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With fervor.

His arms wrap around me, trapping me against him. One lands on the small of my back while the other presses between my shoulder blades. At first, I worry about what to do with my arms, but they find the most natural position around his neck. All the better to keep his mouth fused to mine.

He smells of salt and leather and soap. He tastes like water. He feels like death.

Yes, death. That sweet, sweet moment just before I end someone. When I know I’m relishing in vengeance yet again. He is that feeling magnified by a hundred. A sense of accomplishment and rightness andmine.

He is mine just as much as those lives I take.

But he burns with life. I feel the heat of him from my head to my toes. It’s more effective than any fire. Makes me feel alive in a way temperature can only hint at.

This is a dance I enthusiastically take part in. The dance of our lips to the music of our rapid breathing.

I know how to issue out threats with the merest of gestures, but I didn’t realize how my blood could pump faster when he moves his hands to my waist, moves his thumbs along the straight line of my stomach.

And when he lifts me onto the desk, I suck in a breath of air before he captures my lips again. His hands are on my legs now, widening them so he can slip between and press our bodies together once more.

That’s when I finally uncoil my arms from around him so I can do some exploring of my own. I wrap my hands around his biceps to feel the strength of his arms from atop his clothes. I clasp my ankles together behind his back, pull him flush against me, let my fingers roam up and down his back.

That night, no more knocks come to the door. No, everyone lets their captain get her rest.

Except that night, I get none.

I’m too busy kissing the man who loves me.

THE DRIFTA LOWER NETSinto the water to catch food for everyone during the journey. The Islanders crew the ship. Everyone does their part to help us reach home.

The below-freezing temperatures drift away until it’s only the normal cold of the north. We are close to reaching the Seventeen Isles. Perhaps only a day or two’s sail now.

The entire journey has been smooth and quick. Not a single skirmish to be found on or off the ship.

And then, “Ships on the horizon!” Roslyn’s shout rouses the whole crew to full alertness.

I join her up in the crow’s nest, Dimella’s spyglass in tow.

What I find brings a smile to my lips.

“Who is it?” Roslyn asks.

“It’s the queen. She came for us.”

“Looks like we didn’t need her help after all.”

“Nope. We saved ourselves in the end, but it’ll be nice to explain the situation to her sooner rather than later.”

Roslyn nods. “Do you think my papa is with her?”

“Only death would have stopped him from being on that ship.”

Roslyn thinks on this. “Suppose I best work on my apology, then.”

“You’ve had months to do so,” I point out.

“Aye, and I haven’t thought of anything yet.”

“Just try for honesty and sincerity.”

“Sincerity?”