"As long as we keep our voices down, it shouldn't be an issue, Steadholder," Ehren said. "We're at sea. The salt spray makes it all but impossible to work with air furies. Anyone who wants to eavesdrop will have to do it physically."

"He's right," Araris said in a quiet voice. "And don't pay any attention to Demos's sense of humor, Isana. As long as we can keep getting a little water into the captain here, he'll be fine. He'll adjust to the sea eventually."

Kitai made a sound of disapproval that was not quite offensively rude. She had considerably refined her manners during her time in Alera, Tavi thought, but even so the lingering fatigue of having her arm crafted whole again, plus her concern for him, was wearing on her more and more heavily.

"When?" Isana asked quietly. "We've been at sea for four days. How long will it take?"

"As long as it takes," Araris said, his voice patient. Tavi heard the singulare rise and move toward the cabin's door. He paused to put a reassuring hand on

Kitai's shoulder. When Tavi opened his eyes to look up at him, Araris gave him one of his brief, rare smiles. "For what it's worth, I knew another man who was a bad sailor once."

Tavi felt his mouth twitch, but that was as close as he could get to smiling back.

"I'm going to get some sleep now," Araris said. "I'll sit with him tonight."

Kitai glowered up at the singulare as if she would object, but she did not. Tavi supposed that after four sleepless days at his side, the bags beneath her eyes had finally begun to outweigh her pride.

Tavi spent the rest of the day fighting his rolling stomach and giving considerable thought to blissfully brief suicide. He drifted into a sleep broken by disorienting dreams and waves of particularly acute nausea. By the time the daylight had begun to fade, Kitai lay curled up on the lower half of his bunk, sound asleep.

With Araris's help, Tavi staggered out onto the deck once night had fallen. Most of the crew sought their bunks and hammocks after the sun set, and only a few remained on deck. Tavi stretched out at the base of the mainmast, where he hoped the rocking of the ship would be least felt. He watched as the stars began to appear on a fine, clear night, and dropped into a true sleep for the first time in days.

When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was a small but steadily growing pang of hunger in his belly. The night had grown pleasantly chill, though no less clear, and when he sat up he was nearly dizzied by a startling lack of disorientation. His nausea had faded to a faint echo of itself. He stood up slowly and stretched.

"Try to focus on the stars, or else the horizon," said a soft voice at the side of the ship. "It can help, sometimes."

Tavi padded over the deck and stood at the rail with Araris. The singulare stared out at the water, his eyes focused into the distance, and Tavi was content to stand beside him in silence for a long while. The sea rushed against the ship, a constant murmur, and their passage left trails of luminescence in their wake. Tavi turned his face into the breeze, tried to ignore the sore muscles of his stomach, and savored the absence of illness.

Araris broke the silence. "Have you talked to her yet?"

"Not really," Tavi replied. "Hasn't been time."

"She loves you. Very much."

"I know," Tavi said quietly. "But…"

"That doesn't make it any easier," Araris supplied.

Tavi nodded.

"Do you understand why we did what we did?"

He nodded again. "That doesn't make it much easier, either."

Araris stared out at the waters. Then he pushed away from the railing and padded away. He returned and offered Tavi a flat, rectangular piece of what looked something like very dry bread.

"Ship's crackers," he supplied. "Good for a sour stomach."

Tavi nodded his thanks and gnawed at a corner of the bread. He'd broken stones softer than the stuff, but with enough work he managed to get a few gravelly bits to break off, and they softened in his mouth as he chewed. They tasted a little stale, but his stomach began to feel steadier after only a few mouthfuls.

Between bites, Tavi asked, "What was he like?"

Araris's head turned toward him in the darkness. Tavi could see nothing of his expression-only a glitter from his eyes. Araris stared at him for a time, then turned his face back to the sea. "Arrogant," he said, finally. "Impatient. Short-tempered." His teeth gleamed. "And compassionate. Intelligent. Generous. Fearless." Araris sighed. "Too much so."

Tavi said nothing, waiting.

"Septimus was never satisfied with things the way they were. Everywhere he went, in everything he did, he tried to leave a place better than when he found it. When he saw injustice, he worked to set it right. When he found victims, he offered them succor-then he avenged them. If he sank his teeth into an argument, he'd hold on until he'd won it or it died. I never saw him speak an unkind word to a child, strike a dog, or take spurs to his horse.

"When he fought, it was like a thunderstorm going to war, and I never saw his better with a blade. We would have taken a spear in the heart for him-we, his singulares. We all thought he would become a great First Lord. As great as the original Gaius Primus. He was one of the first Citizens to speak out publicly against slavery, you know."

Tavi shook his head. "I didn't."

"He had a habit of making allies of his enemies," Araris said. "You should have seen the brawls he had with Antillus Raucus at the Academy-but they ended as friends. He had… a kind of grace, about him. He could face a man down without taking his pride. If he'd lived, he would have…" Araris's voice closed off for a moment. He cleared his throat, and said, "Everything would be different."

"If," Tavi said. The word carried far more weight than it should have- bitterness, longing, sadness.

Araris squinted out at the ocean. "And he loved your mother more than air and light. He defied his father's direct command when he wed her. Gaius had other ideas about who would make him a suitable wife."

"Do…" Tavi cleared his throat. "Do you think he would have been… a good father?"

"He would have loved you," Araris said at once. He frowned. "But…"

"He would have been busy making things better?"

Araris was silent for a long time. "Perhaps," he said, the word coming out reluctantly. "Great furies know there was distance enough between him and his own father. But perhaps not. Children can change a man like few other things can."

Araris offered Tavi a flask, and Tavi accepted it. More tepid water, but at least he felt like it would stay down this time.

"Have you given any thought to what we're doing?" Araris asked.

Tavi frowned. "Of course."

Araris shook his head. "I know you've been planning it. You've thought about what we're doing, and how. You've thought about what was to be gained or lost. But I wonder if you've given much consideration to the why of it."

Tavi felt a flash of uncertainty, followed hard by anger. He swallowed both with the next mouthful of water, and said, "Because it's going to save lives."

"It might," Araris said, nodding. "But… I wonder if you have the right to make this choice."

"I'd approach Gaius," Tavi said, "but for whatever reason, he's out of reach. I already tried to contact him via my coin. Ehren, too."

"From what you told me, you already did ask him about seeking a diplomatic solution," Araris said. "And he flatly denied you."

"That was before he knew all the details."

"Which gives you the right to decide policy that's going to have a great many repercussions? Leaving aside the legality of what you're doing, what you're attempting is going to be viewed very badly from a great many directions, even if you're totally successful."