“I do not understand,” Temeraire said. “Vindicatus said that it was prodigiously nice for men, and also desirable, for otherwise they might like to get married, and that did not sound very pleasant at all. Although if you very much wished to, I suppose I would not mind.” He made this last speech with very little sincerity, looking at Laurence sideways, as if to gauge the effect.

Laurence’s mirth and embarrassment both faded at once. “I am afraid you have been given some very incomplete knowledge,” he said gently. “Forgive me; I ought to have spoken of these matters to you before. I must beg you to have no anxiety: you are my first charge and will always be, even if I should ever marry, and I do not suppose I will.”

He paused a moment to reflect if speaking further would give Temeraire more worry, but in the end he decided to err on the side of full confidence, and added, “There was something of an understanding between myself and a lady, before you came to me, but she has since set me at liberty.”

“Do you mean she has refused you?” Temeraire said, very indignantly, by way of demonstrating that dragons might be as contrary as men. “I am very sorry, Laurence; if you like to get married, I am sure you can find someone else, much nicer.”

“This is very flattering, but I assure you, I have not the least desire to seek out a replacement,” Laurence said.

Temeraire ducked his head a little, and made no further demurrals, quite evidently pleased. “But Laurence—” he said, then halted. “Laurence,” he asked, “if it is not a fit subject, does that mean I ought not speak of it anymore?”

“You must be careful to avoid it in any wider company, but you may always speak of anything you like to me,” Laurence said.

“I am merely curious, now, if that is all there is in Dover,” Temeraire said. “For Roland is too young for whores, is she not?”

“I am beginning to feel the need of a glass of wine to fortify myself against this conversation,” Laurence said ruefully.

Thankfully, Temeraire was satisfied with some further explanation of what the theater and concerts might be, and the other attractions of a city; he turned his attention willingly to a discussion of the planned route for their patrol, which a runner had brought over that morning, and even inquired about the possibility of catching some fish for dinner. Laurence was glad to see him so recovered in spirit after the previous day’s misfortunes, and had just decided that he would take Roland to the town after all, if Temeraire did not object, when he saw her returning in the company of another captain: a woman.

He had been sitting upon Temeraire’s foreleg in what he was abruptly conscious was a state of disarray; he hurriedly climbed down on the far side so that he was briefly hidden by Temeraire’s body. There was no time to put back his coat, which was hung over a tree limb some distance away in any case, but he tucked his shirt back into his trousers and tied his neckcloth hastily back round his neck.

He came around to make his bow, and nearly stumbled as he saw her clearly; she was not unhandsome, but her face was marred badly by a scar that could only have been made by a sword; the left eye drooped a little at the corner where the blade had just missed it, and the flesh was drawn along an angry red line all the way down her face, fading to a thinner white scar along her neck. She was his own age, or perhaps a little older; the scar made it difficult to tell, but in any case she wore the triple bars which marked her as a senior captain, and a small gold medal of the Nile in her lapel.

“Laurence, is it?” she said, without waiting for any sort of introduction, while he was still busy striving to conceal his surprise. “I am Jane Roland, Excidium’s captain; I would take it as a personal favor if I might have Emily for the evening—if she can possibly be spared.” She glanced pointedly at the idle cadets and ensigns; her tone was sarcastic, and she was clearly offended.

“I beg your pardon,” Laurence said, realizing his mistake. “I had thought she wanted liberty to visit the town; I did not realize—” And here he barely caught himself; he was quite sure they were mother and daughter, not only because of the shared name but also a certain similarity of feature and expression, but he could not simply make the assumption. “Certainly you may have her,” he finished instead.

Hearing his explanation, Captain Roland unbent at once. “Ha! I see, what mischief you must have imagined her getting into,” she said; her laugh was curiously hearty and unfeminine. “Well, I promise I shan’t let her run wild, and to have her back by eight o’clock. Thank you; Excidium and I have not seen her in almost a year, and we are in danger of forgetting what she looks like.”

Laurence bowed and saw them off; Roland hurrying to keep up with her mother’s long, mannish stride, speaking the whole time in obvious excitement and enthusiasm, and waving her hand towards her friends as she went away. Watching them go, Laurence felt a little foolish; he had at last grown used to Captain Harcourt, and should have been able to draw the natural conclusion. Excidium was after all another Longwing; presumably he too insisted on a female captain just as did Lily, and with his many years of service, his captain could scarcely have avoided battle. Yet Laurence had to own he was surprised, and not a little shocked, to see a woman so cut about and so forward; Harcourt, his only other example of a female captain, was by no means missish, but she was still quite young and conscious of her early promotion, which perhaps made her less assured.

With the subject of marriage so fresh in his mind after his discussion with Temeraire, he also could not help wondering about Emily’s father; if marriage was an awkward proposition for a male aviator, it seemed nearly inconceivable for a female one. The only thing he could imagine was that Emily was natural-born, and as soon as the idea occurred to him he scolded himself to be entertaining such thoughts about a perfectly respectable woman he had just met.

But his involuntary guess proved entirely correct, in the event. “I am afraid I have not the slightest idea; I have not seen him in ten years,” she said, later that evening; she had invited him to join her for a late supper at the officers’ club after bringing Emily back, and after a few glasses of wine he had not been able to resist making a tentative inquiry after the health of Emily’s father. “It is not as though we were married, you know; I do not believe he even knows Emily’s name.”

She seemed wholly unconscious of any shame, and after all Laurence had privately felt any more legitimate situation would have been impossible. But he was uncomfortable nevertheless; thankfully, though she noticed, she did not take any offense at it for herself, but rather said kindly, “I dare say our ways are still odd to you. But you can marry, if you like, it is not held against you at all in the Corps. It is only that it is rather hard on the other person, always taking second place to a dragon. For my own part, I have never felt anything wanting; I should never have desired children if it were not for Excidium’s sake, although Emily is a dear, and I am very happy to have her. But it was sadly inconvenient, for all that.”

“So Emily is to follow you as his captain?” Laurence said. “May I ask you, are the dragons, the long-lived ones, I mean, always inherited this way?”

“When we can manage it; they take it very hard, you see, losing a handler, and they are more likely to accept a new one if it is someone they have some connection to, and whom they feel shares their grief,” she said. “So we breed ourselves as much as them; I expect they will be asking you to manage one or two for the Corps yourself.”

“Good Lord,” he said, startled by the idea; he had discarded the thought of children with his plans of marriage, from the very moment of Edith’s refusal, and still further gone now that he was aware of Temeraire’s objections; he could not immediately imagine how he might arrange the matter.