Takio shifted, all but squirming in his seat. His eyes were latched onto the shores. “Can’t we land?” he said, nodding towards the distant sands. “We’ve got to be close.”

Inwardly, Natalin sighed. She’d known the peace and quiet couldn’t last forever. Conversations had been creeping up as the minutes dragged on, whispered arguments and jabs back and forth between the three. With all of her focus going towards navigating the seas, she hadn’t paid them any mind.

But the glare he’d directed her way was impossible to ignore. Sighing, she tilted her head towards the coast. “We’re still approaching Lohova, Charred. Be patient.”

“We can walk the rest of the way,” he muttered.

She arched one eyebrow, her glee rising. Her arm was still straight out behind her, clutching the staff that dragged as a rudder off the stern. They skimmed over the waves, bouncing to and fro with every swell. Despite the speed they’d picked up and the massive expanse of the oceans around them, she couldn’t find it in herself to be worried. “Oh? Is the trip bothering you?”

The Charred. Seasick. Somewhere behind her, a half-forgotten touch on the back of her mind, she could feel an amusement that was entirely Efren’s. He was watching. Of course he was watching.

Any irritation she might have felt at the realization paled at the excitement of being away - of being so far from Aramoor that she couldn’t even see the peaks of the watchtowers.

“I’d just prefer to walk,” Takio said, turning away. He could hide his face all he wanted, but the tips of his ears glowed red.

In truth, they were going faster than was wise. With the Waterbinder’s magic at her fingertips, she had them going at a frightening pace. Only the tips of the waves brushed against the keel - and even then, it seemed like a wave in three slipped past without touching them at all.

Acquiescing, she relaxed a touch, letting the bottom of the boat settle into the water. A shiver ran down her spine as she felt a touch of damp at the small of her back, and realized she was sweating. “There are shoals around the coast, I’m afraid,” she said, focusing on what she knew rather than her new worries about dwindling mana. “It’s not safe to track any closer - and finishing the trip to Lohova through the marshland would take longer than I believe you’d like to spend.”

“Sit down and be quiet,” Antiel said, wrapping an arm around Takio’s neck. The Charred twisted, trying to push him off.

“Sit still,” Kassien moaned. They froze, looking towards the dark-haired man - who sat hunched over, a hand pressed to his face.

“Don’t fall out when we’re going this fast,” Natalin muttered, glaring at the two.

That was all it took. They flopped back into their seats, gripping the gunwales with a bit more fervor.

She sighed, leaning back against the wood. If she squinted, peering through the hazy light that surrounded them, she could see the start of what looked like buildings ahead. They were getting close, then. Good.

“You live in Ranctur Peak, then, right?” Natalin said abruptly, glancing back to the Narai. She wasn’t sure why she’d asked - but this was her first real encounter with them where she could actually talk, and not be glared at by the steward for behaving improperly. “W-What’s...I mean, what’s that like?”

Kassien didn’t say a word. He just huddled a little lower, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Open your eyes,” she said, leaning closer. “Watch the horizon.”

He made a face at her, scowling darkly, but did as she asked.

“Ranctur Peak?” Takio said, shaking his head derisively. “We live in the barrows. Where else would we come from?”

“I-I don’t know,” Natalin muttered. “It’s a big godsdamned country, isn’t it?”

“The Flameweaver’s Sanctuary is located beneath the lava tubes of the barrows,” Antiel said, with a tolerant look towards his charge. “So….yes.”

Natalin shifted, feeling the way the watercraft moved with her. “So, it’s-”

“It’s rocky,” Takio said, folding his arms. He faced forward - and his eyes were glued to the horizon, just like Kassien’s. “And tall. And there are more forests, not all this horrible grass. And you can see forever, not like this damned foggy land.”

“Oh.” Natalin pursed her lips, feeling the silence drag out again. She should have known all that, she knew - and yet, she had to say something. With every mile that passed under their keel, she could feel her arms burn a little more. Her head ached, thrumming with every bounce and blow against the waves.

The end was in sight, though. They rounded the last corner, saltwater flying from their bow in a glistening arc - and Lohova stretched out before them.

Natalin drank in the sight, the first Ondrian village she’d seen outside her own Aramoor. Her eyes traced the buildings, low-set and thatched. There was a dock, just the capital’s port, but it was nearly empty. The boats that remained were all low-slung fishing skiffs, not the tall-masted ships she’d seen docked in Efren’s city.

The Narai shifted, straightening in their seats. Little by little their murmured conversations died away until the only noise was the rush of water against wood. Takio’s eyes were wide, no matter how composed he tried to act.

Natalin smiled tightly, clamping down harder, and began the long, slow process of guiding them into the shallows.

---

Takio sighed. The sound was packed full of exhaustion and relief in equal portions.

Natalin glanced up, taking her eyes off the length of rope she was still tying around the dock’s posts. The Charred slipped off up the dock, meandering this way and that like his legs were jelly underneath him. Kassien didn’t look much better. Only Antiel was at all composed, grinning to himself and patting the white-haired teenager on the shoulder.

