“Hurry, you dogs!” Admiral Carlozzi, cuirass gleaming under a clear sky, stood at the center of the deck as his crew scurried around him. “The Duke is awaiting our arrival, as is the entire city of Chios! Move!” Eager sailors clung to the mast as the white sail unfurled, catching wind and setting their ship into motion. Carlozzi waltzed across the deck of his ship, approaching Ardwin and his dwarven friends, who peered over the stern railing, watching Naxos grow smaller, and the stretch of calm seas between them grow wider. “Why aren’t you below?” Carlozzi asked the trio.

“They wanted to watch,” Ardwin said. “We won’t get in anyone’s way.”

Carlozzi stepped in beside the trio. “Deacon spoke highly of you,” he said. “Of all of you.” He smiled. “But my crew isn’t so easily convinced. They are tight-knit. Proud Chiosian men gorged on victory and swollen with ego. Pay them no mind.”

“They don’t seem to mind us,” Ardwin said. “But thank you. For everything.” Carlozzi bowed his head, then offered his hand to Ardwin, who took it and shook.

“After what you did to those Burgundian spies?” Carlozzi chuckled. “It is my honor.” He released Ardwin and offered his hand to Skiggi. The dwarf stepped forward and shook the admiral’s hand. Then Dori did the same. “Please, come to me if someone gives you trouble, my friends, and I will give them trouble.” The admiral offered one more bow of his head, then walked away.

“Come on.” Ardwin waved the dwarves forward with his right hand.

They followed in the admiral’s wake, descending a flight of steps, but parted with the man as they crossed the deck and descended further into the ship's bowels. Deacon and the Accardi twins huddled in a storage cell of three walls formed by iron bars filled with crates and barrels. Leaning their backs against one another to stay upright, a colorful mound of furs lay atop them. They slept. Ardwin moved across the cell and found a pile of furs waiting for him. Ninathril and the Retaliating Rapier lay hidden beneath, wrapped in a blanket and bound with strips of hide; a square of gray fabric—the cloak of invisibility’s last few stitches—hid within.

Everything—and everyone—is still here.

“I hate this!” Skiggi said as the dwarves tucked themselves beneath their pile of assorted furs. “Why do we have to stay below?”

“This is a naval crew,” Ardwin said. “Not a smuggling crew.”

Skiggi grumbled. Dori disappeared beneath the furs without a word. Two oil lamps offered light, but with the hatch shut, it could have been the dead of night. Ardwin curled his knees to his chest, wishing he had someone to share warmth with. Despite the dark and the ship rocking him, sleep did not come. Every time he shut his eyes, a flash of yellow light revealed Murph’s face, contorted in pain, lifeless eyes gazing through his own. And Rose. She was smart. A survivor. It didn’t matter in the end, because Keya had other plans. Everything they were and would be had been washed away.

I shouldn’t have meddled.

His heart felt like an abyss within the hollow seafloor, drowning in sorrow. I should have died.

The others slept soundly, but Ardwin, who spent his time in miserable contemplation, did not. So much so that when Deacon stirred, Ardwin sighed in relief. Deacon rose, yawning and stretching. The smuggler scanned his surroundings and, upon noticing Ardwin, spoke: “What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” Ardwin admitted.

Deacon stalked through the cell, stepping over the dwarves in their fury heap, and disappeared down a hall between cells similar to their own. He returned a few moments later. “They’re expecting dinner soon.” He moved across the cell and shook the Accardi twins, who woke up grumbling with discontent. “Get up, now! Carlozzi expects us to cook for his crew. You’re better with a flaying knife, Ty, so start fixing the fish. Andy, you can help me peel potatoes.” He turned to Ardwin. “Can you cook?” Ardwin shook his head, which caused Deacon to mimic the gesture. “No? How about them?” The smuggler stepped over to the dwarves and pulled the furs off them. Dori lay across her husband’s broad chest, rising and falling with his breaths like a buoy at sea. “Up now!”

The pair didn’t stir. Skiggi snored. Deacon tapped Skiggi’s ribs with the toe of his left boot, which caused the dwarf to roll over, spilling his wife onto the floor. Dori rolled. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What happened?”

“Get up!” Deacon cried. “You’re our cook!”

Dori scrunched her brows. “Me?” She rubbed her eyes as she stood. “I’ve never—” She yawned. “Cooked seafood.”

