Dancing on the Bones

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Tales of Legendia, Yggdra Union, Shirley, or Gulcasa. I seem to own considerable insanity, though, or how else could I get infected with the idea for this crossover?

("Yellow" theme #8 – loyalty; never better bridges that I'm bent to burn)

"…And that's it for the briefing on how the combined military will function. Now, moving on to economic issues…"

Shirley blinked and tried to conceal a yawn behind her hand and sleeve, then glanced sideways at Gulcasa. He was staring straight ahead with his chin rested on the heel of his own hand, and probably would have seemed if not interested then tolerantly paying attention if she hadn't gotten to know him much better. He was likely at least as bored as she was.

She knew that these talks were important, but if she were to be honest with herself, it was really rather tiresome that the two of them were required to sit in. There was nothing for either her or Gulcasa to contribute—they just had to sit still and listen, and maybe look some papers over. All the details got decided by Maurits' diplomats and the men Gulcasa had brought with him from Bronquia, and these meetings were all about the nitpicky little details of their alliance. There were still three and a half months left of this aimless voyage, and none of it really mattered right now—it might later, and these people were entertaining themselves too, but oh, Shirley really wanted out of the things.

At least there were only about ten minutes left of this one. Shirley propped an arm on the table and rested her cheek in her palm so that she could watch Gulcasa from the corner of her eye; it would be so good to get up and stretch and move around, and talk with him more, and maybe head back to their room to exchange a little one-on-one attention.

That did seem like a good idea, she thought to herself again mildly—if she concentrated on it too much, got too eager, then she would wind up blushing and attracting too much attention from the diplomats. Instead, she shifted a little where she sat and softly—so softly—moved her foot over so that she could brush the pad of her slipper over the top of Gulcasa's foot.

He sat a bit more upright—not quite jolted, but she watched his awareness flick on—and gave her a sidelong glance of his own as she rubbed the tip of her foot over his in circles.

Gulcasa shifted again, now staring at her as intently as he could without turning his head; Shirley did her best to keep her expression innocent as she removed her foot and sat still again.

There was the very softest sound of shifting fabric, and then Shirley had to stifle a yelp as warm fingers settled on her thigh.

Gulcasa's hand drifted downwards, his fingertips brushing over the top of her leg towards her knee, curling around the inside of her thigh as they swept gently and smoothly back up again. That touch stopped dangerously high, and then his fingers traced idle patterns over her skin as she felt the fabric of her lacy panties start to dampen. Shirley nibbled at the inside of her lip and stayed very still—if she moved, he might accidentally touch her between her legs, and if that happened she would never be able to keep herself silent. As it was, she had to rest her face in one hand, putting her fingers over her cheek to hide any redness. (She was so glad her hair would help to hide it; she really couldn't spare both hands if she was going to get him back for this.)

His hand lifted away, and she trembled from mixed relief and frustration—her body wanted more of that, but the continuing drone of the bureaucrats talking meant that for now at least, that probably wasn't a good idea. Just think of how embarrassing it would be to actually wind up making noise…

Although, that risk was why this was so much fun, wasn't it? Besides, she had to get him back, outdo him somehow and test his own ability to keep quiet a bit.

So Shirley reached—careful to keep her hand under the table still—and touched the small of Gulcasa's back, absently letting her fingertips drift down his spine until her hand was resting on his ass.

She wanted to giggle—or at least smile—but she just nibbled the inside of her lip again and squeezed.

He didn't gasp so much as draw a very slow breath, but the sound was soft and sharp and had the ring of victory in Shirley's ears—or perhaps not, as he was now looking at her quite intensely.

I'm in for it now, Shirley thought to herself—it was a little giddier than she would've liked to admit—but right then, there was a great scraping of chairs as the diplomats and the bureaucrats stood up and congratulated themselves and each other. The meeting was, miraculously, over with.

Shirley got up awkwardly as they filtered out, pushing her own chair back as Gulcasa started to stand. He actually seemed a little red-faced—was she imagining it?—as he turned to look at her with a stare that was mostly intensity with a bit of childish sulk mixed in.

