“I’ll kill him!”

El Sha La blinked at the outburst. She swept her eyes around the bedchamber to remind Revel they were alone and there was no need to shout.

Revel and El Sha La were surrounded by a fortune in glass. A ring of tall, silver mirrors reflected the pair from every angle. Above, storm clouds swept across an extravagant dome of crystal panes. To the right of the hearth, soft cerulean light swirled within a sorcerous orb. The drapes were thrown. A wrought iron balcony faced north.

Below the Tower of the Unraveller were the high turrets of Ruptor Keep, the soaring spires of the Quartiere, the decorated eves of the Mercant, the chimneys of the Quarta Foundry, and then the endless sprawl of Tinkerton. It all flowed down toward the bay.

Arath’s Garret was the zenith of Lhaz. El Sha La intended to climb even higher. Her father had absolutely forbidden her to enter his bedroom, which all but guaranteed she would. She spent half the afternoon in ablution, farding her face and plaiting her golden hair. Her dress was an emerald marvel of sheer silk clasped with copper links. She was skinny and severe, but she worked hard with what she had.

As usual, Revel was oblivious.

“I swear on my name!” Revel railed on. He raised his fist at the crystal dome as if it, too, had wronged him.

El Sha La sighed again. The wind groaned around the tower in agreement. She hadn’t brought him here for this.

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“Didn’t you forsake your name?” El Sha La noted Revel’s grimace with satisfaction. Flummoxing the oaf was her second-favorite thing to do with him.

“Forget my name. I swear on my honor—”

“Doesn’t honor command you to obey your father?” El interrupted.

“You know what I mean, El. Upon whom shall I swear?”

“Why swear at all? Just do it. Be a man.”

Revel’s eyes dropped to the floor. She’d shut him up at last. In silence, El could hear thunder rumble across Moricone Bay. The fireplace crackled and blue shadows flickered across Revel’s face. El Sha La drank in his strong jawline and high cheekbones. If only he never talked. She took a step closer.

“Are you sure we should be in here?” Revel asked.

El Sha La took Revel’s hand and pressed it against her cheek.

“You smell of the sea,” she murmured.

She turned her face to kiss along his knuckles. When she reached his index finger, she slipped it into her mouth. Revel gasped. He closed his eyes and swayed slightly on his feet. She bit the ham of his thumb, hard. Revel drew a sharp breath but didn’t cry out. She’d trained him well.

This was her favorite thing to do with the oaf. She ran her hands over his broad back and admired what months of rowing had done to him. Endless stroking in the sun had burned off every ounce of fat. Outside, the storm howled.

“Take off your shirt,” she instructed. Revel obeyed without hesitation. She ran her fingers down his chest, brushed over his stomach and stopped to watch him quiver. When she dipped lower, Revel’s hissed in pain. He pulled her hand away.

“What?” El Sha La blurted. He let her hand go.

“Fish kicked me in the balls. I’m bruised.”

“Oh! I didn’t know. You should have told me, babe,” El Sha La’s voice softened. The game was forgotten.

“I should have said something,” Revel agreed.

“Well, I’ll say something. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to the dock. I’ll tell that crusty old fool never to kick you there again.”

“It’s training, El. Getting hurt is part of it.”

“I don’t care what he hurts of yours. But this…” she said, barely touching him, “belongs to me.”

Revel winced all over again.