his, and sucked hard on the flesh at the base of his neck, pulling it between her teeth in a love bite, and that finished him and he pressed his knuckles against his own teeth again to stifle his cries as he pulsed into her gloved hand, spilling out onto his stomach.

And for a moment they simply lay there, chests rising and falling against each other as they caught their breath, her mouth open and hot against his skin.  Eventually, Julian withdrew his fingers, rewarded with a soft groan from Altheia.  He wrapped both arms around her, holding her down against him, mumbling a “sorry” when he realised his hand on her back was wet with her, but receiving only a muffled sound of vague acknowledgement in return, because she didn’t care at all.  

After a while, when their breaths and hearts had slowed, Altheia chuckled and raised her head, looking into Julian’s eyes with a satisfied smile as she reached up and brushed a curl of hair back from his cheek.

“You are good with your hands,” she told him.

He returned her smile, tugging affectionately on a lock of hair that had come loose from her braid.  It was still powdered white, and with the sun coming through the window to the side of them it seemed to glow like a halo as he smoothed it back behind her ear.  He rather liked it.

“So are you,” he replied, and returned her tender kiss.  “Not that I expected anything different, mind.”

“Hmm.”

With a satisfied sigh, she lay for a little longer on top of him, twirling a curl of his hair around her still-gloved finger.  Julian found he didn’t want to move, but as the euphoria began to fade, so his body realised what an uncomfortable position it was in.

“My, uh… my leg’s gone numb.”

“Hmm?”  Altheia pushed herself up again and looked around to where Julian’s leg was still slung up over the back of the couch, and she laughed.  “Oh, sorry.”  

She kissed his inner thigh, and then pressed her cheek there, looking at his softening cock as her hand hovered over it.  With a faint glow and a brief pulse of warmth, his cum was completely cleaned from her glove and his stomach.  

“That’s a, er… a handy spell,” he said with a lazy half smile.  “If you’ll excuse the pun.”

Altheia snorted a laugh.  “I’ll excuse it, it was quite good.”

She slid around to sit on the edge of the couch and pulled Julian up with her, and sat with her head on his shoulder and his arms around her, under her shirt.  After a while, she said,

“Will you do something for me?”

“Your wish is my command,” Julian replied with a bow of his head and a half smile.

Altheia tilted her head a little as she smiled, and then asked,

“Wash this damned powder out of my hair?  That's a wish, not a command.”

Julian agreed immediately.  But as he made to get up, Altheia patted his shoulder to keep him seated, and fetched a large basin and a jug.  They knelt on the rug in front of the couch together but to his surprise, instead of letting him rinse her hair, Altheia first insisted on cleaning him, which Julian jokingly took offence at - though was painfully aware that he hadn’t bathed for a couple of days, and probably needed it.

But he soon came to realise that it wasn’t about the washing at all - or at least, not entirely.  The water in the basin was conjured by Altheia, warmed by her magic, and with her gentle yet assured touch and a washcloth, she made her way around Julian’s body.  He didn’t know if it was her magic or if it was just her that made his skin tingle and his muscles relax, whether it was the soap or her touch that refreshed him.  She cleaned him of his sweat and their sex, but more than that, she cared for him.  She hummed a slow sea song that he recognised but didn’t know the words to, her voice velvety and low, and Julian felt a weight come over him, a good weight, soothing him and taking him into her centre.  Moving him to an uncharacteristic silence.

His hands, particularly, she attended to with a kind of reverence, gently cleaning between each finger, spreading his palms and tracing each line, looking at them as if she were performing a sacrament over precious relics.  

And then she turned to his neck, to the bruises and marks she’d left there.  There was a depth to her eyes as, for a moment, she regarded them thoughtfully.  Her eyes turned up to his and held his gaze as she lay her hand on his cheek, fingers brushing through his sideburn.  He closed his eyes as she leaned forward and kissed each mark and bruise with tender kindness, soothing what remained of the sharp sting and dull ache.  

Without a word, she reached for the salve in Julian’s bag, and as she unscrewed the lid he suddenly felt that he shouldn’t need it for just a bite - it hadn’t even broken the skin.

“There’s really no need, I…”

His intention to quip that he’d had far worse and even been bitten by a warhound once, died in his throat as she fixed him with a look that left absolutely no doubt as to her silent instruction.  Julian subsided with a nod, and said no more as Altheia dabbed a little of the salve over one particular point on his neck, one that did particularly sting.

