“Ah, no,” Corra answered. “I mean yes, I was, but he’s not, see I have–we have–our own ship now and–”

But Quin had already moved on and was now admiring Finn, looking him up and down as one might examine a slice of meat they were about to purchase from a butcher. “Well aren’t you a tall drink of water,” she cooed affectionately. She brought a hand to his cheek. Finn did not seem perturbed.

“Your face looks familiar. We met before?”

“I’ve known Fiear for years, yeah.”

“No no no, not that.” She patted his face, twice. “It’s somethin’ else. What’d you say your name was?”

“Finnegan Riley.”

“Riley?” she repeated. “That’s right. Riley. I’d know those eyes anywhere.” She turned away and directed herself toward the bar in the corner of the room. “Can’t say I’m too fond of your father, Riley,” she said over her shoulder as she poured herself a refill from a crystal decanter.

Finn grinned. “Can’t say I am either, ma’am.”

Suddenly, Quin froze. “I ain’t no ‘ma’am’,” she said so coldly that Corra thought they were about to be kicked from the room.

But whether it was out of mercy or interest, the storm left as quickly as it had come and Quin gestured to the second sofa. “Get in here, you two. Have a seat. Tell me what I can do for ya.”

Terribly relieved, Corra did as she was told. She sunk into the couch as Quin leaned back on hers gracefully, stirring her drink and not looking at them.

“Well,” Corra began, as confidently as she could, “We were hoping to talk to you about those Society frigates we helped you steal.”

Quin paused her stirring and glanced up at her, raising a brow high on her forehead. “Look, sweetie, those arrangements were signed and sealed. You don’t feel you got your fair share, you take it to Soliveré, not me.”

“No, no it’s not that,” said Corra quickly. “We were just hoping to buy one from you.”

Without missing a beat, Quin asked, “Why?” so sharply, that Corra was taken aback. Unconsciously, she looked to Finn for help. But Quin went on. “You just said you had your own ship. Why you think you need one of mine?”

“Nah, we don’t need it,” said Finn, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. “The thing is — “

“Someone else wants it,” Quin guessed, cutting over him. “Someone else sent you here to buy it for them.”

Finn grinned slowly. “What makes you think that?”

“‘Cause you two been workin’ for Callahan and he’s been tryin’ to get one of those frigates all week,” she said bluntly. Even Finn went quiet with shock.

Quin, however, looked amused. “What? You don’t think I know what goes on in my city? Who’s doin’ business with who?” She sighed and shook her head before taking a sip of her drink. “Got a lot to learn, the both of ya.”

“That, I agree with,” said Finn. “Yeah, we’re here on behalf of Callahan to negotiate for the freighter.”

But she just shook her head. “Already told him I wasn’t interested.”

“But he’s willing to pay,” Corra pleaded. “Really well.”

“I want nothin’ to do with that man’s dirty money,” Quin growled, rolling her eyes.

“There’s something we can do to change your mind.”

“Sure ain’t,” she said shortly.

Corra felt her heart sinking. Every time they got one step forward there was something else standing in their way. But this time, she wasn’t willing to let it go. This time, she was going to fight.

“Please,” she begged suddenly, emotion pouring into her voice. “Please, you may not need his money, but we do. Our crew hasn’t been paid, our rations are running low, and if we can’t make this work, our ship’ll be grounded for good.” Her voice was cracking and she was doing her best to make water form in her eyes as she added, perhaps a little desperately, “He might even kill us if we fail.”

For a long moment, Quin was silent, watching Corra with the fascination of a woman watching an exotic creature she’d never seen before. Seriously? Corra thought, wiping the crocodile tears from her eyes. She was that heartless?

But finally, a smile formed on her face and a chuckle rolled from her throat. “Mighty convincing, sweetheart,” she congratulated. “I woulda left off that lie at the end, but you got some real talent there. Not my style, but it could do ya some good down the road.”

Corra smiled up at her and Finn asked, “Could it do her some good now?”

Quin laughed heartily and reached forward to pour two more drinks. Only when they had each taken theirs and taken a sip did she finally answer, “I like you two. You got spirit. Been a while since I’ve seen any of that around here.” She looked between the two of them and sighed. “Alright. I’ll sell that scumbag his ship.” Corra couldn’t stop the grin spreading over her face.

