Closed The Star to Every Wandering Bark (Sahreni & Subira)

[Colombina]

Day 30 of Fall, 512 AV "It's a fine ship. A very fine ship." Harpenres spoke with honest admiration for the sleek Khnor, but there was reservation. "But the captain must love it, Subira. Or learn to for all it represents." A heavy imperative filled his undermode, mysteriously encompassing more than the beautiful ship they now walked on. The Khnor was a recently comissioned work, but Bahret would not reveal the purse that bought it. There was wild speculation in the house. The North Winds had mizas to spend and the anniversary of Bashti's coronation was looming. As her favored house, they would be careful to gift her with something small but extraordinary. Others said a grandmother of the West Winds had inspected the ship as an investment. Most popular was the claim that it was a gift for Vestarra in hopes of binding her to one of the South's sons. Subira's parents had been part of the feverish building process that began in late spring. Her father had an uncommon obsession with its design and her mother even inserted herself on the decorative flourishes. They had poured love into this vessel unlike any other. Sitra joked that it would be her husband's funeral barge the way he spent himself on it, but behind her jest blazed a fierce pride, as if she was seeing anew all the qualities that had drawn her to him. The day of the Khnor's unveiling was cloudless and an onshore breeze made the new rigging sway. The wind had been borne from the bosom of Laviku, undiluted by sand and stone. It left a sheen on the skin and stung the nose with salty vapors. Though the season was the West Wind's, this day was the South's. Sitra had awoken her daughter with especial zeal, and as she helped arrange Subira's hair, her hands shook. "We unveil the Khnor to its owner today," she explained, "We must honor the vessel with pearls." And so the customary strands were painstakingly arranged in Subira's hair and the powdered gem mixed with creams for her skin. There was always great ceremony with the giving of a ship, but an extra expectation sharpened the lines on her parents' faces. Perhaps because they had given so much to the Khnor's creation, they behaved as if they were parting with a child. Harpenres now admiringly walked the deck with Subira, while other Souths floated up and down the gangplank. "You see, love is what makes a ship endure when nothing else holds her together, Subira." Harpenres concluded his strangely ardent commentary just as Sitra came to collect her daughter. "Subira," her mother's voice was breathy, "I want you to meet someone very important. Will you come with me?" ~~~ It had all begun because Sahreni liked the fountain. In the start of fall, the noble and gilded matrons descended on the Villa for negotiations. Marriage bargaining had been fairly simple that year, but a few women were unmatched. Usually, these young ones would carry over into the next year's bartering, but one South had reached a precipice of age. "Sitra, she is too old. How many sons can she have?" "What has she been doing all this time?" "That's the one whose arrangement fell through three years ago, isn’t it?" Her mother had argued up the adobe walls and down in praise of her daughter who had spent years in pursuit of knowledge, knowing all the while she had failed her child. "Perhaps a gilded?" another mother suggested. "None of the worthy gilded have a son left, and she is worth a noble hand." The women were growing restless and indifferent. Sitra saw her daughter's vessel leaving port without her aboard, so she fired her last volley: "There is a fine Khnor being built for her and her future husband. A quarter of its price will be her dowry." The room stirred with interest, but none were tempted to disentangle the matches or hopes thereof they had already begun. Meripe was half-listening to the fruitless conversation, more concerned with the oppressive heat on her old skin. She opened the shuttered window to the courtyard and watched her bastard grandson splash his neck with water from the fountain. "Sitra," Meripe announced quietly, "I might have a solution. And he is of noble standing." ~*~ It was simple. Sahreni had to woo a girl. His grandmother had already spent significant money and time arranging the match. The girl was noble, Eypharian and clever. More than he could have ever expected. A vessel had been perfected in the expectation his family would purchase it. Then the couple would share it to ensure a comfortable future. Meripe and his father had paid for the ship in good faith. It was a thing of beauty. From Sahreni's view at the bottom of the gangplank, he could see the superior craftsmanship. It was obvious even to a laymen, that the ship was a labor of love. "Sahreni," his grandmother explained quietly, "If she does not please you. You are not obligated to take her. Even a bastard West has that privilege." Her voice creased with a chuckle, "But I strongly suggest you like her and charm her."