It wasn’t an injury that needed healing, he realised.  It was a part of him, however small, that she needed to care for.

“Didn’t know you had a pleasure point there, did you?” she mused with a hint of a smile, gently running a fingertip along the track her lovebites had made down his neck and shoulder.

He couldn’t do much more than shake his head and murmur, “No.  But I do now.  And I won’t forget it.”

She hummed a little, and continued on in silence.

When she was satisfied, she ran her hands down his neck, over his shoulders, down his chest and his sides, as if smoothing out a wrinkle in a sheet… and Julian let out a deep sigh, and smiled, almost moved to tears by it all.

And in return, he did as she asked, kneeling behind her and gently unwinding her braid, combing it out with his fingers, some of the white powder sticking to his skin.  It ran in white streaks and rivulets as he carefully poured water through it, peeling away the mask that had been a necessity when in town, and leaving the licorice dark waves cascading freely past her shoulders.  

He found himself singing very softly, a song about mermaids that he thought she might like; then realised he didn’t know all the words and made some up… and she laughed, because she did know the words, but she liked his version better.  

When he’d finished, he dried her hair with a towel, and she turned around on her knees to face him again, and now her heart-shaped face was framed by damp tousled waves of dark hair and a fringe over her forehead, giving a contrast to the sea-green of her eyes that brightened them as she smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

They sighed into a kiss, palms on cheeks and fingers in hair.  Julian closed his eyes as he rested his forehead on hers for a moment.  Suddenly, the thought of leaving her seemed unbearable.

With another sigh, a hum, and a kiss on the tip of Julian’s nose, Altheia got to her feet and hauled Julian up with her.  As they straightened each other’s clothes, she said,

“I’m afraid I need to do a round of the ship, check the cargo’s stowed away and give Wolf and his lot the shove.”  She glanced out the window, squinting at the sun.  “And then it’ll be time for lunch, I think.  And then …”  She turned back to Julian with a roguish grin and poked his chest.  “It’s time for my entertainment.”

Julian quirked an eyebrow.  “Do you mean to say that my hands weren’t entertaining enough for the past hour or so?”

Altheia laughed softly.  “Oh, they most definitely were .  But you owe me a ditty on that vielle of yours.  Show me how else you can be good with your hands.”

Julian could feel his cheeks flush, because the look that Altheia dropped to his hands was laced with desire.  She raised his hands to her lips, kissed first one and then the other, and looked at him from under her lashes in such a way that if he hadn’t known she needed to get back to work, he’d have brought her into his arms and showed her every single way he could think of that he could be good with his hands.  

As it was, he instead gave a low, sweeping bow, winked up at her, and said,

“As you wish, Captain.”

Chapter Text

Altheia gasped as her eyes came open.  In darkness, disoriented, her only anchor was Julian and she clung to him from her seat on his lap as he knelt there, hands tied behind his back, head bowed, eyes closed.

She wasn’t quite conscious, she realised; neither was he.  Suspended in that sliver between wakefulness and dreams, their spirits were bonded, hearts entwined.  Still they knelt in that inky black pool scattered with thousands of tiny pinpricks of light like stars.  Still, the dark arms of the Reversed side of the Queen of Cups writhed tentacle-like in the shadows outside the flickering circle of light.  Still, the red ropes held Julian on his knees.  

Altheia gently placed her hands on his temples, careful not to wake him, and closed her eyes.  She reached out with her magic, searched for him…

He was happy .  In his dreams, beyond this place, somewhere beneath the waves of his memories and the net of Altheia’s spell, he was living out a piece of their past, and it was making him happy .  She felt a strange kind of jealousy at that.  But she was there to guide him, to cut the ropes of the spell, nothing more and nothing less.

She was acutely aware, though, that he was inside her, she was in control of the ritual, of the sex, and with Julian’s insistence on retrieving more memories than they’d anticipated, it was getting more difficult for her to restrain herself, to hold back.  She couldn’t stop , but if she went too far she risked breaking the ritual altogether, like bursting a bubble.  

She kept telling herself it was just magic, it was a ritual, a means of raising up energy and that was all… but it wasn’t just that, it was their bond flowing in a clear stream from heart to heart and hip to hip, it was their love and their passion and desire for each other, always there, always present, always…

A shiver ran through Julian’s body and the faintest groan passed his lips, and Altheia fleetingly wondered if it was caused by her here and now, or the her from the past , whatever memory he was reliving.  Whichever it was, the sound was enough to push Altheia an inch closer to her peak, a peak she mustn’t reach, not yet.

