Tanden didn't mind the tattoo.

A line of blue dots swooped under his left eye, then curved down to follow along his jawbone to his chin. Thin lines, somewhat reminiscent of the Crelan tattoos on his back, wove between the dots. The first time Tanden had sat down with Queb, the older man had handed him a piece of metal, nearly polished into a perfect mirror, and explained.

"We are marked as young adults, when we have been accepted by the water. When you were pulled out of the water alive, it meant Attinabi allowed you to live. In a way, for us, it means you were born again, with her blessing. If you had not been marked, it would have been the same as denying the gift of Attinabi. The gift of life. You would have died."

Tanden looked at himself in the simple mirror. The dots looked nice, he thought, although they would be very difficult to hide. Still, he was more than willing to accept that getting the tattoo had saved his life. It wasn't the first unfamiliar religious ritual he had partaken in, it was just the most permanent.

"Thank you." Tanden lowered the mirror. "For the blessing, and allowing me and my companions to stay with you."

"You are blessed by Attinabi," Queb said with a smile. "You will always be welcome in Moatt, and anyone travelling with you will receive the same welcome."

"I don't suppose Attinabi's blessing can help me get a big boat?" Tanden asked, although he knew the answer. There was no word in Moattish that translated to 'ship', which he suspected was because the Moattish people didn't engage in ocean travel.

"Ah." Queb clapped his hands against his thighs. "No. You will have to wait for a passing big boat to take you."

Tanden nodded. "It's just that I happen to be in a bit of a hurry."

"Nothing I can do about that. But," Queb shrugged. "You are Attiabwa now. The water will bring you what you need. Now, rest." He stood, but before stepping out of the small room paused to look at Tanden again. "My language. You couldn't speak it last time you were here. Could you, before falling over Attinabi?"

Tanden was tired, but even then, he couldn't help his prideful smile. "Yes. When we met I told you that given time, I can speak every language I come across. I wasn't lying."

Queb's answering nod was slow and thoughtful. "I remember. Now get some rest."

***

Days passed slowly, but as bored as he was, Tanden knew there was nothing he could do. He couldn't will a ship to land in Attob, and asking Attinabi didn't seem to help. He also knew that his broken ribs really needed some time to recover before he stormed off to find and kill Toliver.

It helped that, for the first time since loosing the Wanderlust, he actually felt safe. The Moattish people were incredibly welcoming, even to Jale and Kuiva. They fell into a relaxing routine, and Tanden enjoyed the usual satisfaction that came from practicing a language he wasn't good at. His Moattish improved rapidly, as it often did when he surrounded himself with a language.

Without someone else around to make Teltish necessary, Jale had slipped into only speaking Tallenese. With Kuiavadox, Tanden practiced Xalish, although the young man wasn't very talkative. He spent a lot of time staring out at the ocean. Tanden had lived his whole life by the ocean, he was used to it. Kuiva's fascination was a reminder of just how overwhelming the ocean could be.

Overwhelming or not, Tanden wanted nothing more to be back on it. Every day he felt stronger, every day he felt more ready to take up his hunt in earnest.

***

Tanden wasn't really keeping track of the days, but he guessed from the feeling of his ribs that it had been over a month when Jale interrupted a careful duel between him and Kuiavadox.

In reality, it was more of a lesson than an actual duel. Kuiva wasn't used to swords, and so didn't make the best opponent. But, teaching him at least forced Tanden to review his own skills. And he felt good. His ribs hadn't hurt for a week or two. The rich food in Attob had more than built up his strength after their long trip down the river. The cutlass Queb had found for him felt natural in both his right and left hands. He was ready to kill Toliver.

"Navirian ship on the horizon," Jale announced.

Tanden waved at Kuiva to relax. Many ships passed by, but hardly any stopped at Attob. It wasn't a big enough place. "How big? She's probably taking goods down to Staedin."

"Except," Jale paused, waiting for him to look at her before continuing. "This isn't a merchant ship."

Tanden raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "No?"

"No. It's a warship," Jale said. "So I flagged it down."

***

Tanden couldn't help but wonder what kind of impression they made, standing on Attob's dock. A tall, Teltan man in Moattish clothing and freshly done Morcean braids, with a Moattish tattoo on his cheek. Flanked by a Tallenese woman and a Moattish man, and a young man of unknown origin behind them.

Tanden was vain, despite what he sometimes claimed, and he knew it. He knew they didn't look particularly important.

By contrast, the woman who stepped out of the Navirian's rowboat exuded authority. She was nearly as tall as he was, wearing a red coat that somewhat echoed the style of Crelan nautical jackets. A feather fluttered in the wide brimmed hat she wore over long hair. Tanden picked out at least four knives, and was slightly surprised that she wasn't wearing a sword, as well.

The woman strode down the dock to stand in front of him. Two equally imposing women followed her. She eyed Tanden critically, her gaze lingering on the tattoo on his face.

"You flagged us," she finally said in Teltish. "So you will explain yourself."

Tanden dipped his head, giving her the bit of respect she clearly deserved. "Captain Lord Tanden of the WDN Wan—" The name caught in his throat, but he recovered quickly enough for it not to be too awkward. "—of West Draulin. I no longer have a ship."