[Subira]

If it weren't for the pearls, Subira might have relished the opportunity to unveil the khnor to its new owners and to represent the House of the South Winds during its display of ingenuity and artistry. The khnor was, after all, a wonderful creation, as sleek as a desert falcon and as graceful as the curving blade of a scimitar. With its prow jutting forward haughtily and its lines as flowing and lovely as the lines of a woman's body, this khnor seemed worthier to Subira of being called a true "lady" of its kind than any other ship she had seen, even her beloved long-gone Sweet Lark. Indeed, as she sat in the harbor surging with the tides and pulling on her ropes, the khnor seemed like a living lady in her own right, full of beauty and power all her own. Yes, and secrets too, Subira thought fondly, her gaze admiringly traveling along the deck and rails. What mysteries are you hiding, my lady? What whispers will you share with your favored sailors in the rigging and the oars? If only her uncle Harpenres wasn't continually distracting her with his incessant gesturing and harping on about love and harmony! Such talk coming from her usually disciplined, dignified uncle made Subira feel almost as uncomfortable as the pearl strands woven in her hair and the ground pearl mixed in with skin cream that lent such a shimmer to her complexion. Pearls --- that gem borne of suffering and the sea --- were the favored adornments of the Souths' women. More alarmingly, though, wearing elaborate pearl jewelry was a sign that a young South Winds woman was seeking marriage. Marriage! The very thought filled Subira with dread. Who would choose to get married when they could go out and have adventures? Why would anyone want to be tethered to a husband and children when they could master the seas and winds themselves? Yet, when Subira protested being festooned with pearls this morning, her mother had simply ignored her. She hadn't even bothered arguing with her daughter, but had woven the strands into her black hair and looped a shimmering collar of pearls around her neck with a determination that at first infuriated and then frightened Subira. Clearly, after her father and mother had poured so much of themselves into this khnor, they weren't about to be stopped by some trifling protests from their troublesome middle child. Subira jerked her head impatiently, hearing the pearls clicking in her intricately braided and arranged hair. "A ship endures not because of love, but because it is made well and led well," she began to retort, vexed by her uncle's strange turn of mind. At that moment, though, her mother appeared at her elbow, uttering a deceptively mild-sounding request in a breathy voice that aroused all of Subira's suspicions. Instinctively, she recoiled. "Who is this very important person, mother?" she asked sharply, temporizing. "Who could you want me to meet, on this day of all days? Where are we… Oof!" For her mother, disregarding her questions just as she had disregarded her daughter's protests over the pearls, had simply claimed her arm and directed her down the gangplank. The faint smiles on the faces of the other Souths as they made way for mother and daughter filled Subira with misgivings. None of them, she noticed, were wearing rich pearl ornaments or fine clothing like hers. Her back stiffened. "Mother!" she hissed insistently. "Mother, are you presenting more than just the khnor today? What else is going on that you haven't told me yet?"

[Sahreni]