The energy between them was raising up, too.  These memories were buried deep, beneath at least ten or more years of a life lived - a rather eventful life.  

He was better off without you.

Her chest tightened as the voice, a husky whisper, infiltrated her senses, not just her hearing, but somewhere deeper.  It was her voice.  And for a moment, she believed it.  

But it was wrong, she knew that, it was the dark side of the Cups Arcana, and of Judgement, too… taunting her inability to control her emotion, doubting herself, wanting to protect Julian but failing him… and she couldn’t fail him now, she wouldn’t, she mustn’t.  

The thread to these memories was stronger now, easier to find, easier to take a hold of with her magic.  She wrapped her arms tightly around him, pressed her forehead against his, and with as firm a grip with her magic as she could muster, she pulled on that thread once more.  She could almost physically feel the knot unravelling, the spell break apart, the memories released, and the recoil of it took her breath away like a gust of cold sea air in a storm.  

Altheia closed her eyes, whispered Julian’s name, and followed him.

The crescent moon hung low over the midnight-blue, star-speckled waters of the cove a few miles along the coast from Vesuvia’s harbour.  Vengeance was anchored in the deeper waters of the cove, and two rowboats had been hauled up onto the beach by the crew that had used them to land from the ship.  Altheia had led a sweep of the beach and the smugglers’ tunnel that led all the way out from Vesuvia’s Red Market - a market that, by all accounts he’d heard from the sailors, Julian had decided might be his sort of place - but had found no signs of the smugglers except a camp that appeared to have been abandoned for a few days.  The captain then led them a little way up the tunnel, lighting the way with an orb of magical light.  She didn’t want to fight if she didn’t have to, but the clamour she and her crew made sent whoever was lurking in the tunnel scurrying away, leaving behind two large crates containing bottles of rum - immediately setting the crew to cheering raucously before returning to the beach with their loot.  Altheia sealed up the tunnel with a sheet of magical ice which, she said, would last until morning, keeping any rogue pirates or smugglers away.

They’d dug a pit in the sand, lit a bonfire, brought food over from the ship.  And now Altheia, her small crew, and Julian, sat and ate and danced around the fire.

Julian was realising that the ‘perhaps a night’ almost certainly would be a night, and he was glad for it.  

Kiri, the ship’s grumpy surgeon, lightened up considerably with half a bottle of rum inside her, and she talked eagerly with Julian about her new surgical instruments, apologising profusely for not showing him earlier.  In return, he promised to teach her all that he knew on the virtues of leeches.  

The two of them were sitting together on the sand sharing a bottle between them.  A little way off, some of the crew were playing a sea shanty while others were singing along.  Altheia was with them, joining in with the bawdy song and spinning arm-in-arm in a dance with Maurice, flinging sand up with her boot heels.

“Why ain’t you dancin’?”

“Hmm?”  Surprised, Julian looked back at Kiri, and flashed a smile.  “Because I’m talking to you, of course.”

Kiri snorted.  “Ah you don’t wanna be sittin’ here talkin’ about hacking off limbs when you could be dancin’ with our lovely captain, now do you?”

Julian felt a flurry in his chest at the thought of dancing with Altheia, part from excitement but mostly from nerves.  He scratched the back of his neck.  “Ah, I haven’t drunk anywhere enough rum for that.”

With a cackle, Kiri poked Julian’s shoulder with her bottle.

“Don’t be daft, lad.”

Julian watched in a kind of fascination as the doctor tipped her head back and necked the rest of the rum in her bottle - which had been at least a quarter-full.  

“Tha’s good stuff!” she slurred.  Leaning close to Julian, her expression very earnest despite her wobbling eyes, she said, “Listen.  You got one night.  Now go and fuckin’ dance with her!  And then …”  She winked.  “Fuckin’ fu–”

“Kiri!”  Shocked, Julian clamped his hand over Kiri’s mouth before she could finish.  “That’s– I’m not– I don’t even know if she would …”

She shoved his hand away, cackled “She would!” and turned to bellow out the words of the bawdy song the others were singing.

And then Altheia turned to him, a smile on her face and a glow on her cheeks, and waved him over.  And how could he possibly refuse?

Julian took one last swig of rum, pushed the bottle a little ways into the sand, and hopped up to join the Captain.  