She met that gaze for a few moments, then ran with her skirts and hair flying, giggling like mad all the way. Behind her, she heard him cursing (probably loudly—she'd left him behind easily enough) and then there were distant footsteps chasing her.

Still giggling, Shirley skidded around the corner, nearly running into a few people (she felt their stares following her) as she pelted down the hallway towards her and Gulcasa's room. She'd just reached it—had her hand on the doorknob and the door was swinging inward—when warm strong arms encircled her waist and lifted her into the air.

"You lucky girl," Gulcasa growled into her shoulder, spinning her around; "you lucky, lucky girl. You're not getting away with that."

Shirley squealed and giggled more and let him spin her, sticking her legs out to drag her feet along the wall and slow them down when she started to get dizzy.

"But I still won," she told him breathlessly once they'd stopped, and he growled again.

"You'd better thank that lot for saving you."

"Oh?"

"You couldn't've stayed quiet with what was next."

"Couldn't I?"

"Nope."

And he whirled her into the room; the door was closed behind them before she could blink and her feet had barely touched the ground when his hand was stroking up under her skirt, much more firmly—Shirley's shoulders pressed up against the door—his palm brushed over the skin of her belly and then his hand slid under her panties, two fingers inside her.

"—ah…"

His eyebrows went up and he cursed softly in what sounded almost like admiration.

"You're pretty worked up already…"

Shirley smiled at him and leaned back against the door as she panted, cupping her right hand over his and holding on to his shoulder with her left. There was no need to be quiet anymore, so she let herself moan at the pleasure and sigh with relief when he brought her to climax.

Gulcasa pulled his hand back and Shirley slipped the panties off—they were too wet anyway; she would have had to change them no matter what. He bent slightly and hooked his arms under her knees—Shirley leaned against the door harder—and with his hands planted against the door on either side of her waist, hers on the broad muscle of his shoulder and at the nape of his neck, he rose to his full height and pushed their bodies together. Shirley sighed again and arced her back as they joined.

It had been weeks since that first night, but this—the physicality, the tenderness, the pleasure, the wanting—still felt so new. She clamored for it; it felt as though she'd forgotten that she was a young woman with physical needs just like Fenimore and Thyra and all the other girls she knew until Gulcasa's touch first reminded her, and now that she'd been reminded all she could do was want. Someday the novelty would probably wear off, but everything was new and felt so good in so many different ways—even the slightest differences brought new kinds of pleasure—so Shirley couldn't see that happening anytime soon. And she didn't mind.

Now, for instance—with all her weight rested on Gulcasa's arms, Shirley could barely move; right now he had all the control. When they made love in bed, her body under his or over his, she did everything she could to just rush for pleasure and release and moved desperately and dragged them both to climax as fast as she could; her own desire was too strong for her to rein in. Pinned as she was now, Gulcasa was taking her in slow powerful strokes, his hips moving like a piston so that she felt every bit of every movement. It overloaded her senses with pleasure—she could almost come from it but not quite. It was like a delicious kind of torture, because it felt so good she could hardly bear it, and yet in the end it would feel so much better for it.

Shirley matched her breathing to his and let the soft noises—the whimpers and moans—escape on her sighs to the rhythm of his sounds of exertion; hazily, she watched him take her. Erotic as it was to stare down at the joint of their bodies, she preferred looking up at Gulcasa's face; his eyes were closed and his brow was knitted and she could see from his expression that it was as hard for him to stand how good it all felt as it was for her.

Under her hands, his shoulders trembled; Shirley pulled him closer, and he leaned down to kiss her briefly; it changed the angle of their bodies just enough, and Shirley tangled her hands in his hair, shuddering with pleasure as all her muscles went tense (she felt herself tighten; Gulcasa's breath hitched on a moan that was nearly pained) and then loosened. He was still moving inside her, and it drew that airy feeling out.

He started to move faster—more strongly. And he was panting more harshly. It might have been a little painful if she weren't already so wet, and her back felt numb from being pressed against the wood of the door so hard. Her legs slipped a little against his arms, bringing her a bit closer to the door—she let out a soft cry of surprise, and then groaned as he moved harder, making her backside brush against the wood.

