It took Tanden only a few hours to settle the trading they had underway. He spent the rest of the day with Elorie, simultaneously practicing Moattish, Shani and Staedish.

Soren spent the day showing Ara the Wanderlust's various ledgers and records. There were lists of cargo, the crew and their salaries, maintenance records for the ship, and plenty more. Countless lists of numbers. Ara seemed overwhelmed, but determined to understand what everything meant. And Soren found spending time with Ara relaxing, even if the task at hand wasn't very enjoyable.

They left early the next morning, so early that fog still hovered over the river. It dissipated quickly as the sun rose, warming the air.

It was a beautiful day. Puffy clouds lazily drifted in the bright blue sky. Fishermen were out in abundance, often pausing to wave at the Wanderlust as they sailed by. They passed two medium sized merchants who were heading downriver to Balagada. Flocks of birds flew overhead.

Everything was bright and sunny and pleasant. Even Tanden seemed more like himself, bustling around the ship helping with tasks. Soren noticed that he avoided tasks that would take him up the rigging, a decision he wholeheartedly agreed with. A sailor had to fully trust his hands and feet in order to go up the rigging. While Tanden's foot was obviously much better, it wasn't quite ready for that.

The next few days along the river were very much the same. Nice skies, good winds and on either side of them, the beautiful, lively jungle. The riverside was dotted with small villages. They sailed past at least once a day, sometimes two. On the third day, the river cut a canyon through a hill. The rocky cliffs were covered in vines and little trickling waterfalls. In some places, the rock face had been carved and painted with images and letters.

Tanden took the helm through the canyon, as he usually did when they were sailing through riskier areas. Ivern was posted at the bow, to keep an eye out for shallow rocks or other obstacles, while Roan and Jerios stood on watch at either side of the Wanderlust, continuously gauging the distance between the ship and the cliffside.

Soren stood beside Tanden, watching the other three men for any signals. But more than once wall paintings would catch his eye. One, a particularly large handful of letters, distracted him so much that he turned to watch as it passed.

"I can't read it," Tanden said, before Soren could ask.

Elorie and Rico were leaning against the bulwark nearby. Elorie watched the letters go by and crossed her arms. "It's an old language, not quite Alvarian. Only people who study such things would be able to read it. I've been told before that it's a warning. An ancient local tribe telling another not to cross into their territory."

"Alvara was made of tribes?" Tanden asked.

"A long time ago. Before the pyramids, maybe." Elorie shrugged. "I know the river, and languages, but I'm not a hist—"

"Captain!" Ivern shouted, his voice carrying easily and echoing along the canyon.

Soren spun, terrified that he was about to feel the Wanderlust's hull grind against a shallow rock. Instead, Ivern was pointing up. It took Soren a moment to see why through the rigging and past the sails.

Up ahead, there was a living bridge, stretched across the canyon. It was larger than any of the ones in Balagada. It was really quite spectacular.

"Soren." Tanden's voice was tense. Having obviously found the bridge, his gaze hadn't wavered. "We're not going to fit under that."

Soren's eyes darted to the bridge. It took less than a heartbeat for him to realize Tanden was right. Their mainmast was too tall. But, Soren thought hopefully, maybe not by much.

"I'll cut down the flagpole."

Rico scoffed. "Just tear through it. It's an old ruin. Nobody lives out here."

"Tear through it?" Tanden repeated. "That thing is rooted to the ground, it'll—"

Soren didn't hear the rest of his reply, because he was already moving. First, darting belowdecks to find a saw and rope, then hauling himself up the shrouds.

Soren went up often enough to help with topsails, but usually not much higher than that. The topgallant sails were handled by smaller, lighter men. Climbing all the way to the top of the mainmast was higher than most men ever went. But Soren climbed as quickly as he could, squeezing around and through ropes and beams, as the mast he was climbing became narrower and narrower.

People weren't supposed to climb so high. Soren passed the last yard that was designed for people to stand on, and continued even higher. As his fingers and feet struggled to find purchase on the last few feet of mast, Soren found himself doing something he rarely consciously did, and prayed.

Did Roe have any control over this southern river? Probably not, but if Tanden's theory was correct, Roe could contact the Alvarian goddess.