"And yet, you called yourself a captain. Lord Tanden of West Draulin." The woman glanced at both of her sailors in turn. "That's a name I recognize. How did you find yourself in Moatt?"

"That is an extremely long story," Tanden said. "And I will be more than happy to tell you in full detail eventually. For now, might it suffice to say that my ship was sunk by pirates?"

"It might," she said. Her gaze flickered over Jale, then Queb. "And what was your reason for flagging us? Are you going to offer a reward if we return you to West Draulin?"

Tanden shook his head. "No. I'm simply hoping for passage out of Attob, to a bigger port where I'll be able to hire a fully crewed ship, so I can hunt down the pirates who took my husband from me and kill them."

She blinked. "Husband?"

It hadn't been a slip up. Tanden nodded steadily. "That's what I said, Captain—?"

"Sylvaine." She crossed her arms. "The god of luck must be smiling on you today, Lord Tanden. My ship is hunting pirates. If you and your companions can be useful, you can join us on my ship."

It was better than Tanden could have hoped for. He grinned, feeling suddenly like his old, confident self. "I must offer Lucal my gratitude, then." The prideful part of him enjoyed the flicker of surprise in her eyes when he used the god of luck's Navirian name. "I can be extremely useful, Captain Sylvaine."

***

Being back on a proper ship felt incredible. The moment he felt the swaying beneath his feet, heard the wind flapping in the sails above his head, smelled the wooden deck. Everything felt incredible. Even Captain Sylvaine immediately barking orders at him didn't dampen his mood. He threw himself into the work, doing his best to make up for Kuiva's lack of experience. Jale at least knew what she was doing, even if she couldn't immediately make sense of the Navirian commands.

In the evenings, when they had a chance to relax, Tanden hung his hammock up with the rest of the sailors—the majority of whom where women. He lay back, hands clasped under his head, and stared at the ceiling.

Jale's hammock was right beside him. "You seem..." she spoke softly into the darkness. "Better. I thought you'd have trouble not being in charge."

Tanden chuckled. "It doesn't come easily, I'll admit."

"The first day she yelled at you, I thought you'd yell right back."

"Well, that wouldn't help me reach my goal," Tanden pointed out. "As long as Sylvaine gives me Toliver, she can yell at me as much as she wants. Besides, there's a difference between yelling at and yelling to."

"Hmm." Her hammock rustled as she moved. "I agree with that. Have you..." There was another rustle. "Thought about what happens next?"

"Next, I ask Sylvaine to take us back to Navire. From there, we book passage back to Crele. We'll probably need to talk to Queen Navire, but my name should get us something, hopefully. In Crele, we get another ship. Then we sail South and take Kuiva home."

Tanden heard her take a deep breath. "You really need to talk to him."

"About what?"

"How can you be so good at reading some people, and so terrible at reading others?"

Tanden tried to sit up, which was incredibly difficult in a hammock. "What?"

"Good night, Tanden," she said, instead of answering.

He stared at her hammock a moment longer—Jale wasn't actually visible. Of course, he had understood her implication immediately. He wasn't that dense. But then again, Jale had always had a better sense of Ara's moods, and there were some similarities between the two men.

Tanden let the thought settle. Soren was never far from his mind, but he was finding it easier to think about Soren without the crushing pain and sorrow flooding in. That didn't mean he was ready for something else. Nobody could ever mean what Soren had meant. Tanden didn't want anybody to ever mean what Soren had meant.

But if Jale was right, Tanden couldn't let Kuiva hope. That wasn't fair.

He cleared his throat as he awkwardly turned to face Kuiva's hammock, on his other side. He reached across the gap to tap Kuiva's shoulder.

He got a sleepy, questioning grunt in return.

There was no reason to beat around the bush about it. "Kuiva? You want me?"

"What?" Kuiva's voice squeaked in alarm. He struggled to sit up, just as Tanden had earlier. His eyes were big in the darkness.

His reaction wasn't immediately telling. He could have been alarmed for various reasons. Tanden smiled. "It is fine. But..."

Kuiva fiddled with his long braid, dropping his gaze. "Husband?" he said tentatively, repeating the Teltish word.

Tanden swallowed away the lump in his throat. "Yes. He died. I am..." Xalish was still so difficult. "Sad, still."

"I understand. It is fine."

"I am sorry."

A moment of silence stretched between them. Tanden wasn't sure was else to say, and so he settled for something simple. "Have a good sleep, Kuiva." He lay down, not feeling particularly pleased with the conversation, but relieved it was out of the way. He stayed awake until he heard Kuiavadox's hammock rustling as he lay down.

***

"West Draulin!"

Tanden wasn't entirely sure why the crew had picked up the habit of calling him by his city's name. Maybe it was a clumsy attempt at avoiding his Lord title while also avoiding using his name and offending him. Either way, he was used to it now. Tanden looked over at the sailor who had called him.

"Captain Sylvaine needs you on the quarter deck!"

He dropped was he was doing and rushed the join the captain. She was holding a long spyglass against her eye, but she held it out the moment he appeared. "Are these your pirates?"

Tanden's hand shook as he raised the spyglass to his face. It took a moment for him to adjust the focus and find the ships, but then he did, and he felt fire ignite in his chest. The burning rage felt impossible to contain, as if he was the volcano that made up Avi Island.

"Yes," he snarled. "That's the Exhun."