“But,” Quin added suddenly, “Only if you do me a favor first.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

It was the longest twenty minutes of his life. Fiearius sat beside Leta on the bed as she searched through the tablet in her hands. He’d flashed his Verdant chip to access the Society’s database and then sat back to let her read in privacy. She hadn’t said a word since. Her eyes just scanned the screen diligently, her eyes cold and her body still and slowly he’d become more and more worried of what it was exactly that she had found.

When Leta spoke at last, she sounded positively numb with shock, like moving her lips was an effort.

“Ella May-Adler,” she mumbled, her eyes on the screen. “Age 45. Director of the Department of Biology at Carmen University, Fall’s End, Vescent. Wife to Tritius Adler. Mother of Leta Ella Adler. Deemed a potential liability by the Vescentian Department of Internal Affairs on November 22, 1848.  Solution carried out by 2nd Division Agent Cartier November 25, 1848 by way of administering toxic substance … time of death, 10:02 PM.”

Fiearius felt his insides clench. He flicked his eyes at the screen, then up to Leta’s face. Her expression was empty.

“So it’s true. They had her killed.” She seemed frozen. Unmoving. Fiearius gently took the tablet from her hands, setting it out of sight. Then he pulled her hands into his.

“Why?” Her voice was hoarse with tears. “I can’t see why they would hurt her. She was such a good person. A teacher. How could she be a potential liability? I don’t even think she was involved in their politics. Why would they?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, tightening his hold on both of her wrists. Tears slid down her face, her eyes distant and out of focus. He’d never seen Leta look so lost.

“This whole time, I thought … “

Fiearius drew her in just as her face twisted with grief. She sank against his chest, her forehead against his neck while his arms wrapped around her. He pressed his lips into her hairline. He could think of nothing to say – no words seemed worthwhile.

But it was Leta who broke the silence. She lifted her head and spoke hoarsely, but burning with more determination than he’d ever heard.

“We have to get back at them, Fiear.” She shifted in his arms. “We have to.”

Before he could talk himself out of it, he said, “Actually. There’s something else. Something he said. That was…weird.”

Leta frowned.

“You should sit down,” he heard himself mumble. He put his hand on the curve of her shoulder and joined her on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t really know what this means,” he went on, trying to meet her gaze, which was boring straight into his face. “And I don’t know if it’s true, but I think you should hear it. Despite your father thinking otherwise.” His inhaled a deep breath. “He said he would never work for the Society again. Not after what they’ve threatened to do to you. And…what they did to your mother.”

Silence descended between them. Then Leta gave a horrible, sharp laugh. “What? My mom?”

“That’s…what he said, yeah,” he went on quietly. “I don’t — “

“He said something happened to my mom?” Her voice gave one definite shake. “But that’s not true. It was an accident, that’s how she died.”

“I–I’m not a hundred percent sure of anything, alright? All I know is that he said… “

Leta’s eyes were round and hollow. “That the Society killed her.”

Fiearius shut his mouth tightly. He didn’t have an answer to give.

Then Leta jumped to her feet. “And my dad never told me?” she breathed, her voice panicky as she wrung her hands together. “I can’t believe he — “

“I’m sure he was just trying to protect you.”

Leta spun around, throwing him an ice-cold glare that cut straight through his chest. “Don’t. Don’t defend him. Don’t — “

“I’m not,” he vowed quietly. “Trust me on that. I’m not.”

Leta shoved the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Fiear. This can’t be true. She took the wrong meds is all. There was an autopsy … “

At a Society hospital, Fiearius guessed silently.

Leta seemed to be thinking along the same lines. In a trembling voice, she spit out, “I don’t believe it, I can’t believe this,” and turned back to him, full of questioning.

“Did they really kill her?”

Fiearius stood slowly up to his feet and hazarded a step closer to her, his hand slipping to hold her waist. He could feel her shaking.

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “But if you want … we can find out.”

– – – – – — – – – – — – – – – –

The capital city of Archeti was just as miserable as Corra remembered. Sagging houses, overgrown brown lawns, and sticky humidity thickening the air. Corra walked alongside Finn, kicking aside gravel as they passed rows of rotting porches. Home sweet home, Finn had said cheerfully when they’d arrived.

They’d landed this morning to meet with Callahan. The meeting had gone about as well as she could have hoped for.

She knew Callahan thought nothing of her. Callahan thought Finn owned her. So while they had discussed their next job, Corra had refused to break eye contact, refused to let him think he (or Finn) had power over her. As often as Callahan’s words still burned in the back of her mind, she was determined now. She would prove him wrong.