“I thought you were going to talk about arm amputations all night,” she teased, a little breathless after her exertions.

“Not at all!”  Julian grinned.  “We were also talking at length about leeches.”

“Leeches?”  Altheia raised an eyebrow.  As she did so, she slipped her hand into Julian’s palm.

“You don’t know what leeches are?”  He tightened his fingers around her hand.

She tsked, as her other hand moved to Julian’s hip, sending a shiver through him.  “I know what leeches are!  I just didn’t know they were interesting enough to talk about at length.”

“Well then, allow me to enlighten you!”  His hand settled in the curve of her waist.  His gaze locked with hers, seeing an incredulous look in her eyes and raised eyebrow.  “They have so many virtues and uses, and you can tell which is which if you look closely at–  Mmpf! ”

Altheia gripped his shirt and pulled him down to fix her lips over his, effectively silencing him.  Around them, some of the sailors wolf-whistled, some jeered, one loudly pretended to retch.  Someone threw a peanut at Julian’s head and it disappeared somewhere into his thick curls.

When she pulled back, she tapped the tip of his nose with her finger and grinned at him.  “Later!”

And then she span away from him, only for him to catch her hand and spin her back, laughing, into his arms.  

There were no steps to this dance, this connection with each other and the music and song belted out by the crew who played or sang or danced around them.  The sand made them clumsy as it slipped under their feet, and they tripped as their toes caught in it, and they laughed and held each other through each slip and stumble, pulling each other out of the way of others who were increasingly drunk as the crate of bottles of rum was depleted.  For their part, Julian and Altheia drank little, enough to lower their inhibitions, for Julian's nerves to ease, for him to enjoy every spin and touch and hold and kiss unreserved.

Coats were discarded, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, shirts untucked from belts and unbuttoned almost indecently far, skin gleamed with sweat in the hot glow of the firelight.  

At one point they danced a sort of parody of a tango, but as Julian twirled Altheia under his arm and made to dip her back over it, she caught him and dipped him instead.  He stared up at her in wide-eyed surprise and delight, and she was strong enough that she could hold him like that as she bent and peppered kisses up his neck.  He was glad for the heat of the fire as an excuse for the deep blush he knew bloomed on his cheeks.

He didn't know how long they danced for, but they didn't stop until their thighs ached and Julian's arms were sore from how often he'd lifted Altheia up and held her or span her round until they were dizzy.  Every time he touched her, every time she put her hands flat on his chest or curved over his shoulder, when her strong fingers pressed against his waist or hips as she pulled him close, and especially when he couldn't keep himself from stealing a kiss and she laughed against his lips, he wanted her more and more.

After a while, the musicians complained that the rum was running low and they hadn’t even had a bottle yet, and set down their instruments to take a break as they put that right.  Altheia grinned at Julian.

“Well, Doctor, time to pay off your debt!”

Julian winced.  He’d been hoping to avoid that, because his vielle-playing really wasn’t up to much.  But he couldn’t avoid it, as Altheia fetched the vielle from the rowboat and handed it to him with a playful glint in her eye.  

“You know,” he began, plucking at the strings of the instrument to test if they needed tuning, “I uh… I wasn’t being coy, you know.  I really can’t play very well.”

“I didn’t say you have to play well,” she grinned.  “Only that you have to entertain me.”

“ That , I can do.”

Nerves nearly got the better of him as he raised the vielle to his chin, to cheers from the rest of the crew, and it was probably only the rum in his blood that saw him through.  He looked Altheia in the eye as she stepped back from him, away from the dancing light of the bonfire, and he began to play.

The first few bars were horribly out of time and barely in tune, but no one seemed to mind.  Some even recognised it and sang along - also horribly out of time and barely in tune.  Very quickly, Julian settled into the music, carried by the singing and dancing of the others.  Altheia danced, too, and Julian’s heart felt light with joy as he watched her.

He finished one tune and launched immediately into another, but Altheia stopped, and he saw her gasp.  Thinking he’d done wrong, he started to change the tune, but she waved and mouthed “Don’t stop!” before retrieving her coat and fishing out a small silver pipe from the inside pocket.  Turning back to him, a gleam in her eye, she put the pipe to her lips and started to play.

Julian’s heart soared and he could barely contain his delight as the light, clear sound of the pennywhistle sang to him and danced with the sharper tone of his vielle, sometimes in sync and sometimes back and forth, as if they’d rehearsed many times before.  As Altheia spun and danced, her licorice-dark hair flew around her head, and the sash around her hips streamed in a flash of crimson against her dark leggings.