"Come on, come on," Soren grunted to himself. The bridge was getting closer, and the flagpole was nearly in reach.

Rico might not understand why they couldn't risk tearing through the bridge, but Soren understood all too well. Best case scenario, the flagpole was torn off and fell harmlessly to the deck, hitting no one. But even if the flagpole tore off without damaging the mast, it would certainly rip through rigging and possibly sails on the way down. More likely, it would cause splintering at the top of the mast, which would slowly weaken the whole mast, possibly resulting in it completely collapsing before they had a chance to get it properly repaired.

Soren unhooked the saw from his belt and got to work cutting through the base of the flagpole. Two flags fluttered above him, huge and heavy.

He could hear shouting from below as the rest of the crew understood what the problem was. They worked to raise sails, trying to slow the Wanderlust's forward momentum. Soren kept sawing.

They didn't slow the ship enough.

Soren was halfway through the pole when the bridge passed overhead. But Soren's cutting had helped. Instead of the mast fighting the bridge, the flagpole bent with a horrible, crunching tear. Instead of falling, it hung sideways, held by splintered wood.

The bridge, wide enough for a horse and cart to cross, passed so close overhead that hanging roots grabbed at Soren's hair and dirt fell into his eyes. Like the ones in Balagada, it was made of woven roots and filled with dirt and rocks.

And bones.

Soren nearly lost his grip on the mast when he found himself face to face with a human skull. His horrified gaze followed the skeleton to find another stretched at its feet, and another after that.

People, woven into the bridge. The painted warning came back to him, and with it came terrible thoughts. Had these people been woven into the bridge while they were still alive? Were they part of the warning?

But then they were out from under the bridge, and the Zianna flag tangled around Soren's legs brought his attention back to the current disaster. Working as quickly, but carefully, as he could, he bound the flagpole to the mast upside down. It was far too heavy and large for him to safely carry down, but he trusted his knots to hold. They would have to make a plan for removing the flagpole once they were moored somewhere.

Crelans flew flags upside down to signal that their ship was in distress. Hopefully letting them hang down wasn't a bad omen. There wasn't anything he could do about it, anyway.

Soren climbed down much more cautiously than he had darted up. When he reached the deck, the bridge had fallen far behind. Exhausted, more from the panic than the actual climb, Soren returned to the quarter deck.

"You did that just in time, mate," Tanden said. "Quick thinking."

"There were skeletons in the bridge," was all Soren could think to say.

Tanden's eyes went wide and he glanced over his shoulder. Soren knew he was wishing he had seen them himself. When he turned back to Soren, Soren could see the longing all over his face. "How? Describe them."

"In the bridge," Soren said. "Part of it. On purpose."

Tanden looked at Elorie. "Is that a normal practice?"

"The ancient tribes were violent," Elorie said. She looked vaguely ill at the thought. "You heard Axmazi's story? She's the longest lasting of the ancient Alvarian gods, but every tribe had their own versions. Bloodthirsty, violent deities for bloodthirsty, violent people. It's very possible those skeletons—those people—were added to the bridge while they were still alive. Maybe it was an honorable sacrifice. But I think, more likely, they were prisoners. Their arms and legs were probably tied to the roots, maybe even bent and broken to be woven into the bridge." Her eyes, which had been downcast, staring at her own crossed arms, looked downriver towards the bridge. "I told you that I don't believe in the Alvarian gods. This is why. They're horrible."

Tanden swallowed audibly. "Alvarians don't do things like that anymore, do they?"

Elorie shook her head. "No. Those are very old traditions. It's probably been hundreds, if not thousands of years since anybody saw those skeletons. Alvarian ships are never this tall. Soren was probably closer to the bottom of the bridge than anybody has ever been. There are remnants of that violent past scattered around Alvara, but even the most old-fashioned, traditional villages don't carry out these old rituals."

"At Balagada, Amna said something about voluntary sacrifice."

Elorie nodded. "Axmazi still desires blood, apparently. Just not the way she used to. So they say."

Somehow, Tanden seemed to run out of questions. He cleared his throat, indicating the end of that conversation, and abruptly switched to another. "The flagpole is secure?"

"My knots will hold, you know that."

Tanden nodded. "I know. You're very good at knots." The comment would have been innocent enough if it wasn't for the mischievous grin Tanden flashed at him.