Shirley wanted to tell him that it was alright, he didn't have to push himself, to just let go already—but her breathing was too heavy, too erratic for her to manage words.

"…Shirley—…, Shirley—"

Hearing him call her name like that—all desperation, no control—was just too much. She came again as he thrust into her deeply, and then he was moving so hard that her backside slapped to the door until finally he pinned her flat, his back arched, shaking. She clung to him with everything she had as he let go, coming into her forcefully.

It felt like it lasted a long while, even though it was most likely only half a minute at most, and then he relaxed and so did she. But he stayed still, holding her up, and Shirley didn't let go of him; they simply stood and leaned on the door and each other and breathed.


All in all, despite the boring meeting… it had been a good day.

"Someone looks happy," Fenimore said lightly as they rested on the cabin wall later that evening.

Shirley considered a bit, and smiled, red creeping into her cheeks. "I guess I am."

"Oh, you guess?" Grinning, Fenimore smacked her shoulder.

The first time Fenimore had come up to her with wiggling eyebrows and a vast grin, Shirley hadn't known what to do, but gradually she was becoming less embarrassed by the innuendos and the gentle ribbing. Fenimore was including her—and even more, congratulating her. It was embarrassing, but it still felt nice.

…Shirley had no idea whether she'd ever be able to return the favor and tease Fenimore about Walter, though. Even if she had some idea what to say, she kept getting tongue-tied—knowing Fenimore, she might actually answer to Shirley's teasing, and she wasn't sure whether or not she wanted to know.

"Poor Thyra," Fenimore said with a grin. "When we get back to the Legacy, she'll be the only old maid out of the three of us."

"You never know," Shirley replied innocently. "We've been out here for a while. Maybe she'll have a boyfriend or they might have arranged someone for her to meet."

"Our Thyra?" Fenimore scoffed dismissively, then scowled. "If she has, I'll punch him."

She couldn't help but giggle. "Fenimore!"

"What? I'm allowed to defend my little sister's honor."

"You didn't try to defend mine!"

Fenimore made a troubled face and crossed her arms, her pigtails swishing. "That's different; I saw you falling in lust. It didn't jump out at me all of a sudden."

Falling in lust. Shirley pondered the phrase and nodded to herself. It felt… right, mostly. Gulcasa was important to her—he was her husband, her friend, her lover; she liked being around him, talking with him, and being in bed with him (both the lovemaking and its aftermath). And it had all come from friendship and attraction.

They kept growing closer, and she was glad for it. Gulcasa wasn't Senel, and she hadn't fallen in love with him at first sight, but perhaps—perhaps she was falling in love with him slowly. He was here for her, and looked at her and considered her in ways other people didn't. There weren't that many people who saw Shirley, a girl with wants and needs and strengths and frailties, when they looked her way; Gulcasa was one of those few.

And that was a very good feeling.

Am I happy? Shirley considered it privately. She wasn't miserable and she wasn't lonely. That in and of itself was a wondrous thing, especially what with the way she'd been only a few months ago. She didn't know if she could call this true happiness—but she was content. And she was grateful.

There were footsteps to the right of her, and Shirley and Fenimore both turned; Gulcasa and Walter were headed toward them.

"You two look like you're having fun," Gulcasa remarked. He was grinning at them like he knew something they didn't, hands in his pockets. Walter was stoic as ever. "Mind sharing?"

Fenimore stuck her tongue out at him. "Girl talk. You don't get to be in on it."

"Come on now, that's just cold." But Gulcasa laughed and didn't press the subject.

Walter inclined his head in Shirley's direction. "Merine—"

Shirley, Fenimore, and Gulcasa all looked at him.

"…Shirley," he said, and sighed. He looked rather sheepish; it was hard not to laugh.

"At least you're getting better about that," Fenimore told him, and patted his shoulder. "Anyhow, what was it?"

"I just needed to say that it looks like your presence won't be needed at the meetings as often from here on out."