Ever unaware of the scheming that went on behind closed doors, Sahreni had busied himself that afternoon entertaining a collection of guests at the Villa. It was decent practice, a way to help polish his veneer and sharpen his wit. As a bastard and a mutt, Sahreni's reputation usually preceded him for ill or for better, but he recognized this and saw opportunity. The idea was that he could put it to his advantage and play on expectations to leave a pleasant taste after meeting him. He was, after all, an extension of his father's reputation. Everything Sahreni did reflected on Sehebre, as well as the House of the West Winds as a whole. If he behaved too well, he was boring and a pity. If he could manage the right words at the right time, straddling the line between aplomb and candor, he might be able to put smiles on captivated faces. Sahreni was in mid-sentence when his father's voice cut through the garden. "Sahreni. Come inside, would you?" So rarely was the bastard ever directly called on. The well-dressed gilded woman he was speaking to caught a glimpse of his candid surprise. Her once-cordial smile acquired a shade of cruel intrigue. Recovering as smoothly as possible, Sahreni did not spare a look over his shoulder, as it would have been rude to his guest. He made a partial, two-handed gesture of goodwill as he spoke his departure. "Please excuse me, madam. Enjoy the Villa." The bastard fought to keep from looking timid as he crossed the garden and followed his father into the shade of an open room. "Awioth-eniya, Dunre," he greeted politely upon arrival. A cursory glance revealed Meripe seated nearby, hands folded in her lap and a sly look nested in her features. "And you as well, Grandmother." Sahreni made an attempt to hide his apprehension, but his father's presence disarmed him. Whatever this was about, it was important. It had been made clear to Sahreni from an early age that his life did not belong to him. He had little sway over decisions made for him, but by this point in his life, he had become comfortable acquiescing to the (usually) gentle pull of his family's desires and intentions. Meripe spoke and placed a decently sized crack in Sahreni's veneer. Sehebre looked close to smiling. There were always some things that required a little more effort to digest. *** Sahreni's ensemble for this meeting had been fashioned and polished with care, using a strong theme of gold and subtle undertones of green and violet. A well-made scimitar, on loan from his father, hung proudly at one side. Both of his half-siblings, Nascht and Hasina, simultaneously materialized to watch the minor clamor made over their older, two-armed brother. Before he left, Hasina grasped at his arm and made him pause. "You nervous, Reni?" Sahreni turned to her, smirking and rolling his eyes. A brief look was given to Nascht before he leaned over to whisper in the girl's ear. "Very." *** Three quarters of the ship. Which three, he wondered idly, examining the ornate craftsmanship worked into the vessel. Who built it? Where is it going? What does this woman look like? Every question that rose in his mind was neatly laid back onto a shelf. Every ounce of his focus had to be in the moment. Everything else would be learned with time, and dwelling too much on it would dishevel his poise. Quelling the need to fidget was a marvelous talent deserving of a medal. Meripe spoke, bringing a smile out of the statue that was her grandson; he was grateful for her unspoken reminder to relax. He nearly started to reply when a faint yelling rose from inside the ship. Sahreni turned toward it, his eyebrows rising in what could have been amusement or acute fear. The creature that appeared looked made for the water, sunlight glittering on her skin like the surface of the ocean. It was hard to miss the pearls woven into her shining black hair, a favorite stone among South Winds, Sahreni remembered with a sense of relief. She was taller than he expected, well-built and sturdy. It could have been the image of his future wife. He tried to avoid perusing her with such aspirations, but his eyes dipped once briefly. Sahreni's fingers tightened around a black lacquered wooden box, a gift he'd brought for the occasion. He wished he had a second set of hands to hold onto it, as he felt rude having only one hand free. "You've always had good taste, Grandmother," Sahreni replied in their last moments of privacy. The statement felt ambiguous and unfinished, as if waiting for a gestured undermode. He lacked the number of hands to complete it, and looked almost smug about it.

[Colombina]

"Subira," her mother said with surprising softness, "We are making a future for you. One where you are Pressorah of your own vessel." A pair of hands gestured behind her back indicating struggle and pain. This was not a fight they had won easily. Neither within their house or without. "That man and his blood have purchased this Khnor at a great price for a betrothed." The undermode of the last word hinted a desire that Subira was its appositive. It was all Sitra could manage in the brief walk down the gangplank. She had weighed the wisdom of preparing her daughter against the power of the immediate moment. Given warning, Subira would have tried to disintegrate their ears with her reasoning and built walls before considering a door. No, let the man catch her off guard, buffeted by waves. Like a drowning sailor Subira had to be wearied before she could be reclaimed. "Awioth-eniya, Meripe." Observing protocol the elder woman was addressed first. Age before beauty, Sitra would always say."This is my daughter, Subira of the Souths," one set of hands rested on Subira's shoulders. "Awioth-eniya," the elder West Wind answered, she did not incline her head or raise her arms. In this play, she was the principle. There was still an attractive graciousness to her answer, lest Ahnatep forget the renowned charm of the women of the West Winds. "And this is my grandson Sahreni of the West Winds." The addendum revealed he had noble birthright and the privilege that entailed. Meripe's diction shifted to a subtle High Arumenic. "It is a beautiful vessel, Sitra. Worth the care you have lavished on it." Meripe did have excellent taste after all.