“This isn’t anything fancy,” Deacon said. “We need someone to watch the pot and ensure it doesn’t boil over. Not much to it.” Deacon crossed the cell. He reached into an open crate and pulled out a potato. He then pulled a knife from the deep pockets of his baggy pants, sat beside Andrea, and began stripping away the potato’s skin. “Take your husband and find a big pot. We’ll need water, too.”

Dori knelt beside Skiggi and tapped on his shoulder. Skiggi’s eyes snapped open. “Huh?”

“We’ve got work to do,” Dori said with a smile. She stood, as did Skiggi. “Come on.” Dori stepped toward the door. “Let’s find a pot for the Captain’s stew.”

“That’s why you woke me?” Skiggi followed his wife until the pair disappeared down the hall.

Ardwin rose from his furs. “And you!” Deacon said. “Chop the onions.” He pointed to a crate beside the potatoes. “Don’t be generous. I hate the taste of onion, but it’s important for a good stew.”

Ardwin’s skin crawled. The last stew he consumed was Rose’s salty concoction, which encouraged him to drink from a poisoned flask. His stomach churned as he collected six fat onions. He found a sealed crate to use as his chopping block, then reached for his dagger, but it was gone. Alatar would kill me if he discovered I lost Animiki’s Talon and scorched my cloak. Luckily, a flaying knife lay close at hand, and the court mage was leagues away. He picked up the knife. Then he began chopping and sniffling, spurned by the onion’s aroma. When these onions are done with me, the cold and the guilt will have nothing to drain.

“I heard that Duke Aric plans to make Carlozzi the Commander of the Chiosian Army,” Tyandrea said as he sliced off a strip of fish scales. “What do you think?”

“Well—” Deacon scratched his stubbled chin. “Aric could do so if he pleased. It’s hard to imagine Carlozzi as a general, though, right?” The twins mumbled and nodded. “The Hero of Chios.” Deacon laughed. “Oh, if the Duke only knew!” The twins laughed, too. “Me and that man,” Deacon lowered his voice to a whisper. “We stole more ships and slaves than I can count. Now, he’s a war hero, and I’m a captain without a ship.” He peeled his potato. “But not without a crew, huh?”

Tyandrea’s thin mustache twitched as his knife stilled. “We’re with you.”

Andrea, bald from crown to chin, threw a peeled potato onto a pile. “Carlozzi’s victory will have every boy in Chios eager to take the fight to the Burgundians. We’ll find a crew.” He picked up another potato. “Too bad we won’t be joining Carlozzi on his parade. The city would be our oyster!”

“He wouldn’t stain his new reputation by associating with us,” Deacon said. “No matter. As you said, we’ll find an eager crew. What do you think, Alessandro?”

Ardwin diced the last strip of his first onion, laid down his knife, and dried his eyes on his sleeves. “We’ll find a crew, and as everyone celebrates Carlozzi’s victory, we can steal a ship, but not before I finish my mission.” He turned on the second onion and began slicing it into strips. I will return Ninathril to its rightful owner. The sooner, the better. After that, I’ll disappear and find a quiet farm in the middle of nowhere where no one can find me except Padair. It would be nice to have company. He stopped slicing. Skiggi and Dori as well, perhaps.

They joined Carlozzi’s crew on the top deck for dinner. Ardwin dipped out spoonfuls of chunky stew and poured them into wooden bowls while Skiggi and Dori passed the bowls out to the line of sailors. Once the crew had their share, Ardwin and his gang got theirs. Ardwin sat atop the stern castle’s roof, between Skiggi and Deacon, forcing fishy vegetables down. I hate stew.

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“Not bad!” Deacon sat his empty bowl on the deck, then laced his fingers behind his head and laid back. “Not bad at all.”

“Dori’s a great cook,” Ardwin said, though his stomach disagreed.

A commotion of shouting and laughter erupted from below. Ardwin peered down the stairs and across the deck to witness Admiral Carlozzi, his steel cuirass and chainmail discarded for a loose blouse, wrestling with one of his crew. Deacon sat up. Ardwin stood and walked to the castle’s edge to watch the spectacle, the dwarves and the twins joining him. Every sailor formed a circle around their admiral and his competitor—a much larger Chiosian with dark skin and a shaved head. Andrea leaned over the stern railing. “Five silvers on Carlozzi!”

“I’ll take that bet!” Skiggi cried. “Dori! How much—” His wife offered a piercing glare. “Maybe not. But that big man is going to pulverize Carlozzi. Look at him!”