Eventually, exhausted and out of breath, they dragged out the final note and collapsed against each other, laughing as the rest of the crew drunkenly cheered and hollered.  

“What do you think, fellas?” Altheia asked in a raised voice once she’d recovered her breath, though her eyes never left Julian’s.  “Has the doctor repaid his debt?”

Most of them cheered, some heckled, one threw another peanut at Julian, this time bouncing off his forehead.

After rubbing his head and scowling in the general direction of the source of the thrown peanut, Julian turned back to Altheia and flashed a smile with a low, flourishing bow.

“Well, Captain?  Will that do?”

She tilted her head a little as she looked at him, eyes slightly narrowed and a half smile curving her lips.

“Almost.”

“Oh?”

Julian’s eyes widened in surprise, as he winced inside - the last thing he wanted was to disappoint her, but he was so tired he didn’t know if he could even lift the vielle for long enough to play anything more.

“Mmm.”

Altheia’s eyes flitted to Julian’s hands, as he’d noticed them doing several times as they’d played.  Then she took the vielle, placed it carefully back in its case and put it alongside her pennywhistle under a seat in the rowboat.  

“Come with me.”

There was only one unopened bottle left in the crate, and Altheia took it in one hand, Julian's hand with the other, and led him away from the group and the bonfire, into the shadows of the arch of the cove, behind some large rocks.  With a tired sigh, Julian leaned back on the rock.

“Ahh, nice and cool.  The fire was getting a bit–”

A grip on his shirt pulled him down into her fierce kiss, and with a muffled moan he wrapped his arms around her and held her so close against him that they were touching in every way they could, and every place they touched sent a ripple of pure pleasure through him.  Her hands moved over him with a desperation in their movements and their touch, short nails scraping down his chest and his scalp.  He gripped her backside with one hand and slipped the other into her open shirt, and a breathy moan escaped her open mouth against his lips.

He was a little surprised when she took his hand from her shirt and sucked his fore and middle fingers into her mouth, fingers traversing the delicate bones and taut tendons at the back of his hand, looking at him from beneath her lashes with a heavy-lidded gaze.

“I need your hand,” she murmured, her voice husky.

“Oh!”  Julian masked the surprise in his tone by attempting a sultry smirk.  “Lucky for you, I have two.”

She chuckled as she hurriedly unfastened her trousers and tugged his hand downwards.  He was more than happy to oblige, groaning softly when he felt how wet she was, and taking delight in the first sigh, the I want you , the way she gripped his shoulders and lifted a leg to hook over his hip, and rocked her hips to encourage his fingers inside her with a second sigh, the hitch that told him he had her.  

He held her backside with his free hand, holding her steady as her thighs trembled, and it wasn’t long at all before little high-pitched sounds of pleasure were passing her lips as she pressed her open mouth to his throat and mumbled,

“Pull my hair.”

“What?”

Julian was so surprised by the request that he stopped, and Altheia growled as she pushed against him, seeking friction.

“Pull my hair!”

She was almost frantic, and Julian obediently - if uncertainly - wound his fingers into the salt-coarse tangles of her hair.  He could feel she was close, as he started to stroke her again and her fingers dug painfully into his shoulders.  But he couldn't quite bring himself to pull her hair, until she hissed,

“ Harder!”

“But won't it… won't it hurt?”

“A bit!  That's the point!”

He wanted to do as she asked, but he didn't want to hurt her.  He tightened his grip on her hair, twisted the strands to entangle in his fingers, enough to tug on her scalp.  Just that sting seemed to be enough, and she moaned as she tilted her head back, revealing her neck.  On impulse, Julian bent and pulled the skin of her throat just a little between his teeth.  Altheia gave a gasping yelp, and then gasped into her release, shuddering against him and burying her mouth against the base of his neck, just beneath his open shirt collar, to muffle her sounds.

Julian withdrew his hand and wrapped his arms around her as she sagged against him, his back against the rock, and laughed quietly.  He bent to kiss her neck, breathing in her scent again… against the backdrop of sea salt was vanilla and that light, delicate citrus that was maddeningly out of his reach to place a name to.  

When Altheia had finally stopped trembling enough to hold her own weight, she placed her hands flat on Julian’s chest and pushed herself back just enough to look up at him.  She was all tangled hair and flushed cheeks and bright sea-green eyes, her mouth curved into an almost dreamy smile.  Julian arched an eyebrow and with a half-smile asked,

“Have I entertained you now , Captain?”