Shirley looked at him, nonplussed—she and Gulcasa certainly hadn't been demonstrative enough to be a bother to anyone in the meeting, so had Walter actually spoken to them on her behalf? She smiled at him and bowed her head a bit.

"Thank you, Walter."

He shook his head, wearing the same stoic expression as always, but the way he wasn't meeting her eyes told her that she'd probably embarrassed him.

"No need. It seemed to be a waste of your time, so I just—"

"I appreciate it," she interrupted, smiling. Walter went quiet, and there was definitely red in his cheeks now.

"Yeah, Shirley's got better uses for her time. Speaking of which—" And, grinning widely, Fenimore linked her arm through Walter's and began to march him backwards in the direction of the main cabin.

"Wha—Fenimore—"

"C'mon, we need to give the cute couple a little space."

"Fenimore—!"

"Have fun, kids!" And the two of them disappeared through the door.

Shirley shook her head, smiling, not sure whether she wanted to burst out laughing or hide her face. That had to be one of the most obvious segues and escapes she'd ever seen out of Fenimore.

"Now, did she want to give us a little space, or did she want it herself?" Gulcasa murmured next to her, sounding amused.

"Gulcasa!"

"Just saying." Shirley looked up at him; he was smiling wryly, and shrugged. "For all the sidelong looks we get from everyone around us, those two are still worse than us. And how long have they been together, anyway?"

"At least a year." Trying to remember how long exactly would take too long. And Gulcasa had a point, she realized.

"You probably didn't see hide nor hair of either of them when they first hooked up, huh."

"…Not really." She'd wondered, vaguely, and assumed that they wanted to be alone to be soppy and romantic at each other. Now that she consciously thought about it, though, that really didn't fit their personalities too well. And with personal experience, she knew better.

…It would probably be better to decide to be amused by Fenimore's hypocrisy instead of embarrassed, Shirley decided. Perhaps after sex and sexuality stopped being quite so new, it wouldn't be quite so disconcerting to consciously realize that other people had sex regularly.

Right now, though, when it was hard enough to deal with her own hyperawareness of her body—well, best to take things one step at a time.

"Well, we can't exactly let ourselves get outdone that easily, can we?" Gulcasa's arms were very suddenly around her, and Shirley leaned into his chest, giggling a little. He was always so warm, even when the sea breeze was like veils of ice crystals against her skin. Sometimes it made the bed a little too hot in the morning, but Shirley was glad for it every other time of day. It wasn't like Gulcasa could help it anyway; she imagined it had to do with what he'd told her about his literally burning blood.

"I don't know. As much as I like being with you, there's such a thing as overdoing it, too."

"Guess so. After all, we're not nymphomaniacs like your crazy friends there—sex addicts," Gulcasa added with a grin as she looked up at him—"I just like being with you, too."

Shirley reached up and cupped a hand over the nape of his neck (he was so tall) to pull him down, and got up on tiptoe to kiss him briefly. The touch wasn't as hungry or as desperate or as heated as it tended to be—just soft and sweet and warm.

As she eased herself down, Shirley unfolded Gulcasa's arms from around her waist and took his hand, walking over to the edge of the ship and resting her hands on the railing.

"Whenever we wind up going back to the Legacy, I wonder if I can talk Maurits into giving you a true name."

If he considered the shift in conversation sudden, Gulcasa didn't say so; he just leaned on the railing next to her and put an arm around her back, hand on her shoulder. "A Ferines surname, you mean, right?"

"Yes. I call myself with your family name now—I want to accept more of your customs the way you're learning about ours—but I think it would be nice if my people showed you the same acceptance.

"We don't even have a word for your people—not really. There are records of you, but no real formal name. Since we're the people of the water and the Orerines are the people of the land, you should be Kerines—the people of fire." Idly, Shirley reached down so that her fingertips hovered above the waves; Nerifes splashed up to meet her hand playfully. "It's an alliance and right now it's just real on paper and on this ship, but it's going to be good for my people to realize they don't have to be enemies with every other race."

Gulcasa's hair brushed her cheek as she saw him nod from the corner of her eye, and then he reached down and pulled her hand up.