“Save your money. Carlozzi won’t lose in front of his crew,” Ardwin said.

The big man wrapped his arms around Carlozzi’s waist and kicked the admiral’s right legs. They collapsed—Carlozzi pinned beneath the much bigger man. The man grabbed Carlozzi’s left arm and twisted it at an odd angle. The admiral snarled like a rabid animal caught in a trap and thumped the ship’s deck with his free hand. “Okay! Okay!” The big man let out a tremendous bellowing laugh as he climbed off his admiral and offered Carlozzi a hand, helping Carlozzi to his feet. “I’ll get you next time!”

“You cost me five silvers!” Skiggi scowled. “Next time, keep your big mouth shut!”

Andrea smacked Ardwin’s back. “Thanks, friend.” He and his twin returned to their seats beside Deacon.

Ardwin watched the crew gather around their admiral, offering him their wine flasks and condolences. Carlozzi laughed off the defeat. He’s one of them. Ardwin returned to his half-eaten stew.

The night was impossibly cold in the storage cell. As the others lay huddled in their piles, Ardwin shivered beneath his furs, contemplating the past he’d murdered and the future he’d squandered. I’d also have someone to share warmth with if Rose were alive. He tossed and turned. That’s not even her real name! I barely knew her. No. I didn’t know her. Not really. And now I never will.

He gave up.

Ardwin shimmied out of his furs and stalked down a dark hall. All was quiet except the ship's creaks and groans and the sea crashing against its hull. He found the stairs and ascended. Sharply cold, the black wind ripped through his fur coat and clothes beneath. A million silver stars dotted the moonless sky. Two sailors stood beside the stern castle’s door, guarding the admiral’s quarters and warming themselves by an iron pit. “What are you doing?” a voice called. The shadowy silhouettes approached, growing larger with every step. Ardwin stopped. “One of the stowaways? Well? Speak!”

“I came up for some fresh air,” Ardwin said. He crossed his arms. “I can’t sleep.”

“Can’t sleep?” The guards laughed. “You won’t find your momma up here, my friend. No. Just us. And you don’t want us to rock you to sleep. You won’t wake up!”

“Leave him be!” a stern voice carried over the waves, killing the laughter. “Alessandro? Is that you?” Ardwin spotted another silhouette standing atop the castle, looking down. He waved. “Come on up! Join me! Come!” The guardsmen mumbled to one another as they walked back to their fire. Ardwin ascended the castle. Carlozzi leaned against the railing, holding a wine bottle in his right hand. “Care for a swig? It helps keep you warm on nights when you have too many thoughts and not enough time to think them through. Eh? Come on.”

Ardwin marched over to the admiral, took the wine bottle from him, and then drank deeply. Lowering the bottle, he wiped his lips with his fury sleeve. “Not bad. What are you thinking about?” Ardwin handed Carlozzi the wine. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Carlozzi took the wine and drank. “The future. How about you?” He passed the wine to Ardwin.

Ardwin took it. “The past.” He drank.

Carlozzi chuckled. “There’s nothing like the past, is there?” He looked up into the clear night sky. “Everything laid out before you. No surprises. But the future?” The admiral scoffed as he swiped the wine from Ardwin and took a swig. “How can you know what choice to make?”

What choice are you struggling with? Ardwin shrugged. “You can’t. Then again, I suppose we say some things are ‘right’ and some are ‘wrong’ because they never end well.”

Carlozzi tossed his head from side to side. “Violence begets violence. We struck a mighty blow against the Burgundians, but now they will seek revenge, won’t they?” Ardwin remained silent. “Yes. Those swine won’t honor our agreements even if we sign an armistice. They never have. How long can Milanis Duchy hold? Jadenar will not pick a side; the Freemen grow fat by suckling from the Burgundian teet, and even the dwarven banks favor Burgundia.” He shook his head. “Why am I asking you? You’re just a refugee, aren’t you?”

A refugee with a mission. Ardwin nodded. “I am.”

“What did you do before coming to our island?” Carlozzi asked. He drank from his half-empty bottle, then handed it to Ardwin, who took a sip.

“I never sailed a day until I was sixteen,” Ardwin said. “That’s when I left the farm and set out for the capital. Umbria wasn’t all I’d hoped it would be; work was hard won, but I earned my way onto a small vessel and learned the trade.”