Cries split the air, drawing her attention towards the land. There were other people, she saw, emerging from their homes and the shelters built around the dock. All of them stared openly, their eyes fixed on Takio.

Well, they were here so that the Ondrians could meet the new Ascended, Natalin knew. She straightened, bracing her staff against the ground and pushing hard. Takio had vanished into a tight-packed circle of Ondrians by the time she looked back towards him.

A chuckle rippled out of her throat. Her people weren’t afraid in the slightest, it seemed. Feeling every twitch and pull of her muscles as she moved, she started up the dock towards them.

“Who’s that?”

“Would you move? I can’t-”

“Stop pushing!”

“Out of the way!”

Her feet hit the hard-packed earth of land, her gaze still fixed on her counterpart and his plight. He was grinning, at least. She wasn’t at all convinced by the expression. His eyes flicked back and forth, like he was searching for some sort of threat, and his skin was even paler than usual.

A hand landed on her shoulder. Natalin squeaked, jumping.

“Easy, there,” a voice said, rugged and time-worn. She stiffened, fighting for control of her own limbs, and twisted.

A man smiled back at her, his hand sliding free. His close-cropped hair had probably been black once, but only glimmers of it showed behind the silver.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered out, feeling her face warm. “I didn’t mean to-”

“The apologizes are mine, Tideborn,” he said, a hint of formality sliding into his tone.

Her lips parted gently. He chuckled. “I’m assuming I have the honor of addressing our lord’s newest. Yes?”

“Yes,” she echoed, before catching herself and shaking her head. “I-I mean, yes. Of course. My name is Natalin. And this is-”

“Oh, I can guess,” the man said, folding his arms and turning back towards Takio. “A Presentation already, hmm?”

More and more people were starting to gather around them. Another man crept over to the two of them. One hand clutched an elegantly worked cane, and his steps were short, but his every movement was animated. “You see that, Mullan?” the newcomer said. His eyes twinkled. “Looks just like-”

“Naorin. Yes, I heard what Rammil said. Don’t know that I see it.”

“What? It’s the eyes, you damned old-”

The man who’d grabbed her cleared his throat pointedly - Mullan, she assumed. The newcomer flinched, looking to him, and then looked past. His eyes locked onto Natalin like he’d only then seen her. “O-Oh.”

“My name is Natalin,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. She had the feeling that the phrase was going to be one she wound up saying a lot.

“T-Tideborn,” the old man said, glancing to Mullan. “W-Well. Anyway. I was just thinking-”

“Don’t push yourself to see things where they’re not,” Mullan said, slapping his hand down onto the other man’s shoulder. He twisted him in the same motion, giving him a push away. The old man tottered off towards the rest of the crowd, looking back over his shoulder to give Natalin another look.

“I’m sorry about him, girl,” Mullan said, heaving a sigh. “Old bastard doesn’t know how to behave around important folk. It gets to him.”

“And you do?” she said, too caught up in everything else happening to stop herself.

He only laughed, though, folding his arms again. He was well-dressed, the whispers in the back of her mind noted. His tunic was edged with silver, even if dust was packed into the seams.

“Spent fifteen years on the Council,” Mullan said, lifting his chin. “Suppose ‘m just used to that sort of thing. Not exactly scared of you Ascended types anymore. Kalin wasn’t so bad.”

Her smile splintered, staying in place by sheer force of will. “I-I see.”

If Mullan saw her reaction, he didn’t say anything. The old man just shook his head. “Getting too old to go sailing halfway across Ondria, missy. I serve here as village chief, and let another gullible fool take over as representative.”

“Oh.”

His smile went crafty, and he leered over at her. “Wondered when I’d get around to seeing you out and about. About time, eh?”

Her cheeks burned. “Ah...yes.” His words were enough to make her shoulders droop. He was right, godsdamn it. It was the same argument she’d made to Gerd over and over again - and yet she’d be the one to accept the blame, in the end. The villagers wouldn’t understand that she wanted to come serve them. They’d only see that she stayed cloistered in Aramoor, far from them and their needs. The unfairness of it burned.

But Mullan only sighed tolerantly, closing one eye. “Not my place, in the end. Apologizes. Only, next time, send some warning ahead that you’re coming, eh? Folk don’t much like surprises.”

She licked her suddenly-dry lips, trying to prepare a response, but he plowed onward. Her input wasn’t required, it seemed. “S’ppose that’s just how it goes. The god says jump, you do it. Eh?”

The smile he cast her way was infectious, even if his moods seemed to be oscillating wildly. She ducked her head, unable to meet his gaze any longer. “Something like that,” she mumbled. “I didn’t know we were coming. I’m sorry. I’ll…”

Her words trailed off as the realization that Mullan wasn’t listening to her sank in. He’d seemed so respectful before - and yet as she talked, he stared off over his shoulder. Slowly, trying not to be too obvious, she glanced back.

A man paced outside one of the thatched longhouses in the center of Lohova. He quivered with pent-up energy, wringing his hands out and muttering to himself. His hair was a mess, and the dark circles under his eyes were enough to tell Natalin it’d been a while since he slept.

Mullan’s next words brought her up short.

“If I might, Tideborn…”