Cane was the first to arrive. The sun sat high in a clear sky, casting a gentle warmth over the beach. He gathered a few pieces of driftwood for a fire—unlit for now—then set out the rest: a small keg of peach brandy, some cider, and several bunches of bananas.
He sat peacefully on the sand, watching the surf rush in. Gulls cried overhead. The breeze carried salt and warmth, and for a moment, he simply existed in the stillness.
Light steps approached from behind, but he didn't turn.
"Guess who?" Sophie whispered, covering his eyes.
"Bernadette?"
"Um... no."
"Beverly?"
"Still no."
"Belinda?"
She grinned and kissed his cheek. "What's with you and girls whose names start with B?"
"Not sure." Cane smiled, pulling her onto his lap. "Sophie! That was my next guess."
Sophie snorted. "Sure it was."
They sat together, feet buried in the warm sand, until Fergis arrived. He spotted them with rolled-up pant legs, wading at the water's edge.
"Sometimes I wonder about you two," Fergis muttered.
"We're looking for shells," Sophie said, her hair still wet from a recent splash battle.
Cane held up a large, orange-and-white shell. "Found a good one."
"Not bad," Fergis said, removing his shoes and rolling up his pants. "My mum would like something like that."
Clara and Dhalia arrived not long after, joining the search while chatting quietly.
"What kind of compensation did you get for the rings?" Fergis asked, walking alongside Cane. "That was a massive contribution—something like that doesn't go unrewarded."
"What? Were they supposed to pay me?" Cane feigned confusion, not wanting to mention the fifty thousand platinum awarded by the War Council. He'd quietly deposited the sum onto his Olivara Auction house chit and left Nina in charge of managing the estate's purchases and payroll.
Fergis snorted. "Right. Like you care. You could sit down, make a few swords, and solve everyone's financial problems."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Fergis lit the campfire. Its glow flickered in the growing dusk.
"Brother... what are the bananas for?" Fergis asked, eyeing the fruit like it had insulted him personally.
Cane knelt by the fire, pulling out a small cutting board and a flat piece of iron. He adjusted a few rocks and placed the iron across the firepit.
"This is something my uncle used to make—he picked it up from the eastern islands. It's called Filigras."
He handed Sophie the board and a knife. "Slice them diagonally, quarter-inch thick."
Sophie accepted it with a grin and started cutting. Dhalia, Clara, and Fergis all joined in, peeling bananas and handing over slices.
Cane took out two bowls—one filled with peach brandy, the other a spice mix both sweet and sharp.
"This is making me hungry," Clara said, licking her lips.
"Hand me the slices, Sophie. You keep going."
Sophie passed the board to him and plucked one slice for herself. "Bonus for the helper."
"Acceptable," Cane said, coating each slice in spices before laying them on the hot iron plate. Sweet, tangy scents drifted through the air, the bananas sizzling gently as they cooked.
A few minutes later, he flipped them. "Not going to make more?" he asked.
"Let's try them first," Fergis said, speaking for the group. "What if they're terrible?"
Cane laughed. "Fair point."
He removed the caramelized slices and dropped them into the brandy bowl.
"Is that actual brandy?" Clara leaned closer, eyeing the dish like it owed her money.
"Give it a second," Cane said, watching them soak.
He used a spoon to lift one out, offering it to Clara first.
She took a bite, her expression melting with delight. "Outer layer's crispy… oh gods…"
The sweet heat hit her all at once—spice, fruit, brandy, warmth. She chewed with her eyes closed like she'd found a sacred treasure.
Hours passed in laughter and song. The brandy was nearly gone, as were the bananas.
"These things have a kick," Clara said, blinking slowly as her eyes crossed and uncrossed.
"My mum would only let me have two," Cane admitted. "They store well, though—I used to sneak a handful and vanish into the woods."
Sophie leaned into him, her voice soft. "I want the recipe."
"You can have it," Cane murmured, watching the fire crackle as the night held them close.
**
Cane smiled in his sleep. The scent of Sophie's hair made waking at dawn feel like theft. She lay draped over him, nightclothes on, her head tucked beneath his chin like she belonged there.
"I have to get ready," he whispered, kissing the top of her head.
"Already?" Sophie stirred and rose just enough to kiss him. "I've got your key, but I don't know why. You're taking Pudding and Moxie with you."
"Wild parties?"
A tug at the corner of her mouth. "I'm gonna miss you."
"It's only a week," Cane said, kissing her again before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "I have to be aboard the Starsong in fifteen minutes."
Sophie sat up, watching as he dressed. Her brown hair fell in soft waves around her face and shoulders, making her look even younger in the morning light.
"I'll want to hear all about it when you get back."
Cane bent down for one more kiss. "Count on it. Bye, Sofie."
"Bye, Cane."
Moxie trotted up as Cane exited Tower Seven. A quick pat on the head and she heeled with practiced ease. Overhead, Pudding circled once, catching a warm draft of early air.
Cane had expected a dinghy to ferry him out—but instead, at the edge of the pier, he found Archmage Telamon seated cross-legged, facing the rising sun. With immaculately combed white hair and a clean-shaven jaw, he looked more like a gardener than a war mage.
"It's a good day to sail, Uncle," Cane said.
Telamon nodded, eyes still closed. "Make sure you come back safe. You don't understand it now, but the hopes of the Alliance rest on you."
Cane clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Then the Alliance is screwed."
Telamon laughed—a sound so rare, only a few living could claim to have heard it.
"Take your time," he said. "If you need more than a week, don't worry. Your place here will remain."
He waved a hand, opening a small rift. "Farewell, nephew."
Cane paused. "Thank you, Uncle."
He stepped through with Moxie and onto the deck of the Starsong—and froze.
The crew. The faces. Too familiar.
"What's going on?"
Captain Rhiati ignored him. "Hoist sail! Come about!"
Pudding landed on his shoulder, large eyes sweeping the deck before launching again.
"Surprised?" came Neri's voice.
The mermaid stepped from one of the cabins, arms open. "Well? Come on."
Cane embraced her, glancing around. "Why are you guys here? What happened to the Defiant?"
Rhiati pushed her hat back, a loose wisp of blond hair slipping free. "We're the best crew on the seas. And…" she sighed, "we've been conscripted."
Maude slid down the rigging, her HAV vest the only thing covering her upper body. "Cane! You still owe me money."
"No, I don't," Cane laughed, dodging the half-hearted punch she threw.
"You've been doing impressive work with the Defiant."
"Don't even start," Rhiati muttered as she handed off the helm to Navigator Bula, who gave Cane a quick wave.
Cane arched a brow. "What's that mean?"
Ria hugged him close before answering.
"We haven't lost a naval battle since you installed that main gun. And those HAVs you built for the Navy? Dozens of lives saved."
She met his gaze. "So… what did you do this time? Must've been bigger than Cane's Folly—and that's saying something."
Cane shrugged, careful. "Just a few small upgrades."
Ria narrowed her eyes. "My orders were canceled. The Defiant is in dry dock—for no reason. And now we're crew on this ship. Your ship."
"Seems like you've been… reassigned," Cane said, smirking.
Ria leaned against the rail. "You sound like someone who remembers being press-ganged."
Cane chuckled. "Something like that."