She laughed and nipped at his chin.  “Yes, you have.  Now what can I do for you ?”

Julian blinked.  It hadn’t even occurred to him that she should reciprocate.  True, his cock was straining enough that he almost worried for the seam of his trousers, enough to be almost painful, enough to primordially scream at him to seek release.  But he was perfectly happy, perfectly satisfied, just to see that look in Altheia’s eyes, and he didn’t want it to become a look of focus towards his pleasure.  Not yet, anyway.

So when she started to slide her hand downwards, he caught it, and drew her fingers to his lips.  She looked up at him with a slight confused frown.

“No?”

“Not now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”  Julian pecked a kiss to her nose, then reached down and picked up the rum bottle Altheia had dropped onto the sand.  “We can take this back to your cabin, though.  If… if you want?”

Altheia raised an eyebrow.  “Did you just invite yourself to the Captain’s cabin?”

Maybe the rum had gone to his head, maybe it was the lack of blood above his waist, or maybe simply that he was entirely at ease with her, but without missing a beat he grinned and replied,

“Yes.  Yes, I think I did.”

She smiled and ran her bottom lip between her teeth.  But her eyes narrowed just a little, and she took a step back so she could look at him properly, to fully hold his gaze.

“Julian, I know what I want.  I think you want it, too.”

“I do, very much.”

“I can’t give you anything more.  You have to know that.”

He knew.  But he couldn’t bring himself to think about it.

“I know.”

“When I say it’s just one night more, I mean it.”

Julian reached out with both hands and held Altheia’s hips, pulling her close.  

“Then let’s not waste any more of it.  I’ll take what I can get.”

“In that case…”  She brushed a kiss over his bottom lip.  “I’ll give what you can take.”

And so it was that a short time later, Julian found himself in the Captain’s cabin, in her bed , the bottle of rum half empty on the table beside the couch.  Altheia was on top of him, grinding against him, both of them with shirts open and her breasts pressing against his chest, her fingers entangled in his hair and her breaths heavy in his ear.  He raised his legs up either side of her, pressed her hips between his thighs to raise his hips in sync with hers, dared to slide his hands into the waistband of her trousers and, receiving a soft moan in response, down far enough to press his fingers into the soft flesh of her backside.  

Almost before he knew what was happening, through laughter and with some awkward wriggling and kicking, their boots and trousers were on the floor, and Altheia straddled him, rocking her hips back and forth, sliding her clit and her heat along his erection, and it took every ounce of his self-control and willpower, and then a little more, not to climax when she pressed herself flat against him and nipped his neck, and said,

“I want you inside me.”

Her husky voice alone, never mind the words, made him leak a little, and he had to close his eyes and press his hips down into the mattress to prevent himself thrusting up into her as he struggled to pull his senses back.

“I don’t… I don’t have any… I didn’t expect, you see, and er…”

His voice trailed off as Altheia sat up slightly and wrapped her hand around his erection, and a warm wave of magic rippled down his shaft.  Julian grunted in surprise, and then laughed nervously.

“What… what was that?”

“Just a protection spell.  Is it okay?  I can remove it, but then we can’t– oh! ”

Her words faded into a groan and her eyelids slid closed as Julian slipped inside her, just past her entrance, and with a shiver she sank down and took his full length.  

Altheia gasped at the stretch, and for a moment they were still as they adjusted, as they fit together as one, until Julian was sure she was comfortable and pulled her down into a kiss.  When they moved, they moved together, and Altheia guided them in a rhythm as if their hips were carried on the ebb and swell of a tide, lifting them up and up until Julian was on the brink of tipping over the crest of a wave; before slowing, lowering them back; and he let himself be carried by her for as long as he could, until it was too much for either of them.  Then the rhythm faltered, became desperate, with hungry open-mouthed kisses traversing each other’s lips and jaw and throat, hands restless and seeking, and it wasn’t long before Altheia gave a strangled cry as she hit her peak. All Julian could think as he felt her clench around him, as she bit into his shoulder and her body shuddered against his, as she whispered his name , was that he must be dreaming, it couldn’t be real, he couldn’t be so lucky.

But it wasn’t a dream and luck had nothing to do with it, and when he reached down to circle her clit with his fingers, his other hand gripping her hair and pulling as hard as he dared, her body seized and her wordless voice stuttered, as her orgasm gripped her with an intensity that soaked him.

