“I… just don’t run your mouth.” Medith’s stomach tightened like a knotted cord, and old bruises of memory bloomed; in this world, three forbidden words hung like thunder. Speak them, and a palm—man or ghost—would fly from the dark.

“Okay, my bad. Back to it—do tsunamis really have a Collapse Point?” Haidra’s words rattled out like a drumline in rain. “What does a Collapse Point look like? What conditions do you watch for? When counts as damage? Does everything have one?”

The questions piled like stones in a basket. Medith winced; confusion wrapped her too, a fog on the river. She hadn’t even known what a Collapse Point was before this. Still, she had one ironclad shut-the-door line. “Sorry. That’s classified.”

Haidra’s face softened like clouds parting. “Right, that was over the line…” Disappointment drooped on her like wet cloth. A small storm sulked behind her eyes.

“Uh… don’t you have files? You could just read them…” Medith tried to ease the air, like smoothing wrinkled silk.

“They’re top secret. Only the King can break the seal.” Haidra’s posture went straight as a spear. Righteousness rang off her like steel, and Medith felt her ears burn.

Sais drifted back from who-knows-where, dressed to kill like moonlight on white jade. A short white skirt flashed like snow. White knee socks climbed like frost. Heeled sandals clicked like castanets. The line of her cleavage cut like a river through dunes. The crew’s eyes got hooked like fish and wouldn’t let go.

If not for Haidra’s long years steeped in silver-soaked battlefields and the gathered aura of a commander, no ordinary officer could have moved them. “Holy hell, are you going on a date? That outfit could start a wildfire.” Medith had to admit her own heart skipped like a startled deer. Sais’s face and figure were already illegal, and now she wore spring like perfume. Who could stand that?

Sais perched on the rail, legs long as river reeds. She crossed them with a lazy flourish. Her right hand pressed her hem like a secret; her left propped her cheek like a challenge. “What? Planning to sneak a bite behind the Queen’s back?”

“A bite?” Haidra blinked, confused, like a cat hearing thunder.

“Eat… eat immortal fruit. Immortal fruit.” Medith’s mind spun like a millwheel and landed on a story. “The Elf Clan has a rare fruit, sweet as sunrise. Even the Queen gets few. I hid a couple. She’s teasing me with it.”

Sais hopped down and looped pale arms around Medith’s neck like silk ribbons. “Yeah. Our Commander loves immortal fruit most. She hid two great big ones. When she wants a taste, she takes it. Right?”

“Hey!” Medith pushed Sais away, heat rising like steam. Sais’s breath had warmed her neck like candleflame. One more second and she feared she’d stop pretending and start doing.

Haidra stared between them, gears turning like cogs. Then her face went stiff as starch. “Ahem. I’ll go, uh, check on the helmsman. Why aren’t we underway yet? Honestly…” She fled like a spooked bird.

In her country, women loving women wasn’t unheard of. The King tolerated it, but didn’t endorse it. Haidra, though, felt prickly about it, like hair standing in cold wind. Famous last words.

Once Haidra was far enough to be a dot on the deck, Medith hissed, “What are you doing?”

“Doing you,” Sais purred, smile bright as a blade.

“You don’t have to scare her off like that.”

“Why? You don’t like it? Don’t like this, I can try another pose.”

“It’s autumn. Even the Elf Clan gets… you know?”

“You bet. Meow~ meow~ nyah~”

“Stop—stop…” Medith almost coughed blood; the joke hit like a slap. Sais decided she’d teased enough, then skipped away like a spring hare to find Milia and the others.

Medith slid down a pillar and sat, alone in the shade like a stone lantern. She drifted into “sage mode,” quiet as ash, for a long, unlit while.

…

“Hoist the sails—”

“Make way—”

“Creak—”

The ship finally moved, timbers singing like old bones. Medith rose like a king returning, brushed off the dust of her fast, and drank in the view. Clear blue water caught the sun like broken glass. Six great ships cut the endless sea like knives through silk. They were wooden, yes, but carved with flowing lines that ran along both flanks and the spine of the deck, patterns like waves and bark.

On the sails and banners bloomed a crimson Sixpetal Rose, bright as fresh blood on snow. Banners flew, and ten thousand would step back.

Sea breeze and sun stroked Medith’s face like warm palms. She let herself drown in it like tea leaves in hot water. When she came back to herself, dusk was already painting the sky in amber. The fleet had sailed a long while, yet the sea stayed the same blank scroll. For a heartbeat, she thought the ship hadn’t moved at all.

“Medith, food time. Seriously, how do you fall asleep standing?” Haidra laughed, a bell on a bright day. Medith laughed back, thin as paper, then followed her below. The lower deck opened wide as a hall. The corridor ran broad as a river. At the end waited a dining room, crowded with a hundred chairs and dozens of round tables, and a stream of pretty girls carrying dishes like a parade of swallows.

The crew laughed and chatted, their old battlefield aura folded away like armor in a chest. They felt like big-hearted heroes, not storm gods. But Haidra tugged Medith down another stair, to a corridor trimmed fine as a jewelry box. Ten-plus doors lined it like a row of lacquered fans. She led Medith to the corner room.

The girls were already in their seats, bodies buzzing like kettles, eyes glued to the dishes, wiping drool like thieves wiping oil.

“Medith’s here! Eat! Eat!” Milia sprang first, knife and fork flashing like twin daggers. She speared a slab of roast beef, pink and juicy as dawn. Her bite burst the trapped juices like a popped grape, splashing her front. “Mmmfff…” She didn’t care. She grabbed the whole steak bare-handed and shoved it in like a bandit.

“Is it that good?” Medith stared, thunderstruck. In her mind, Milia was always cool, wise, crisp as frost. Medith cut a piece of steak. She slid it into her mouth.

“Wow…” The word flew out like a skylark. Then she ate the way Milia ate, rain on bamboo. Iling was even bolder. Roast chicken, lamb shank, fish soup, suckling pig—she swept the table like a storm clearing leaves. Medith and Milia joined in, devouring like wind and cloud.

Phiby, Sais, and Haidra stared, eyes round as moons. The scene was beyond words.

“You… have never eaten this stuff?” Haidra sliced a piece of lamb, crisp outside, tender inside, like fire meeting dew.

Sais sipped a spoon of fish head soup, light as pearl. “Don’t blame them. Terrain, barriers, and nature fence us in. We rarely eat meat. They’re the odd ones out. Honestly, I wasn’t big on it either. Then I ran with Medith for a while, and here we are…”

Haidra’s eyes lit like lamps, as if she’d found a way to repay a debt. “Then let His Majesty send you a whole ship of our food. We can keep it fresh. If not, we’ll send our chefs.”

“No—”

“Yes yes yes!! Chefs and ingredients, all of it!” Milia’s eyes brimmed like spring wells.

“Battlefield Rule Three: strike first!” Medith snatched Phiby’s steak like a hawk takes a hare.

“Ah—ah—! Sister Medith is bullying me!” Phiby’s eyes pooled like glass. Then she lunged back, a kitten swatting a ribbon.

“You lot are so—”

“Strike first!”

“Hey, hey! Too far! You dare steal your big sister’s plate?!”

“Mine—mine—ha!”

“Ha ha ha…”

Haidra watched them tumble like children in sunlight. She set down her knife and fork as if laying down a sword. And a warm, full smile opened on her face like a blossom at dusk.