Soren didn't let himself raise to the bait, although he was comforted by Tanden's flirting. It was a good sign. "Focus, Captain," he chastised. "Before you drag our lady against the side of the canyon."

Tanden laughed. "Stop telling me fascinating things about bridges if you want me to focus." But he did turn his attention back to the helm.

***

They didn't make it through the canyon before having to stop for the night and dropping anchor in the middle of the river. Storm clouds darkened the night much earlier than the setting sun would have, which frustrated Tanden. The fenders usually used to protect the ship from banging into docks were hung along each side, so she wouldn't get scraped on the rocks overnight.

Tanden wasted no time after dinner, rushing Soren back to the captain's quarters with an admittedly terrible lie about looking at the records. Tanden regretted it the moment he said it, but their friends were generous enough to pretend they believed it.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Tanden leaned back against it and pulled Soren into an embrace. They kissed passionately, Tanden tangling his hands in Soren's hair while Soren leaned into him. It was some time before Soren pulled back to take a few deep breaths.

Tanden felt more himself than he had since breaking his ankle. But he knew his request was anything but normal. "You should try out those knots tonight."

Soren blinked. "What? I thought that was a joke."

"It was." Tanden clasped his hands together behind Soren's neck, pulling him close for another kiss. "But ever since I broke my ankle you've been all tough and commanding, and apparently I like that."

"Apparently?"

Tanden smirked. "I won't pretend it's a complete shock. And I'll admit that I don't always like your hovering, even when I know it's for my own good. Still, I can't deny that it's incredibly attractive."

Soren's reply was interrupted by a crash of thunder, made louder by the echoing of the canyon walls. It was almost immediately followed by the pounding of a sudden rainstorm.

Above their heads, the rain falling on the quarterdeck was so loud it drowned out all other sounds. Beneath their feet, the Wanderlust swayed with the high winds.

Tanden tugged Soren closer to speak directly into his ear. "How confident are you in your knots now?" He was teasing, but it was a genuine question.

"They'll hold," Soren replied. His breath tickled Tanden's ear, and the following kiss on his neck made him shiver.

Tanden leaned his head back against the door, lifting his chin to allow Soren more space to work. His left hand slid into Soren's hair, while his right traced the lines of tattoo that poked above Soren's tunic. He loved it when Soren kissed his neck like this, although he wouldn't have been able to verbalize why.

There was something about the action that felt both like worshiping, and claiming ownership. Depending on his mood Soren could turn these neck kisses into something he was giving, or something he was taking.

As often happened when Tanden's mouth wasn't occupied, he felt the need to talk. Whether or not Soren could hear him over the crashes of thunder and pounding rain.

"Soren, I think—"

Soren slipped a hand over his mouth. He kissed a trail back up to Tanden's ear to growl, "Don't talk."

Tanden's heart raced. He knew that if he pressed his hand against Soren's chest, Soren would let him go and step back. He knew that no matter what games they might play, Soren would listen to him. Trust made Soren's growl more thrilling than frightening.

He nodded, willing to comply. At least for the time being.

Soren replaced his hand with his lips, drawing Tanden into a deep kiss. When he pulled back, his gaze tracked over Tanden slowly, thoughtfully. Unsure of what he was allowed to do, Tanden stared back just as carefully.

Soren's dark hair was tousled and slightly longer than he usually let it grow. Light from the lantern flickered in his eyes. In daylight they were a beautiful, clear green, but in the dim light of the captain's quarters his eyes were dark and lustful.

Tanden wanted to reach up, and brush the hair away from Soren's eyes. To control the impulse, he instead pressed his hands against the door behind him. His fingers brushed against a latch.

And the door suddenly swung open behind him. Tanden stumbled backwards, out into the rain. Soren reached for him, but not quite quickly enough to stop him from falling. Instead, they both crashed to the deck.

The rain was falling so heavily that they were drenched to the skin before Tanden even had a chance to process what had just happened. Soren was on top of him, but it did nothing to shield him from the rain.

Helplessly, Tanden began to laugh. At the startled look on Soren's face, and the absurdity of the whole situation. He reached up to cup Soren's face and pulled him down for a soaking kiss.