There was no holding back after that.  She held him through the most dizzying of climaxes, bodies hot and slick with sweat, completely lost in each other.  He gripped her waist and closed his eyes as he hit his climax and ecstasy shook his body like none before; and her magic, that protection and more, served to push him even higher.  As the warm daze of the afterglow washed over him, he buried his nose under her ear and his lips in the curve of her neck as he whispered her name, breathed her in.

And as the delicate citrus in her fragrance was enhanced by her heat and his sharper senses, the name of it that had eluded him for so long suddenly came to him, and he chuckled softly against her skin.

It was bergamot.  Her fragrance; vanilla, sea salt, and bergamot

In a rush he was bursting through the surface once more, out of the depths of subconscious and the past, back with her, the her of the now , and she was gasping ragged breaths in his ear and he was struggling on the surface… he’d climaxed, he knew, and he gasped a sob because he shouldn’t have… but his stream of consciousness was unsteady; somehow he was holding her as they basked in the afterglow, tangled in sheets on her bed… but in the now he was bound on his knees on the floor, and his senses were overwhelmed and every place she touched him sparked, and he thought he might burst out of his skin.

But Altheia was his constant, his past and his present, his before and his now , and he closed his eyes and breathed in her fragrance; bergamot, vanilla and sea salt, the same now as then, until the she of the past faded and he was with the she of the present.

She clung to him, arms over his shoulders, face buried into his neck, and as his senses returned he could feel the wetness on the top of his thighs from her orgasm, and the way he ached within her from his own.  Julian blinked his eyes open, and his vision for a moment was bleary.  His arms were still tied, shoulders aching a little now but not yet uncomfortably so.  As he pressed his lips to Altheia’s shoulder, his eyes looked beyond her.  It looked like they were still in her - their - cabin aboard the Southern Cross.  But it was different , dark and distorted, as if deep underwater.  He was kneeling in a pool of inky water, black as midnight and sparkling with thousands of pinpricks of light like stars.  Around them, a ring of eight dark purple, tentacle-like arms, one at each compass point, slowly writhed upwards, and beyond that ring a murky serpentine form circled them like an ouroboros.  In the shadows beyond, a pair of amber eyes were trained on them.

They looked like the Queen and Knight of Cups, but… different, somehow.  More foreboding. Wrong .  There was no mirth on the Knight’s lipless mouth, slightly open and baring jagged teeth.  No kindness in the Queen’s amber eyes in the darkness.

A shiver ran through him and he buried his face into the crook of Altheia’s neck as he whispered,

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”  Her voice was a barely audible croak.  She leaned back, a frown bringing her dark eyebrows together.  “Why are you sorry?”

“I… I shouldn’t…”  He glanced down, where there wasn’t even a paper thin space between them, then back at her eyes, her beautiful sea-green eyes shimmering in the darkness with her magic.  He felt… confused.  Like he’d been jolted awake from a very vivid dream.  Like he’d failed.

He saw Altheia blink back tears, her hands sliding to his biceps as she closed her eyes and shook her head.  

“It’s not your fault.  I was…”

Her voice drifted away as she looked around them.  Her mouth twisted a little and her eyes narrowed in thought.  She looked back at him, and she smiled.  She smiled .

“It’s okay.”  She held his face between her hands, tenderly kissed his lips.  “How’s the pain?”

Julian frowned.  He’d barely noticed it.  A pounding headache, yes, a crushing weight over his chest, but… but it was better .  

“It’s eased,” he told her.  

“It’s working.”  Altheia bit her lip in barely contained delight.  “You see all this?”  With a tilt of her head, she indicated the room and the images of the minor Arcana around them.  “We’re not awake yet.”

“We’re not?”

“No.  No, this is… somewhere between.”

Julian looked warily around, at the dark watery shadows.  

“I… see.  I think.”

“No you don’t.  But it’s okay, you don’t have to.  Follow my voice.”

Julian nodded.  His confusion certainly hadn’t eased, but he felt safe .  Still…

“Hasn’t the energy gone?” he asked.  “The whole reason for doing this… this type of, ah, ritual, wasn’t it…”

“Sex?”

Julian actually blushed.  “Yes.  We, ah, well I , I… I can’t .  Yet.”

“I know, love, it’s okay.”  She planted kisses on both cheeks, fingers combing through his hair.  “Tell me what you saw.  The memories, of you and me.  Everything.”