In spite of it all, Callahan had been quick to reward the Beacon’s captains and offer them another job. A local one this time. Word had gotten out that a nearby Genisian gang lord had acquired a few Satieran frigates. And that Corra and Finn were acquainted with her.

“I want one of those ships,” Callahan had said, leaning back in his barstool. “Do you know how hard it is to get your hands on one of those?” He cast a bemused glance at Corra and she stared back solemnly. Little did he know that she had actually been involved in Quin getting her hands on those.

“I want one,” he said again. “And I’m willing to pay well.”

“Alright, sure,” Finn had said, relaxed and casual as always. “But why ya want us involved? Quin lives on the other side of the city. Why not go straight to her?”

“Unfortunately Ms. Utada and I don’t exactly see eye to eye,” Callahan mused, lifting his drink to his lips and looking up toward the ceiling. “She’s refused to meet with me. But you,” he looked back to Finn and Corra, “have some friends in common, do you not? Go to her. Convince her to make the trade with me. Do whatever it takes. And there’ll be more of that,” he gestured to the case of credits he’d just handed them for the last job, “headed your way.”

That was something that the Beacon couldn’t afford to say no to. So as low of a job as it was, they had accepted and now they were crossing town to pay a visit to Quinida Utada. Not that Corra minded. She’d always rather liked the woman, powerful and intimidating as she was. She had no idea if Quin felt the same.

“Y’think she’s gonna agree to this?” she asked Finn skeptically as she turned the corner, directing them toward Quin’s crumbling apartment building. “If she really doesn’t like Callahan that much? It’s not like we have that much sway with her. She may not even remember us.”

“Who could forget this face?” Finn scoffed, to which Corra snorted.

“A powerful Genisian gang lord, that’s who.”

“Yeah, but who your friends are say a lot about you. Utada trusts Fiear, Fiear trusts us. She’ll agree to hand over the ship.”

Corra had to shake her head in disbelief. “Who knew putting up with Fiearius for four years would be an asset to offer?”

“Hey.” Finn arched his eyebrows at her. His look was warm and inviting. “That’s not the only asset you have to offer.”

Corra couldn’t help it: she whacked him on the arm, but she laughed, too. Leave it to Finn to bring that up in such an elegant way. In fact, they hadn’t mentioned their tryst at all since that night. After it happened, Finn had gathered his clothes, kissed her on the cheek and left. He hadn’t even stayed the night. Exactly how she preferred it.

“I thought we agreed we aren’t bringing that up again,” she pointed out.

“You said I can’t bring it up in front of other people.”

“Right.” Corra slowed to a halt outside of Quin’s building. “And particularly not clients.”

“Never.”

“Good,” she decided promptly. She straightened herself up with importance. “Let’s at least try to be professional here.”

For one full second, they managed composure. Then they caught eyes and they snorted laughter. Professional. Right.

Minutes later, they crested the stair to the top floor of Quin’s building. As they passed through the door, two broad-shouldered men were leaving with their eyes down. Both of them were nursing bloody noses.

Corra exchanged a look of mild alarm with Finn. Well, hopefully Quin would feel more generous toward them …

Inside, Quin was lounging on her sofa, drinking from a clear martini glass and looking disinterested. Nearby, Aeneas  — her assistant — was wiping the blood off his hands. Corra knocked on the door. When neither of them looked up, Corra ventured, “Um–Ms. Utada? Is–is this a bad time?”

Quin lifted her eyes slowly. For one horrible moment, she gazed at them with absolutely no recognition in her face. Aeneas lowered the cloth from his hands and eyed them readily.

But finally — thank god —

“Oh I know you,” said Quin, standing and walking towards them. A smile was coming to her face. Despite being no taller than Corra, her presence was nearly toppling. Aeneas relaxed in the background. “You’re one of Soliveré’s, aren’t you? He back here already?”

“If I can track your ship, so can anyone else.” Adler put his drink down with a heavy thud. “And as of now there are new threats. I don’t care how clever you think you are with your ‘tactics’ — you’re putting Leta in danger.”

“Well sorry, buddy, but we needed fuel. And this port was the safest bet, all there is to it. Don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“Not leave her wandering alone, for a start.”

“She can take care of herself, y’know. She knows how to use a gun. She doesn’t need me nor want me to babysit her.”

“No one’s doubting her abilities,” Adler snapped, his gaze thinning dangerously.

Fiearius frowned. Well, he couldn’t exactly expect Leta’s father to like him, but even this felt unfair.

