Each theurgist has a centre of power – his or her core – where all theurgic ability gathers [...]. The location of one's core differs from one theurgist to another. This could be in [...] any other part of the human body.

—Corthair's Compendium of Theurgy

8

↝ THE DAEMON AND ITS HUMAN ↜

By the end of their second week, Isla's head was taut with exhaustion. Her training had evolved into a strict routine of meditations to warm her core, stealth exercises against Eshe's walls, and mental drills to raise her own defences.

'Your resonances are no longer invasive as they were before,' said Eshe as they took their breakfast on the upper platforms, watching bare-chested men working the decks.

'I'm too tired for headaches. Too tired for anything.'

'Shame. That one resonates a very distinctive sort of emotion. And he is certainly not tired at all.' Eshe nodded at the deck above theirs, using her teacup to hide the tilt of her head.

A well-built man stood at the bridge, speaking to the helmsman while throwing an occasional glance at the two ladies. It was unclear whom exactly held his interest. Though these sailors ... Isla smiled dryly, they wouldn't mind who they took below deck so long as it had a hole.

The sailor caught her looking and smiled back. Isla cursed, quickly turning away to Eshe's amusement. 'Well done, Isla. Here he comes.'

Isla groaned. The man was indeed coming down from the bridge. Where's the jin when you need it most?

'Now's your chance.'

'My chance for what?' Isla hissed.

'To test your theurgy. You can easily send him away.'

Isla considered it. It made an opportune moment to see whether all her stealth exercises had paid off. The sailor was closer now, walking the length of the deck towards them. He still wore that aggravating smile, and he walked casually with his shirt unbuttoned, revealing a slightly sweat-stained chest.

Isla was not so sure she wanted to send him away, after all.

Before she knew it, he was by their table. He was much more pleasing from up close: tall, broad, with a dark copper sheen to his skin. 'Lovely day to be out, is it not?' He bowed at the two ladies.

A polished Srikh. One that hinted at a city accent, without the forced inflections as Haana's had been. He has to know how to speak well though, stationed at an ambassadorial vessel as he is. 'If you like wind in your hair.'

The hint did not escape him. The sailor ran a hand through his wind-swept hair. 'Women are often fond of the tousled look.'

'Is that why you're parading your chest around, or do you simply not know how to button a shirt?'

'Ah, but it did get your attention.'

'Is that so?'

'You did smile at me,' the sailor gave a careless shrug.

'I was not smiling at you.'

'Oh? What, then? My good helmsman over there?'

Isla followed his gaze back towards the helmsman; a stocky fellow with a scowl to frighten away storms, and by far much too old for Isla to be smiling at.

'I can introduce you, if you like,' the sailor's eyes twinkled with mischief.

Eshe stood. 'My apologies, Isla, I better prepare for next week's festivities. If you will excuse me.'

'What festivit—'

'Isla, is it?' the sailor swooped in and took Eshe's empty seat. Isla could only watch in despair as the woman sashayed away. 'Unusual name for a Surikh.'

'It's ees-la. Eshe pronounces it the Eling way.'

'Well, ees-la. Every morning I see you on the decks. Tell me, do you not have anyone to warm your bed, so eager that you are to leave it, even before the sun rises?'

'My bed is plenty warm.' Isla meant her salamander, but the sailor did not need to know.

He scratched his stubbled cheek. 'Must not be particularly good company.'

'He's rather small, but surprisingly agile.'

A smile crept onto the man's face. 'I've an enormous monster downstairs, if you care for something larger.'

Isla made a sound of disgust, partly at herself for entertaining his advances to begin with. She started to leave, but the man cleared his throat apologetically.

'Forgive me. I've spent too many months in the company of sailors. Though it was not wholly prurient – there is a large beast in our engine room. Of course a lady such as yourself would have no interest in such things.'

'You keep monsters on a ship?'

'Is this your first voyage?' he asked without scorn. 'It is how we travel. Sylphid and arwana are slower and require greater numbers. Transaltum voyages mostly utilise marid or djinn, now that our daemologs have perfected their control.'

Isla's salamander nuzzled her under the cover of her coat. When was the last time it had seen another of its daemon-kin? Sylphid and arwana were its elemental siblings – but a marid or djinn? More like its vicious older cousins.

'You need not fear.' The sailor misread the look on Isla's face. 'It is perfectly safe.'

'How many do you keep?'

'Marid? Just one. We've also several cages of sylph.'

Isla nodded thoughtfully, though none of it was new information. Captain Stirling had already told them, through one of his letters, that larger vessels either kept sylphid or arwana as reserve. In fact, Isla's entire plan hinged upon Tempestorm's reserve. 'You're able to show me your engine room?'

The sailor hesitated. 'I did say ... but upon second thought ... my captain will have me marooned if I brought passengers down.'

'Your captain doesn't need to know.'

'This is his ship. He will know.'

'You're right, of course. I wouldn't want you to lose your job.' Isla pushed herself off her seat. 'It was cruel of you to mention it, though. What other false promises do you make to a girl?'

'That is not fair.'

'What isn't fair is teasing a girl bored half out of her mind with the allure of some excitement, only to take it away.'

'Very well.' The sailor rose. 'I confess I've longed to explore other professions, in any case. One does tire of the sea.'

'So you will show me?'

'Only if you keep your hands to yourself.'

Isla raised her brows and followed him wordlessly. He took her across the ship, naming each room and deck they passed until they descended a set of stairs into the crew's sleeping quarters. Wooden posts lined the gallery from one end to the other. Rope ladders hung over every pillar, sheets of canvas suspended between each frame; three hammocks to every pair.

'This is where you sleep?' She could not mask the incredulity in her voice. Her bedchamber in Beltaer may not have been luxurious, but at least she had privacy and room to roll in her sleep.

'My cabin is by the officers' deck.'

So he holds a higher rank, Isla thought with some begrudging awe. It also explained his eloquence. 'Who are you, exactly?'

The sailor looked back at her with a smirk. 'Me? My name is Kithrel.'

'That's not what I meant.' It was, however, an important bit of information. Isla had not even thought of asking his name. She picked up her pace as the sailor entered a lower cabin.

'I am the third mate. After you.' The cabin tapered with a ladder at the edge. Kithrel stepped aside to let Isla pass.

She descended, one rung at a time. 'What exactly does a third mate do?'

'Navigation, mostly. And ensuring your safety.'

'Taking me to see a monster is your idea of keeping me safe?'

Kithrel laughed, landing softly next to her. 'You as good as begged me.' He pushed open the door.