The rain was warm. It plastered Soren's tunic to his shoulders when he pushed himself up. Tanden knew, from the way that Soren's gaze lingered on him, that his own tunic was stuck to his chest like a second skin.

Soren was still straddling his hips, but Tanden tried to sit up anyway, bracing himself on his elbows. "Soren," he said it conversationally, knowing Soren would have a hard time hearing over the rain. "You keep staring at me like you want to eat me. So, what are you going to do to me?"

Soren's gaze snapped up to his face. He probably read Tanden's lips, more than actually hearing his words. "What do you want me to do?"

Tanden sat up further, and Soren backed up just enough to make it easier for him. They were face to face then. "Why do I have to tell you how to win? You tricked me, that last time. I begged you to do this and you waited me out until I fell asleep. I don't want you to do that this time."

"Do you want me to win?"

"Yes." Tanden tried to give him a quick kiss, but Soren moved too quickly, slipping a hand around the back of his head and holding him in place for a longer one.

When they broke apart, Soren stood and tugged Tanden to his feet. They stepped back into the shelter of the captain's quarters as another crash of thunder boomed overhead. Soren slammed the door shut and took a moment to ensure the latch was done properly. Then he was in front of Tanden again, holding him against the wall beside the door.

"What do you want?" Soren asked.

Tanden tilted his head. "Didn't I just—"

"No. That was vague. Tell me what you want."

Soren's commanding tone was hard to ignore. Tanden gave the question a moment of honest thought. "I want... you to do whatever you want. I know it's vague. But I trust you. Shut me up. Control me."

"That again?" Soren said, but it wasn't actually a question. The thoughtful look was back as he watched his own hands trail down Tanden's torso. The wet tunic might as well have not been there.

Soren seemed to come to the same conclusion. He grabbed the hem of the tunic and pulled it up. Tanden held up his arms, letting Soren pull off the tunic entirely. It landed with a heavy plop on the floor, already damp from the rainwater seeping under the door. Then Soren removed his own tunic.

Tanden could have stared at his tattoos forever without getting bored. Every time he saw them it felt like seeing them for the first time. His eyes got lost in the swirls, as if they were a maze with no exit.

Soren was obviously very used to the effect his tattoos had, because instead of trying to draw Tanden's attention away from them, he simply stepped closer and unbuckled Tanden's belt. He continued undressing them both as Tanden ran his fingers up and down his arm, following the lines.

It wasn't until Soren pushed him onto the bed that Tanden really snapped out of his adoring trance. And even then, it took him a moment longer to realize that Soren was digging a pair of manacles out of a nearby chest.

Tanden sat up as Soren approached the bed. "Soren."

Soren went still, the manacles dangling from one finger, swaying with the rocking of the ship. Even then, Tanden knew that Soren would toss the manacles aside if he asked him to. Instead, he tentatively nodded.

"All right."

Soren smiled but said nothing. He locked one manacle around the headboard, then waited. He was wearing the key on a chain around his neck. Tanden watched it gently sway back and forth across Soren's chest.

Then he offered Soren his left wrist. Soren locked the second manacle around it. He waited for Tanden to comfortably lie down before once again climbing on top of him, just as he had been in the rain.

Tanden had been locked to the bed once before, but that had been ages ago. Soren's first attempt at taking power. This was very different. Soren knew exactly what he was doing this time.

Except that all he was doing was staring down at Tanden. Tanden tried to think of something, anything, to say. Something charming or teasing, just something that would get Soren moving.

"Do you need—"

"No," Soren interrupted. "Don't talk." He leaned down for a kiss, and another. His attention dipped to Tanden's neck again, but this time he kissed and nibbled his way down to Tanden's shoulder. Then, Tanden felt Soren's teeth bite into his skin.

He flinched, more from surprise than pain, and his next breath hitched. Nobody had even bitten him before. But more surprising than the bite itself was the realization that it wasn't unpleasant.

Tanden took a shaky breath. "What are you—" Soren's hand was back over his mouth before he could finish his question.

"You wanted tough and dominant. You wanted me to control you." Soren kissed the spot. Tanden couldn't turn his head to see it, but he didn't think Soren had broken skin.

Soren's next words were deep and nearly sultry, hard to hear against the rain.

"I'm claiming what's mine."