"—Shirley. You should know better than to do that. You'll hurt yourself."

"It's okay." But she didn't remove her hand from his; she liked the curl of his heavy fingers and rough palm against the thin back of her hand. "Ever since that day you pulled me out of the water—ever since the Rite of Feriyen was performed and Nerifes gave us its blessing—my allergy has been going away. Even the sea breeze used to sting my skin before, but I think that by the time we're done sailing, I could even swim in the ocean again."

She looked up, and Gulcasa was frowning at her in confusion. She smiled at him.

"My allergy to seawater—I told you I wasn't born with it, right? It was part of my deal with Nerifes, back when I first completed the Rite of Accession and became a true Merines. As long as I loved one of the Orerines, my full powers would be restricted like this; in return, I could try to bring peace to this world."

"Shirley."

She wanted to ask him what is it, but then he was holding her tightly—as if he were afraid she'd go somewhere if he let go, or maybe as if there was something he wanted to protect her from.

Her eyes burned, and so Shirley tucked her face against Gulcasa's chest and they stood like that for a while.

"…Oh my, am I interrupting?"

The familiar voice was like a slap, and Shirley jolted in Gulcasa's arms, going stiff. His hold on her eased, and he stood up straight to look at the newcomer; no longer shielded by his embrace, she saw and couldn't look away.

Her heart felt like a stone in the ocean of her body. Sinking.

Stella was beautiful as ever, everything a storybook older sister should be—long hair spilling from the bun behind her left temple, the folds of white wrapped around her body billowing elegantly in the wind. Her hands were rested over her belly, which rose up to meet her fingers in a graceful swell.

Shirley's skin went to ice, and the stone touched the floor of the world. Behind her, the sun touched Nerifes in a fiery kiss, setting the caps of the waves ablaze, dazzling her vision and making her head hurt.

"I haven't seen you in such a long time." Stella's laugh was perfect as ever, the tinkle of ice, but it felt sharp at the edges, and maybe it was Shirley's imagination, but her sister's smile seemed cruel. "We need to spend more time together—catch up—introduce our husbands to each other. That would be fun, don't you think? Do a little sisterly bonding. Shirley."

She was supposed to reply here, nod her head like a good little girl, a good tagalong, a good outsider to the oblivious happiness Stella and Senel had always shared. But Shirley's throat was as frozen as the rest of her.

"Sorry, but I think she's not feeling too well right now."

Gulcasa's voice was a shock, and it broke the spell Shirley had found herself under. Blinking, she looked up at him; he was facing Stella. His words were polite, but they had a bite to them.

"If you don't mind too much, we're going to head back to our room now."

"Oh, of course. We can always talk about it later."

Gulcasa's arm was around her shoulders, and before she could do much more, he was leading her into the cabin and through the halls.

It seemed like a few blinks later, they were in their room. As Gulcasa locked the door, Shirley walked over to the bed in a daze and sat heavily. She could move—she was sure she could speak—but she still felt numb.

"I—thank you." Gulcasa looked over his shoulder at her; Shirley dropped her gaze and shook her head. "I don't know how you knew, but—thank you."

"A couple of weeks ago, Fenimore took me aside and pointed your sister out. Said there was some bad blood between you, and you've had trouble being around her since. And I didn't like the way she was smiling at you."

She heard footsteps, and then Gulcasa was kneeling in front of her, holding her hands and staring up at her intently.

"You don't look alright, but—do you think you will be?"

Shirley closed her eyes and sighed.

"Yes—yeah. I think so." She sighed again. "I'm… glad Fenimore told you. I don't think I could have done that."

"She didn't tell me what happened, she just said I had to be careful. Said it was for you to explain, if you wanted to." Gulcasa squeezed her hands. "For all that she's a nymphomaniac, she's a pretty good friend."

Shirley had to laugh a little, and the way he squeezed her hands again made her sure he'd said that to make sure she still could.

"And, Shirley?"

She opened her eyes and looked; Gulcasa was still watching her intently, his features softened in a gentle not-quite-smile.