So he did.  He told her again about how she took him aboard her ship after catching him cheating at cards, but she was cheating too.  He told her how she’d searched him for knives, how he’d pulled her on top of him when he’d fallen out of his hammock.  How they’d shared breakfast and their first kiss sitting atop a mast watching the sun rise.  

She listened with an eager smile as he told her how they’d fought the pirates, how she’d won without hurting anybody, and released them after taking just the cargo she wanted.

“Fiendishly clever of you,” he added, unable to keep back a proud smile.

She gave an odd kind of smile, almost sad, and then nodded for him to carry on.

So he told her about how he’d dressed a cut on her arm, and been rewarded with the chance to touch her, and for her to touch him… and he felt her slightly tense, and saw the slight drooping of her eyelids and flush of her cheeks as he described it.  

“We talked for a while,” he told her then.  “You told me your dreams.”

“Oh?”  Altheia’s voice was uncharacteristically toneless.  “What kind of dreams?”

Julian hesitated.  “What you wanted for the future.  Are you sure you want to know?”

She pursed her lips for a moment as she thought.  Eventually she nodded.  “Yes.  Tell me.”

Julian wished his arms weren’t tied, that he could brush back the white locks of hair that fell across her cheeks as she looked down.

“You wanted to strike out on your own.  Just a ship or two, you said, operating far enough away that it wouldn’t interfere with your family’s business.  And then…”

The tragedy of it suddenly sunk in.  Somehow, he’d been so absorbed with his memories, and of them , that he hadn’t thought of her .  He’d heard the Altheia of ten years ago talk to him about the things that she’d wanted for herself.  And the Altheia of the now, his Altheia, was right here with him, after losing it all.

“I need to know.”  Her voice was little above a whisper as she turned her eyes up to meet his.

“You… were going to buy your own place.  Not a grand estate, just a little cottage on the coast.”

Altheia gave a sad smile and closed her eyes, nodding to herself.  

“That would have been nice.  Didn’t quite manage that, did I?”

Julian managed to gather himself, and nudged her nose with his as he smiled.  “Not yet.”  

“Ah.  There’s still time, I suppose.”

“That’s right.  Now let me tell you about the party on the beach.  You’ll like this.”

Altheia’s eyes widened with delight, and Julian was relieved to hear her laugh when he told her how they’d danced and played together on the beach.

“So I really could play, and… retained the memory somehow.  The pennywhistle we found here really was mine.  The tune we played together then… was it the one I remembered when we found it?”

“Yes!  That explains it.”

“That’s what I was hoping for.”

Julian moved on to tell her how she’d dragged him away from the party because she wanted the use of his hands - “ Not much has changed there,” she said, making him blush - and then she’d taken him to bed in her cabin.  A shiver ran through her as he described it to her, and he felt her shift slightly on his lap.  

“I see now why you came,” she said, her voice ever-so-slightly husky.  She trailed kisses down his neck, and her right hand came to rest over his chest.  “We should continue, I think.  What do you want?”

“I want it all.”

Maybe she was surprised at how immediate his answer was, because she sat back a little and met his eyes with hers, and with a note of warning in her tone she told him,

“We need to raise the magic up again.”

She rolled her hips a little, enough for Julian to understand what she meant.  But he was already growing hard inside her, and he gave a quirk of an eyebrow.

“ Oh no !  I need a beautiful woman to make love to me.  How awful.”

Altheia playfully smacked his shoulder, but the humour in her eyes faded as she looked into his eyes again.  

“Julian–”

“I know, I know.  It’s not… it’s not that .”  

“Are you ready?”

“Always.”

She nodded, kissed each cheek, his forehead, the tip of his nose and his mouth.  And she began to move once more.

Altheia watched as Julian closed his eyes, slipping once more under her spell.  It was difficult to maintain now, and she was tiring.  She had to try and hold back her emotion, she knew.  But hearing Julian talk about their past, about a version of her that she didn’t know, recognise or identify with, to see that look in his eyes and the curve of his smile, to know that the memory had brought him to climax…  

She was jealous .  And it stung.

She couldn’t think about that now, though.  If she didn’t focus, if the spell broke while Julian was under, it could hurt him, or worse.  She squeezed her eyes tight shut, pushing back tears, swallowed the painful lump in her throat.  Placed her hands over Julian’s temples, her forehead against his.  She sought that thread again, caught it, and with a ripple of warm magic, guided Julian to it.