[Subira]

Listening to her mother's swift-whispered words, Subira felt almost light-headed as Sitra's half-spoken, half-gestured explanation dredged up old dreams and hopes alike that her daughter had thought long since buried forever. Pressorah of her own ship! To a navigator who for more than five years had not stood at the bow of a ship and charted its course across the waves, the image was irresistibly seductive. Unable to help herself, Subira drifted away into an entrancing daydream, envisioning herself at the helm of the beautiful new khnor, while the sun pinned a crown of golden light upon her hair as she pointed proudly westward toward some distant harbor wreathed in the rubescent glow of a dazzling crimson-and-violet sunset. Subira only came to at the sound of her mother's last word, "betrothed," and her eyes snapped back to full alertness. Ever slow to interpret the complex modes of High Arumenic, it took her a moment to read Sitra's subtle undermode and realize, to the tinkling of the pearls in her hair, what her mother intended. One pair of hands flew indignantly to her hips, the other crossing stubbornly across her chest, as half a dozen arguments and objections immediately crossed her mind. But her mother had already stopped before a pair standing upon the docks, an elderly but still elegant Eypharian woman accompanied by what Subira took at a glance to be a richly dressed human servant bearing a black lacquered box. Sitra greeted them with respect, and Subira reluctantly swallowed her objections for the moment. "Awioth-eniya, Hejdi Meripe," Subira murmured deferentially, inclining her head toward the old woman when her mother introduced her. As the old woman responded, she furtively glanced from side to side, wondering where the prospective suitor that her mother had found for her was hiding. The shock when Meripe introduced the young man beside her as her grandson struck her like a slap to the face. The sight of the young man worked a curious alchemy on Subira's emotions, transmuting her reluctance and resentment into a purer and stronger feeling of sheer indignation. At any other time, she might be willing to admit her new prospective suitor was not unhandsome and that he bore himself with as much dignity and poise as any noble she'd ever met. For anyone even considering offering himself to her as a future husband, though, no amount of good looks or bearing could excuse the fact that he had only two arms and was unmistakably not an Eypharian, or at least not a pure-born Eypharian. No wonder no one had seen fit to forewarn her about this day, least of all her mother. No wonder her uncle Harpenres, that seemingly eternal bachelor, had been harping so musically on the subject of love. No wonder she had been trussed up in her finest blue silk gown and garlanded with pearls for the ship's unveiling. It wasn't just the ship that was being presented; it was Subira, too. And to this! To this two-armed excuse for a noble, clearly not even a full Eypharian, for all that his skin glimmered with gold dust and his grandmother called him a West Wind. A furious surge of rage, injured vanity, and disappointment threw Subira's thoughts into a seething turmoil. Before she even thought of the proprieties and protocols of the situation, she blurted out the first words that came to mind. "This is what you want me to marry? A two-armed foysha from the very lowest branches of the West Winds tree?" And then Subira heard her own words, and her jaw dropped as she realized how unforgivably she had just acted. All four of her hands were clapped against her mouth as she stood there, stock still and stricken dumb. If she could have, Subira would have whirled around and fled up the gangplank, to squeeze herself into the smallest, most cramped berth in the deepest hold of the new khnor. She was quite sure that she had just ruined, in a single breath, all her mother's plans for a…well, not a terribly glorious marriage for her, honestly, despite this two-armed creature's apparent noble standing among the West Winds. She was also completely certain that she had lost all chance of ever becoming Pressorah of a vessel of her own, ever again.

[Sahreni]