Carlozzi stole his wine back from Ardwin and drank heartily. “Your accent gives you away, my friend.”

Ardwin studied the admiral. What?

“It’s thick. You lived on the borderlands,” Carlozzi said. He drank from his bottle, then set it on the castle’s rail. “I know you didn’t grow up on the coast. It makes sense now.” He breathed in a lungful of air and offered a cloud of steam to the sky. “I was born in Petropoli and grew up on fishing boats because my father was a fisherman.” He paused. “I signed up for the Navy when I was fifteen. That’s where I met Deacon, you know? Has he mentioned it?”

“He did,” Ardwin lied.

“We spent ten years in the service of the Duke. Mostly, we chased pirates and patrolled the coasts.” Carlozzi walked across the castle and approached the ship's edge, looking out over the waters. Ardwin joined him. “Deacon left the service after ten years, and I signed back up.”

“What made you re-enlist?” Ardwin asked. “A sense of duty?”

Carlozzi laughed. He smacked the railing with his left hand. “No. No. Nothing so noble. It was steady work, and it paid better than being a fisherman. This was before the war, you see.” He paused. “Deacon and I reunited during the war. His services proved invaluable, so I advocated for others like him to be overlooked. That was the right choice. If not for the smugglers, the Burgundians would have severed our supply chain after our Navy sank. I can look back and see it so clearly now, but what of the future?” Carlozzi turned to Ardwin, fists clenched. “How do we stop these wars from happening in the first place? Looking back, I can’t see an answer, but it should be as clear as anything!”

“I think I understand,” Ardwin said.

Carlozzi glared at Ardwin, but his sea-weathered face softened into a smile as he chuckled. “You have your own wars to fight, don’t you? I’m sorry to trouble you with such questions. We’re just men. Stuck on a boat and caught in a great storm.” He chuckled. “Go get some rest. We have a long journey ahead."

Ardwin walked away. He grabbed the wine from the rail and drew in a swig before shoving it into Carlozzi’s chest. “I’m not tired,” Ardwin said.

The admiral cradled the bottle before lifting it and drinking. “Me either. I won’t sleep until after my triumph. So many questions, so much energy coursing through me. And wine.” Carlozzi drank. “What do you dream of, Alessandro? As a man of the people, what kind of world would you build if you were granted the power to make a difference?”

“A better world,” Ardwin said.

“But how?” Carlozzi asked. “How do we make everyone agree with each other? Do you trust the Burgundians?”

“I’m not a diplomat.” Ardwin snatched the bottle from Carlozzi and drank from it. “Or a philosopher.” He handed the bottle back to Carlozzi, and the admiral took a long swig before leaning over the ship's rail, staring into the watery void below. He remained silent for some time.

“Perhaps I should have been a fisherman like my father?”

Ardwin chuckled. “I guess the past isn’t so clear? Looking back, I often wonder if I made the right choices, but here I am, talking to the Hero of Chios.” He grinned. “All things considered, we’re doing pretty well for ourselves.”

Carlozzi straightened his back and raised the bottle of wine into the air. “I’ll drink to that.” And he did. “But some are not so lucky, are they? How many thousands have died for nothing?” He handed Ardwin the bottle. “The wars never end. Never. I’ve grown sick of fighting.” Ardwin drained the remaining wine. “And life as a politician will be just that—fighting. Every day! And I can’t even kill my opponents!” Carlozzi mimed the throttling of an invisible throat with his fingers curled and his face twisted in rage. “Am I making a mistake? Is it too late?”

“There will always be people with power and people without,” Ardwin said. He tossed the empty bottle into the sea. “You seem like the okay sort to have in power.”

Carlozzi placed a hand on Ardwin’s shoulder. “Thank you.” He removed his hand. “When I meet the Duke, I will walk straight up to the child and pronounce: Alessandro said I seem like the okay sort. Now, give me your ships and your army!” The pair shared a laugh. “Where is the wine?”

Ardwin shrugged. “We’re out.”

“I have more in my cabin,” Carlozzi said. “Come.”

Ardwin followed the admiral across the castle’s roof, contemplating: The young Duke will be eager to meet the hero of his people, which means Carlozzi can get me close to him. But what will the boy think? Better yet, what will his mother and advisors think of a foreigner arriving with Ninathril in his possession? It wouldn’t be a problem if my cloak were whole, but without it, stealth becomes difficult. There must be another way.

Must I deliver the blade, or is it just my unwillingness to let go?