“So what’s your deal anyway?” he asked suddenly, veering the conversation away from how incompetent he apparently was. “Last I heard, you were helping bust me out of HQ in Paradiex. Which I suppose I should thank you for, by the way.”

“Don’t fool yourself.” Adler nearly smiled. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“I never assumed otherwise,” Fiearius muttered. “Still — that’s an act of high treason. Yet I know there’s a nice thick librera somewhere under that suit that cost more than my ship. So tell me. Whose side are you on anyway?”

Adler glanced at him in annoyance, as if he were a pesky fly. “No one’s side.”

A generic answer, and not one Fiearius found satisfying. “I don’t buy that. If you were at all loyal to them still,” he muttered, “wouldn’t you have just turned around and given me back to the Council again? I’m sure I’d be a nice bargaining chip in getting your daughter out of their minds.”

To Fiearius’ shock, Adler said simply, “Yes, I’ve attempted making that deal. You for her safety. The Council wasn’t interested in the negotiation.”

Somewhat stunned, Fiearius moved his eyes away. “Okay. I stand corrected. I guess you are still with them…”

With a snarl in his voice, Adler said, “I would never work for the Society again. Ever. Not after what they’ve done to my wife and threatened to do to my daughter.”

The comment was so swift and biting, Fiearius almost missed it. Almost. After a moment, he swung his eyes back to him.  “Hang on — your wife?”

But Adler had gone suspiciously quiet. He was holding his glass near his lips — it was shaking slightly in his hand.

Meanwhile, Fiearius was stunned. Leta had told him her mother had died when she was sixteen. Of an accidental overdose. Mixed medications. A mistake. A tragic mistake. But now —

“The Society killed her?” Fiearius breathed, hoping to the gods this was untrue.

But to Fiearius’ horror, Adler muttered, “You can’t tell her,” and downed the rest of his glass and swallowed. It occurred to Fiearius, suddenly, that this man must have had a drinking problem. How else could he bear to keep secrets like this from his daughter?

“Leta doesn’t know,” he muttered darkly. “She doesn’t need to. Don’t tell her a goddamn thing about it — “

“No way. I’m not going to be the one who keeps secrets like that from her.”

“I’m certain you keep plenty from her. Just add this to the list. This is for her own good. Her own well-being — “

Fiearius opened his mouth, angry and prepared to argue, but a voice arrived in his ear. It was Cyrus over the COMM.

“Hey,” said Cyrus, his voice coming in over the static. Fiearius touched the piece in his ear, annoyed by the interruption.

“So. I’m in this store. And this woman came up to me and started talking to me about ships and–”

“Cy, aren’t you a little old to be asking for flirting advice?” Fiearius growled. He could feel Adler watching him closely.

“No no no, it wasn’t that — “ Cyrus went on. “No, she started asking me questions. Weird questions.” He hesitated. “About Leta.”

Fiearius’ eyes widened and at once, he looked to Adler. They met each others’ stares for only a moment, both understanding exactly what needed to be done: find Leta. And quickly.

Adler only paused to slide a stack of credits onto the countertop before he too stalked from his seat and the two of them fled for the door. Without even speaking, they headed their separate ways: they’d cover more ground that way.

As he ran down the hallway, he pushed his COMM. “Cy. What did she look like?”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

It wasn’t exactly her favorite errand, but anything to help Amora, Leta thought, as she stood in the aisle of a grocery store, regarding a mammoth-sized wall of canned goods. Hopefully, volunteering for the re-stocking job would prevent Amora from asking more nosey questions about her love life. (“You don’t actually like the captain, do you, dear?” she inquired worriedly that morning over breakfast.)

Just as Leta picked a can from the shelf, a friendly voice chimed in her ear.

“I’d go with the blue label,” said the woman behind her, tilting her head to the side. Her auburn ponytail swung sideways in a friendly kind of way. “Doesn’t spoil as quick.”

“Oh — really?” said Leta warmly. “I don’t know anything about cooking. So thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Leta piled a few cans in her arm, and the woman continued.

“Sure as hell, keeping food stocked is a problem we all face out here, huh? Ain’t easy to make it to port that often.”

“No, it’s really not,” Leta agreed, and she was just leaving the aisle when she sensed the woman following on her heels.

“You been a spacefarer long?”

Leta spared her a short, sideways look. “Not long, no.”

“It  took me a long time to get used to the food,” the woman laughed. “That, more than anything. You miss bein’ on-planet?”