"I am honored, Hejdi Sitra, Hej Subira." After a polite round of pleasantries had been exchanged, Meripe introduced her grandson. It was only then that Subira of the South Winds seemed to notice Sahreni was standing there. To a noble, a singular pair of arms was enough to make anyone look immediately unimportant. This alone could have been insult enough, but Subira wasn't finished. "This is what you want me to marry? A two-armed foysha from the very lowest branches of the West Winds tree?" Sahreni absorbed the remark with a dim smile as his eyes fell downward. Although it stung, he'd prepared himself for something like this. The poor bastard knew he was hardly the pick of the litter; no young woman would be thrilled to marry someone scraped from the bottom of the barrel. She'd waited too long for a suitor, and surely, this was her punishment. He glanced sidelong to his grandmother, his faint smile sharpening into a smirk in a subtle attempt to keep her from speaking up in his defense. Bless her heart. In the brief time prior to meeting his potential betrothed, he'd gone through in his head the different possible reactions he might receive. The worst case scenario was either a fit of outspoken insults, or private ones hidden behind a belittling smile. He still wasn't sure which he least preferred. At least she looked embarrassed. Not every noble possessed a conscience. Sahreni lifted his eyes again, looking more amused than slighted. "If I lacked the fortitude to withstand a stroke of honesty, I wouldn't be deserving of my title." After crossing eyes with Sitra, as a gesture to express that he would not be frightened off so easily, he took a step forward and narrowed the gap between himself and Subira. He grasped the lacquered box with both of his hands, but did not present it to her yet. Her reaction had altered his planned approach, so now he was making up something new. "Take heart, tira," he told her, shaping his smile into something warmer. It might have been forgiveness, or he may have been biting his tongue. "My blood may be impure, but be assured that what many Eypharians require four hands to do, I have mastered with two." He lifted the box to her. "I've brought something for the occasion. You may take it now, but I would ask that you don't open it yet. I can carry it in the meanwhile, if that's your preference." Allowing Subira to make her choice, Sahreni shifted his attention to her mother. "It's a beautiful ship, Hejdi Sitra. With your approval, I'd like to take a tour of the vessel with your daughter." His painted eyes slipped back to the woman in pearls. "If you'd like to go, that is. I'd consider all injuries forgotten."

[Colombina]

If they were at sea, Sitra would have flogged her daughter. Subira was too old for outbursts and being picky. Sitra's mouth opened with the beginning of vast apologies, but was stopped by the man's answer. Resilient this one, praise Cheva, he would need that determination. Proving herself a noble of excellent breeding, Meripe subtly consulted her grandson's face before telling the welp precisely what she thought of the arrangement. His smirk consoled her. Meripe let her silence unnerve Sitra, and watched as the former East Wind colored with shame. Poor woman, she had done well for herself. It was a pity her daughter was so unwieldy. Bastard, though he was, and perhaps because he was, Sahreni had one of the deftest hands among the grandchildren. Meripe found herself almost proud of his braiding of tones and tactics. He had survived thus far and with few indulgences. What was one more difficult noble? Sitra bowed her head to the bastard's compliments, using her humility to cover her daughter's behavior. No priestess of Priskil, it wasn't Subira's cruelty that hurt Sitra, but the way she ground chances underfoot, as if more would always grow. "Thank you, Sahreni for your kind indulgences," Sitra's pride tasted like motherly love as she swallowed it, "We welcome your perusal. It is your vessel, after all." OOCYou lovebirds are on your own for a bit! I will pop in when the opportunity presents itself

[Subira]