"Whenever you want to talk about it, I'll listen. You never tell me to shut up about Nessiah, and you were there for me to keep me from drowning in his absence—so whenever you want a buoy, I'll be here for you."

Impulsively, Shirley leaned forward and threw her arms around him, holding him hard.

"Shirley—?"

"Shh."

Gulcasa fell silent, and wrapped his arms around her. …He was warm, and she was grateful for it; it pushed the ice out of her skin and made her feel more like she was alive than if she were an arctic sea buried in ice floes.

"I… I don't think I can tell you everything now. I can't. I'm not as strong as you are." And she laughed a little; it felt like she would never be strong enough. "But what I can tell you is—my first love—the one I was willing to defy Nerifes for—he chose Stella—over me. Before I could even tell him—anything. He never even saw me. Only my sister. Only Stella. Only perfect, beautiful, strong, wonderful—"

"Sounds like an asshole to me," Gulcasa said calmly, and she faltered, easing back to stare at him.

"Gulcasa."

"I don't know your sister very well, and I admit I'm biased. But I don't know how any sane man could ever decide to pick the ice bitch that showed up to gloat about stealing your first pick over my perfect, beautiful, strong, wonderful Shirley."

"…Gulcasa." Shirley put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed them. He was looking at her very blandly, and his words had been so matter-of-fact.

"But, hell. I guess I'll be selfish and glad he was an asshole." Gulcasa smiled at her and framed her face in his hands. She felt his fingertips play across her temples and through her hair, and the layers of calluses on his palms were velvet on her cheeks. "Because that way I get you instead."

She couldn't speak. That smile was unfair. His face, and the intensity of his stare, were so harsh until he smiled—and then he went from predatory to fairytale prince, as if by some kind of spell.

Perhaps seeing that she couldn't answer him, Gulcasa leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, eyes half-open. Shirley's heart stumbled and fluttered, surfacing from that dark pit inside her. She felt like the only woman in the world.

Something felt lighter—and yet weightier—inside her, and Shirley kissed him back with quiet determination, her hands firm on the muscle under his shirt. Gulcasa's hands settled at her waist, and his breathing deepened with hers. He was shifting downward—probably to kiss the side of her throat—when there was suddenly an impact that rocked the entire ship.

Flung forward, Shirley held on to Gulcasa hard; he braced himself against the floor in a crouch and snarled. The shockwaves evened out, and realizing that she'd better let go of him so that he could stand, Shirley released Gulcasa and stood up, looking out the window. She couldn't see anything amiss—but then, that shockwave had come from a different direction.

Gulcasa was on his feet beside her, looking around. "What the hell…"

There was an explosion of voices—shouting, angry and fearful. The voices overlapped and ran together, but Shirley clearly heard the cry of pirates. And adrenaline shot through her veins like a dash of ice water to her face.

Gulcasa swore and made for the weapons hung on the wall; Shirley clapped a hand to her pocket and blanched as she remembered: All her casting quills were on the other side of the ship, in the tiny armory she and her people had brought.

"Gulcasa—"

He looked back at her, distracted, his hair whirling. He'd chosen the heaviest-looking of the scythes, and looked wilder than ever with it balanced in his hands.

"Gulcasa—you had a pen, didn't you? I need something—anything to write with—a quill would be best, but—"

Hesitation flickered in his eyes, but then he stepped forward to the dresser and fumbled Shirley's little chest open, sorting through the trinkets and his own treasures briskly but not roughly. At last, he came up with a large black feather and held it out to her.

"It won't write, but will this do?"

"Yes—"

"Just don't lose it," he said, and pressed it into her hand hurriedly (yet with the utmost care). And then he was out the door, scythe held with its haft against his arm so that it wouldn't hit the walls. Shirley gripped the feather in her hand and followed him.

The deck was all pandemonium.

Ferines and men in armor—Gulcasa's guards—tore back and forth, fighting with roughly-dressed men wielding falchions. There was still some sunlight, although the red eye of the sun had almost vanished beyond the horizon. Through the gaps of people running, Shirley saw that another, smaller ship had pulled up alongside the Silver Teriques, and that grappling hooks were pulled over the railing, connecting them.