The woman was still following at her side. Her warning instincts were kicking in, so Leta purposely veered toward the front, the busier part of the store.

In an indifferent voice, she said, “Sometimes.”

“I miss it every day,” the woman went on, unphased. “The food, the stability, all of it … “ Suddenly, she stepped forward and cut in front of Leta, her eyes gazing hard onto her face. “But — duty calls.”

Leta stopped short, suddenly on guard.

The woman’s hand moved to her hip — to retrieve a weapon? —  but then, a tremendous crash filled the store. In a flash, a bottle of liquor had slammed against the back of the woman’s head, her eyes slid out of focus, and she dropped to the ground at Leta’s feet. Patrons screamed around them and the cans dropped out of Leta’s arm in shock.

It was Fiearius. Of course. He stood there with the unbroken neck of the bottle in his hand over his head, and his expression looked, actually, somewhat guilty.

“My mother always said not to hit people smaller than me,” he muttered, his eyes on the woman. But then he looked up at Leta. “We need to get out of here, c’mon.”

He dropped the bottle’s handle, seized her wrist and turned for the door, yelling “Sorry about that!” over his shoulder to the owner. Patrons rushed out of their way as Leta darted after him, shocked but somehow still unsurprised by what had just occurred.

She knew she was being closely followed. This simply confirmed it.

“That woman,” Leta called, “was she a — “

“Yep!” called Fiearius.

“Here?”

“Looks that way.”

“Are there more?”

“Probably!”

One hand still circled around her wrist, Fiearius stalked through the sea of people, parting the crowd for them. His other hand jumped to the device in his ear. “Attention Dionysian crew. Code green. Get back to the ship for immediate take-off!”

“I’m not going to say I told you so,” said Leta darkly, throwing Fiearius a haughty look, which he returned with a small, wry grin.

Together they crested a flight of stairs to get to the docking area. It was only when they’d made it to the Dionysian’s ramp that Fiearius finally let go of her hand.

Confused crew members filled the cargo bay, readying for take-off, including Cyrus, who looked pale and tremendously relieved to see them.

“Seal her up,” Fiearius ordered as he marched past toward the bridge. Cyrus quickly went to the door controls, and Leta crossed over the room to help him — but something over her shoulder caught her attention, and she wheeled around.

Far away in the bustling sea of people Leta saw a flash of gray hair, a stiff black suit, and an aged, familiar face gazing straight at her. His expression was sullen. She only had a few seconds to see him before the ramp doors closed, sealing them inside.

Her heart was beating hard. Shock electrified her veins. Her father?

“Look, you seem like a nice guy, as far as guys who sit in bars and commiserate about relationships with strangers go,” he said sharply. “But that? That’s none of your godsdamned business.” He raised his brows at the man, indicating this conversation was over and turned back to his drink.

And for a moment, Fiearius thought it was. Silence fell between them, until —

“But she’s right,” said the man after a moment. “Bounty hunters flood this port.”

The hair on the back of Fiearius’ neck was tingling. He felt himself straighten up, ready for wherever this was going.  “If I wanted your opinion I would have asked for it.”

“But you’re willing to put her in danger, aren’t you?”

“Don’t think for one second I can’t protect my crew.”

“While you sit here at a bar?” he pressed. “Don’t you know how easy it would be for someone to just take her away from — “

Fiearius shot up to his feet, suddenly flooded with adrenaline. He seized the man’s collar and dragged him closer until they were face to face.

“Is that a fucking threat?” he breathed. “Listen you son of a bitch, I don’t know what he’s paying you, but I guarantee it’s not worth crossing me. You go anywhere near her, I will happily rip you to shreds, dump the pieces off that balcony and watch the blood splatter eight decks down.” He shoved the man back toward his seat, breathing hard. “And you can tell those other bounty hunting shits the same,” he added, stepping back toward the door.  He had to go find Leta. Now.

The man did not look shocked. He did not look scared or even alarmed. He pushed himself back up to his feet, his eyes sharp, expression darkened with anger.

“I’m not a goddamn bounty hunter,” he growled, and suddenly Fiearius realized what was so familiar about him. “I’m her father.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

As he lingered in the back of the shop, Cyrus turned the hefty metal casing over in his hand to look at the price tag. What he saw made him grimace. That much? For such an innocuous little device? It almost didn’t seem worth it. But it would fix that clattering problem the Beacon was having.

And after all Addy had been doing for him lately, helping with the huge influx of consulting work he had coming his way, it only seemed right he could do her such a simple favor. She deserved it. And he had sought out this particular machine shop at the very top of the port specifically to buy it for her. He had to get it, no matter the cost.