Not for the first time in her life, Subira wished for a moment that she were her childhood friend Izdihar, or her pretty cousin Isetaari, or even Vestarra of the East Winds, someone else, anyone else who knew well these strange, unfamiliar shores of intrigue and could navigate these waters with ease. Remorse smote her and her cheeks flushed hot with mortification, not when the half-breed briefly dropped his eyes or made his surprisingly graceful reply, but when her proud mother colored in shame and a stricken look crossed her face. Despite their clashes, Subira loved her mother, and it filled her with guilt to think of what her careless exclamation might have cost Sitra. She remembered her mother gesturing about pain and struggle on the gangplank, and her cheeks flooded with crimson. She regarded the half-breed with reluctant gratitude for his smooth handling of her breach of courtesy and a measure of respect for his self-control. Were she in his place, Subira might have ripped that fine scimitar hanging from his sash out of its sheath and started shouting some choice insults back, probably drawing down the ire of every noble within earshot in the process. Instead, his weapon of choice was his smile and a lacquered gift box. Eyeing the box warily, Subira thought privately that she almost would've preferred the scimitar. Had she truly fallen so low? Did her mother really think her only prospect was some Eypharian lord's baseborn by-blow? At this rate, her mother would match her up with a Dhani next! At least this one had Eypharian blood, judging from his gilded skin, and thoroughly embraced the Eypharian lifestyle, if his rich clothing and painted eyes were any indication. Still, Subira felt like an Eyktolian desertbred being bred to a mule. Why did she have to marry anyway? They let her brother Iriei marry when he was ready and, as far as she knew, no one was bothering her uncle Harpenres about marriage. Apparently, though, women had no choice but to find a husband. She suppressed a sigh and managed a benign, if wan, smile at Sahreni and his grandmother. Her hands laboriously and with exaggerated care shaped the gestures for abject apology, with an undermode that claimed the blame all for herself. Subira had no desire to deepen or further her mother's shame. "I do very much appreciate that you are willing to overlook my…unfortunate choice of words," she said to Sahreni, her tone now carefully neutral and grimly controlled. Subira stopped short at saying that she hadn't meant it, though. Instead, she went on, "It is very kind of you to have brought a gift, as well. You certainly show your Eypharian lineage well, with your thoughtful preparations for these introductions. For, as the saying goes, forewarned is forearmed." Mentally, she winced. That pun on "forearmed" and "four-armed" had sounded better in her head. She clearly should've saved that jest for drunken Souths get-togethers, where it belonged. "I think it would be wise if you held onto it for now," Subira hastened to add, gesturing to the box. "In the meantime, I would be pleased to show you the khnor. It has been an especial labor of love for my family for two seasons, and now," her smile turned wry as she glanced toward her mother, "I suppose I understand why." With a clicking of the pearls looped around her wrists, she beckoned for Sahreni to follow her. It had hit her hard to learn just now that the khnor had been built as a gift or an exchange for the West Winds, as part of this match somehow. For such an exquisite vessel, it seemed a far less glorious end than being presented as a gift to Pressorah Bashti, which had been Subira's favorite theory. It both touched and saddened Subira a little to know that, all this time, her mother and father had spent their genius and their efforts to make sure that her betrothal, of all things, would be a success. Suddenly, a new thought occurred to Subira as she turned her head to regard the golden-clad Sahreni, the apparent possessor of the vessel. If the khnor was his and they were to be married, why then, it would belong to her as well. Or perhaps it would belong to the West Winds, but she would certainly have use of it. Her face, little used to concealment, brightened into a beaming smile. Pressorah of her own ship, indeed! To fulfill that dream, Subira decided that she could match the half-breed's fortitude and surpass it, if she had to. She might even attempt to soften her bluntness and try to be charming, for once. It would be worth it, if her revelation proved correct. Turning her smile onto Sahreni, she indicated the khnor with a sweeping gesture of her upper right arm. "As you can see," she began instructing him, "this khnor is a somewhat smaller vessel as far as ships go, about 55 feet long and 25 tons…"

[Sahreni]

Having stowed the small box within his sash, Sahreni dutifully followed Subira into the ship, coming into step beside her. Recently laid boarding greeted the both of them with a chorus of mild creaking, the air sweet with the scent of fresh carven wood. His grandmother and Sitra were left outside to their own devices, for better or worse. The moment was now solely in Sahreni's hands. Subira was resilient as well, it seemed. Despite her grievous faux pas, she carried herself as if nothing had happened. Not a drop of shame spilled from her carefully crafted poise or that bright smile. A true Eypharian, wearing her pride like a fine silken wrap. She wouldn't be a noble if she wasn't at least a little incorrigible. Charm her, Meripe had said. This one would take a bit of doing. At least she was gracious enough to assume the role of hostess for Sahreni's sake. That's small? he wondered inwardly as she revealed some of the khnor's dimensions. He had no idea what the standard size for ships was, but that sounded fairly large. In fact he knew next to nothing about seafaring vessels at all. He had only ever stepped onto a ship when it was at port, and never for longer than a few bells. Only in the recent month had Sahreni begun considering the future prospect of a life at sea. Until Meripe had presented the idea of his betrothal to Subira, he never before conceived of such a thing. Even now, it felt like something of a far off fantasy. "I see," Sahreni replied, inspecting the mounting that fixed oars to the side of the vessel. He passed under the long, thin shadow drawn by the ship's mast. "I appreciate you showing me around. Did you have any personal hand in its construction, this ship?" Sahreni paused thoughtfully at one side of the ship, laying a single hand on the wooden siding as he looked across the natural inlet which served as Ahnatep's port. Larger ships were anchored toward the middle, dwarfing the one they stood on. Smaller indeed. "If this arrangement goes as our families have planned—" he glanced at Subira, wearing a hint of a smile, "—would that make you the captain? I admit, I'm painfully unfamiliar with how these ship hierarchies work. My grandmother told me you are a navigator, is that correct?" He turned to Subira, adding a nod of acknowledgment to her purported skill. "To know where you are when you are surrounded by miles of water. I can hardly imagine."

