Morning came eventually, pale grey light sieving weakly through the curtains to touch on her face. Chris sighed and sat up. She felt somehow more tired than she had laying down to bed the night before, as if sleep had leeched her energy rather than restored it. Sighing, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed, ignoring the soreness of her limbs.

She washed her face and dressed mechanically, eyes half-closed. Pulled on trousers, traded nightshirt for stays and a cotton blouse, donned the long orange sleeveless coat. It wasn't until she was sitting on her bed, tugging on her boots, that the dark mark on the back of her right hand registered.

Her boot fell from bloodless fingers she stared at the Rune, scarcely breathing. The dark blue rings looked black in the dim light, like a tattoo.

Or a brand.

Chris suppressed a shudder and, eyes closed, fumbled to retrieve the boot. After forcing it onto her foot, she crossed the small room and put on the first pair of gloves she could find.

Salome was waiting outside her room on the ship when she emerged, and greeted her courteously. She glanced up as she returned the salutation, scanning his features. He'd shaved and washed his face – straw-colored strands stuck damply to his temples. It was strangely distracting – she wanted to flick the stray hairs off his face and straighten his jacket, like she did when Louis reported in the morning looking a little rumpled. But of course it wouldn't be proper, even if he'd been her father's squire. And he looked almost as tired as she felt, the lines around his eyes deep and shadowed. He looked much older than his thirty-and-two years – certainly not the half-decade younger than Leo and (if he was to be believed about his age) Nash.

And how old do I look this morning? Chris wondered, stepping stiffly into the hall. She felt like yesterday had begun a year ago, and the war itself a decade earlier. Home seemed centuries away.

Salome's eyes flickered over her once, too, but if he noticed that she'd put on her white parade dress gloves when she was wearing drabs, he didn't say anything about it.

"I'm off to the mess," she informed him. "Can I take your report there?"

Salome nodded his assent and fell into step beside her. "Did you sleep well, milady?" he asked as they entered the castle proper.

Chris smiled sourly. "If I said I did, would you believe me?" She tilted her head, looking up at him.

Salome returned her smile with one of his own, rueful. "No, I would not." He hesitated, the corners of his mouth dropping. "I...no, never mind." he shook his head.

"You what?" Chris asked, then her tired mind processed the fact that he'd already dismissed the topic. "Oh, sorry," she said at the same time he said, "Actually..."

"Actually?" she pressed.

Salome looked forward, his eyes fixed ahead of them. "I was going to say, I did not sleep well for weeks after my father passed away."

And there it was, the cold, hard truth her mind had been skirting around all morning, the reality she'd been shoving away until she was forced to confront it, like the Rune branded on her hand. Her breath caught, once, but she forced herself to control it. A shard of ice, crystalline and sharp, pierced her chest.

She said abruptly, "I'm not sad." And realized it was true.

Salome stopped to stare at her.

"I am angry," she told him, softly. "My father – the man I admired all my life – was a coward who fled his responsibilities, threw away his duties to family and country, to the Knighthood." She spoke slowly at first, but as the words came they rushed forwards like a flood. "He abandoned me – us - to live with our enemies."

Silence lay, heavy and cold, between them. Chris was distantly aware that she wasn't trembling, although her breathe came faster and shallower.

At last, Salome said, carefully, "He left Zexen to protect you and your mother."

"It killed my mother regardless," Chris replied coldly. Her fury was a lump of ice in her chest, blazing cold. "I became a knight because I thought that I was following in his footsteps. But no, he hadn't died, merely fled this responsibility," she held up her right hand, "like his friend the Flame Champion did. My father's legacy to me is this damnable war."

Salome's hand closed suddenly on her arm. Flabbergasted, she found herself whisked to the side, through a doorway. She stumbled into the room. Her strategist closed the door swiftly and stood, leaning against it, to block her exit.

Chris rounded on him at once, ready to demand he explain his actions, but her words died in her throat when she saw his face. He had fixed his gaze over her head, in the distance, his jaw set grimly, but the corners of his eyes were damp.

All these years she'd thought of him as her father's squire. Only now did she really appreciate that meant her father had been his knight-master.

Salome guarded his reactions closely; an apology for the pain her words had caused him would only increase his discomfort, she knew. So she said, quietly, "Thank you. I rather let my temper run away with me." She sighed. Her anger was still there, a freezing point in her heart, but less ferociously cold. The fury of the early moment had evaporated, and she felt washed-out and tired. "

"It may take you some time to come to terms with the Rune's influence," a male voice said suddenly, and she turned around quickly.

"Sir Geddoe. Forgive our intrusion," she said stiffly. Of course the room was someone's, she thought, now thoroughly shamed by her earlier bout of temper. Except... didn't Geddoe have his room on the ship, same as she did?

The mercenary captain held up a hand and waved it, dismissing the apology. "Most people expect True Water's nature to be calm." He walked forward, and she realized he'd been standing near a door – a second entrance to the room. "But all of the elements have more than one facet. And you're new to it yet."

She wanted to retort that her anger had been justifiably her own, but it felt childish to snap at the much older man. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I see."

"May I see it? The Rune."

Reluctantly, she pulled off her glove and extended her hand, palm down. Her skin prickled as his right hand – the one with True Lightning – drew near, and she caught herself flinching against what she expected would be a painful touch. But Geddoe gripped her wrist instead, gloved hand closing around her sleeve, before pulling her hand up to his eye-level.

He looked closely at the back of her hand, then turned it and examined her palm. Chris was tempted to look away from the dark rings that marked both sides, but forced herself to keep her gaze steady.

He let her hand go. "You haven't tried to cut it out."

She stared at him, shocked. "Is that even possible?"

"No. But that doesn't stop people from trying."

She waited, but he didn't elaborate.

Suddenly Salome spoke up. "Did Sir Wyatt have troubles with the Rune's influence?" he asked. Chris glanced at him; his face bore his usual inquiring expression. Any sign of his earlier sorrow had been wiped away.

Geddoe's shrugged. "We all do, from time to time. Although." He hesitated. "You're.. how old?" he asked Chris.

She raised her eyebrows at his question, but answered. "Twenty-two, as of last winter."

He nodded. "I suspect you'll have a much easier time once you become accustomed." He paused. "Or a harder one."

"Why?" Salome asked sharply.

"Because I was born while my father bore this Rune," Chris said as chilly realization spread across her. "And so..." She looked at both of the men. "It might have... taken a hand in things?" She could not bring herself to speak the next words: and make me a more suitable bearer. She felt cold again, although it was the icy grip of fear, not anger, this time. Oh, Father, was this the fate I was born to?

"It's a reasonable surmise." Salome looked as if he was tasting something foul. "Goddess. I had known Sir Wyatt and Lady Anna wished for more children, but everyone assumed it was..." His jaw clenched.

Geddoe regarded them impassively.

Chris swallowed, pushing back against anger and fear alike. She was only partially successful. "Idle speculation will do us no good at this point. Only time will tell how well I manage the Rune." She made herself look one last time at the circles marring the back of her hand. Was it her imagination, or did they seem a little less dark? Mentally shrugging, she pulled the glove back on. "In the meanwhile, we all have work to do. And I haven't had breakfast yet. Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me?"

A brisk walk later, she was at the mess. She found herself joined by Sanae, Mel and Branky, and Emily, all of whom were eager to sit with the semi-famous lady knight, and none of whom were aware of what had transpired with the True Water Rune the day before. She let their exuberance and friendly questions wash over her, and did her best to answer cheerfully.

But it was not until her third cup of tea that she finally felt warm again.