But before he could make a final decision, suddenly there was a voice behind him. He jumped in surprise. He hadn’t even thought there was anyone else in here.

“You got a 500V?”

He turned around. The young woman was about an inch taller than him, with thick auburn hair pulled into a ponytail high on her head. She smiled at him kindly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare ya. I was just lookin’ at that part in your hand and assumed you must have one. That thing only works in the 500’s.”

“Oh,” said Cyrus blankly. Awkwardness washed over him. He’d never been good at talking to pretty girls, let alone pretty girls he didn’t know. Hurriedly, he looked away from her and down at the part in his hand. “Yeah. It does. But oh. No. I don’t have one.” He laughed once. “It’s for a friend.”

The woman nodded. Her eyes moved away, her attention started to drift and though he didn’t know why (seriously, why did he care?), he found himself suddenly striving to get it back.

“I wish I had a 500 though,” he blurted, internally kicking himself for being so pathetic. Are you really that starved for female attention? he asked himself. “My friend’s is–well, working on it is a dream, specially compared to my own ship.”

“Oh yeah?” She actually looked interested. “What do you have?”

“It’s a–uh–TRC 203?” She tilted her head in confusion. “Yeah, I know, it’s kind of obscure. No one really flies them anymore. For good reason. You’d know it if you saw it though. Big old rusty thing parked up on deck 42? Can’t miss it, it’s an eyesore.”

She nodded thoughtfully, but now she was eying him with a certain intensity Cyrus couldn’t quite place.

“Big crew?” she asked.

“Eh, not really. A captain, an engineer, a doctor, cook, some six or seven hands.”

“And they’re not here with you?”

Cyrus frowned. What a strange question. “Mm, nope. They’re all out doing their own errands I think. We were running low on rations.”

And then things just got stranger. “See, I ask ‘cause I could really use a doctor. You said you had one right? D’ya know where she is? I’d love to talk to her.”

A frown creased Cyrus’ brow. He had never mentioned that the Dionysian’s doctor was a ‘she.’ A spark of panic started to rise in him but he somehow managed to suppress it as he answered, “I don’t know, I’m afraid.”

“Shopping for groceries you said?” she pressed on. “Or do you think she’s back at the ship by now? Deck 42?”

Now that panic was raging like a fire. Still, he just shrugged helplessly. “Sorry, I really have no idea.” And then a seed of bravery. “But I know the port has a med station. Maybe you could check that out. Deck 20.”

The woman eyed him one moment longer, her eyes growing cold.

Finally, she muttered, “Hmm yeah. Maybe I’ll head there.” She looked him up and down once before remarking, “Thanks,” and sauntering from the shop.

Which was the precise moment when Cyrus gave way to his panic. He dropped the part onto the shelf, rushed towards the backroom, as far away from the woman as he could get, and pressed the button on his COMM.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“Does your daughter know you’re here?” asked Fiearius, his voice strained with desperation. He dropped his forehead into his palm and stared at the man to his side. Now that he knew, he noticed all the resemblances: the man had a thick Vescentian accent. Leaf-green eyes like Leta’s, though his lacked the usual brightness. And an even icier demeanor than his daughter.

Adler raised a finger to the bartender to refresh his drink. Then he said coldly, “Of course she doesn’t. I reach out to her only when absolutely necessary. Anything else will put her in needless danger.” He shot him a rather pointed look, rather like Fiearius was the definition of needless danger.

“And you found us…how exactly?” Fiearius prompted slowly.

Adler snorted into his drink, full of bitterness. “You really think I don’t keep close tabs on her? I’ve been tracking you since Archeti. Which was one of the most foolish moves I’ve ever witnessed. Even from you.”

Fiearius’ mouth inched toward a humorless smile. “Again with the unwanted opinions. So are you here just to ream me for everything you think I’m doing wrong, or what?”

“I didn’t intend to speak with you now, or ever, if possible,” he said in a clipped tone, tilting his glass toward his mouth. “But now that you’re here, I can ask you exactly why the hell you thought it would be safe to dock your ship at one of the busiest ports on this side of the span.”

“Because I’d much rather the Dionysian be one of a thousand docked ships than one of eight,” said Fiearius darkly, not particularly in the mood to explain himself to this man. “We fly under a false flag and hide in plain sight. It’s what we’ve always done. It’s what we’ll keep doing. Worked so far.”