[Subira]

Subira walked briskly and comfortably across the ship, unconsciously adopting the rolling gait of a sailor as she moved upon the gently swaying deck. The other Souths who had been admiring the vessel had all scattered, leaving the two of them alone aboard the khnor and erasing any doubts about the meticulous planning behind their match. A measure of reserve and tension dropped from her as soon as she stepped within the khnor, and her stride took on a more pronounced swagger, her voice a freer note of confidence. She sighed briefly, wishing she could be on her own, letting the soft creak of the rigging and the salty breeze suffuse her senses, without a half-breed noble politely dogging her steps or family obligations hampering her. She was pleased to note that Sahreni seemed to be admiring the ship too. Whatever he had failed to inherit from his Eypharian parent, at least he possessed a properly Eypharian appreciation for aesthetics and luxury. Either that, or he was simply very skilled at dissembling. Subira had flatly refused to marry men who didn't appreciate ships and the sea before, and she wouldn't put it past her mother to coach her suitors on this small but vital detail. Nimbly, Subira skirted her way around the sea chests that served as rowing benches, while explaining to Sahreni how the ship was crafted. The Souths had sent all the way to Zeltiva for oak and pine timber, and construction of the keel -- the very first step in building any ship -- had begun nearly as soon as the docks had been repaired after the great spring storm. Only the figurehead at the bow was unfinished now, as she pointed out to him, awaiting the final naming and ceremonial dedication of the ship. In response to his question about whether she had contributed in the shipbuilding, Subira smiled and shook her head. "No, I am no shipwright myself, though I have read a little on the subject. My father is the finest shipwright in the Souths, though, and it was his mind and his hands that sculpted this ship into the beauty she is now." Impudently, Subira added, remembering a former suitor who'd waxed too poetic for her liking, "And don't say that the ship's beauty matches my own or any such foolishness. That might work on other girls, but I know this ship's too lovely to be compared to the likes of me." Thankfully, the half-breed said nothing of the sort, but instead asked about her own position on a ship. Subira winced slightly at his reference to their "arrangement," but she readily warmed to the subject of her own specialty. "Yes, I am a navigator. Just like Kenabelle Wright," she couldn't help adding, beaming at the mention of her idol's name. "At sea, the captain may command the crew and keep it together, but the navigator is the leader of the vessel itself. The navigator alone guides the ship from port to port, using the stars and the currents, tides, and winds. It takes many years of training, and even one mistake can prove fatal." A shadow crossed Subira's face for an instant. Then she continued, with a hint of boastfulness, "A captain would be lost without a navigator, but a navigator can serve as captain, as long as she and her crew know she can bring them home." As the bright autumn sun beat down upon them, she took refuge in the shadow of the broad square sail, motioning the half-breed to stand beside her. With the sun glittering on his skin and the breeze ruffling his clothes as he stood proud and erect beside the mast, he looked every inch a noble -- assuming that said noble had lost some of his arms or was tucking them out of sight somehow. Breathing in the salty freshness of the sea, Subira couldn't help laughing softly with enjoyment as she watched the sail puffing slightly and eyed the mooring lines anchoring the khnor to the docks. "If we were not alone, you and I," she chuckled boldly, glancing sidelong at Sahreni, "I would be tempted to slip the ship from her mooring lines and take her around the bay, to let you see what your house has bought. But alas, this is no reed boat to be managed by two people. And you, being a West Wind, likely know more about the tree that made this mast than how to trim the sail attached to it." She tilted her head curiously toward him. "What role do you serve in your house, Sahreni of the West Winds?" The tone with which she pronounced his name and affiliation was oddly diffident, as if she were apologizing for her outburst earlier. "You have the advantage of me, I'm afraid. Do you plant and grow things, like so many members of that house?"