“About a half day of slow riding.”
“And your steps are soundless. That is a miracle.”
“It’s my lineage. My father was Tintarian. A sea Tintarian, a fisherman. But lots of air in his family line. He brought a haul of something or other to Vyggia and met my mother. Took her as a lover. Wouldn’t marry her though.”
“I am sorry. You grew up without a father?”
“I had a stepfather. Keir’s father. He married my mother when I was still little. Maybe I was seven or so. But he was Vyggian too. He had no other home but ours. My father by blood already had a family back in Pikestully.”
There was a breath, a hesitation on his part. I was trying to think of a question to ask—what the salt shallows of Vyggia were like, if he had ever met his Tintarian father, if he had liked Keir’s father—when he continued.
“My full name is Reed Spinner. She gave me his surname. So I was a Vyggian boy with a Tintarian name. He had told her he was called Sturgeon Spinner, that there was a tradition of naming the men in his family after fish. And he told her their child may have either air or sea magic. So she named me something that could hold both air and water and gave me his family name, not hers.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“I saw him once when I was a man. Keir and I left the islands and moved to Pikestully when we were about seventeen. We lived off the streets, finding easy work—day labor, that kind of thing. Then we joined the army for a bit. Have you ever heard of the Procurers?”
“The personal guard of the Shark King?”
“No, they’re the teeth in the Shark King’s mouth. He sends them to do his dirty work. It is a small unit of men, elite warriors in their infantry. The trials to join are difficult. After a few winters, a man retired and we tried out for the Procurers, Keir and me.”
“Did you make it in?”
“Never had the chance to. A young Procurer named Perch, younger than me, barely out of boyhood, was giving a demonstration of his swordsmanship. I stood there and watched it. He was young but he was so accomplished, so advanced already. His air magic wasall in speed. And I’ve strong air in me, but not in speed. Fastest thing I’ve ever seen a mortal do. He was taller than I am. Bigger too. But he could swing his blade with such precision and so quickly it was invisible.”
I wanted to ask him why he compared himself to the swordsman, but his next words explained it.
“There was a sort of training yard set up for these trials. Men of all ages were gathered around it, watching. I think a lot of them were fathers there to watch their sons try out. And when the Procurer called Perch was done, there was applause, and then one older man clapped another older man on the back and said, ‘Sturgeon, your boy is a wonder.’ I looked at the man who had been called Sturgeon. And he was built like me. He had the same face I have. And his eyes were the same green.”
“And you didn’t introduce yourself?” I asked.
“He already had a son.”
67
NOW: HANDS
Ihad always found sleeping on my side to be the most comfortable. But it was as if my body was aware I didn’t have the room to move, so I had not in all our nights in the tent. It might have been due to his intimate—while spoken rather monotone—explanation of his Tintarian heritage. It may have been the weeks of sleeping side by side that made me feel less restricted. Whatever it was, in the night, I had turned to one side and in my sleep drawn one leg up to me, angling my rear against his side. I awoke while it was still dark to his shifting and resting his front against my back, his slim hips cradling the curves of my lower half. His left forearm rested in the dip of my waist, the hand dangling over the curve of my belly, his fingertips brushing the fabric of my shift. Despite the winter air, we were warm between my quilt and his army-issue blanket.
I guessed that he was still asleep, because there was no apology in his position for the hardness of his prick pressing into me.
“Reed,” I whispered, wanting to know if he was awake.
“Robbie,” he replied, surprising me, causing me to flinch.
“What are you doing?”
“Pretending to be taking you from behind inmy dreams.”
“I thought you said there would be no coupling.”
“Am I inside you, madam?” His words were sleep slurred and amused.
“No, but your prick seems like it wants to be,” I quipped.
He grinned into my neck and rolled his hips behind me. The worn leather of his eye patch rubbed against my ear, making me shiver. He tightened his arm around my waist and pulled me back so the last bit of space between us was gone. His hand was anchored, flattened against the flesh just below my breasts, his thumb burrowing between them.
I let out a shallow, tormented breath. “I repeat. What are you doing?”