Gulcasa pulled her close. They were still just at the door, and it didn't seem as though they'd been noticed yet.

"Cut the ropes and make them lose their escape route. I'll cut you a path. After that, we make them burn. We attack the same targets. I know you can use fire. Don't worry about it hurting me. Let's go."

And he pushed forward hard, the crescent of his scythe gleaming silver as a roar louder than any voice Shirley had ever heard exploded from his lungs.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY IF YOU DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

It took her only half a second to blink away the confusion, and gripping her makeshift quill, Shirley followed him.

Just as he'd promised her, Gulcasa was carving a path for the both of them. The waves of battle parted around him as blood sprayed in every direction, bodies falling heavily in a gruesome kind of lane. Shirley had no time to be shocked or disgusted or afraid—this was Gulcasa and she trusted him, so she ran after the red banner of his wind-tossed hair.

Shirley heard familiar voices shouting—there was a flash of white far in the distance, swirling fists and feet that she couldn't stare at for too long—gold wings spread and flapped hard a few yards in a different direction, briefly illuminating Stella's intense expression and the sweat on her face—Walter's zephyrs were interspersed throughout the crowd, their silhouettes distinct, and the loud sound like two glasses being struck together told Shirley that Fenimore was somewhere nearby, directing one of the automata they'd brought aboard the ship into battle in her stead.

And then they'd arrived—they were at the rail, and a wide space came clear near the ropes. There were still men on the ship, Shirley realized, and more of them were heading towards those ropes, ready to give their fellows more backup.

There was a heavy sound of air moving, and Gulcasa was there, swinging his scythe wildly to keep that clear space clear. Shirley ran to stand behind him, entrusting him with her back as she focused her power into the quill she held and swung her arm, projecting her teriques.

Far and fast, a streak of blue ripped through the ropes, sending them exploding to either side of the divide with a twang for all the world as if they were broken strings on some massive instrument.

"Was that all of them?"

"Yes!" Shirley turned and stood with her feet squared, gritting her teeth and glaring into the crowd. They were surrounded.

Gulcasa took a step back, murmuring something under his breath. The pirates boxing them in, furious at losing their way back, moved as if to close in—

And then the air around Gulcasa erupted.

Fire—bright, unearthly red fire—formed a halo around Gulcasa's whole body, and the air around him suddenly became heavy. Even Shirley could feel the pressure dragging at her, and it was a shock to her chest to look at his face and see that his eyes were blank, empty pits of molten gold.

Gulcasa raised his head, and held his scythe before him, silent. Shirley and the surrounding pirates watched him, entranced. The moment seemed to suspend for ten minutes—fifteen—but it couldn't have been that long, because the next moment Gulcasa had thrown himself into the mass of enemies before him, hair and clothes streaming, a whirlwind of fire and whirling blade and death.

And no one was watching Shirley.

She held out both arms as her nails and her hair began to glow. With Nerifes everywhere, it was all too easy to tap into her full powers, and her quill flew through the air before her almost of its own accord, dragging her arm behind it in rows and rows of glowing Relares script in the air. Pale gold and pink fire shot down from the sky to rip through the pirates.

The fire was effective, but it hit too few targets and casting it again and again to make up for that would take too much time and effort. Shirley narrowed her eyes and made sure to keep Gulcasa in her field of vision. It wasn't hard—he shone brighter than any star, brighter than the moon, brighter than the sun itself.

"O comets whose brilliance lightens even the darkest of skies, favor this ground for the fulfillment of thy eternal journey…!"

The eres lit up a good half of the ship's deck as stars crashed down on the men in front of her. Shirley trusted her power, and Nerifes's strength was there to steady her aim. Gulcasa was far enough away to be safe, and her own people knew her eres well enough to avoid any damage.

Slowly but surely, they were decimating the enemy.

And still, no one had approached her. These pirates were strong and they'd had the element of surprise, but Shirley supposed they must be disorganized—they all tried to pile onto the dangerous enemies they saw before them rather than she herself, even though she was tearing them apart with her eres from the seaside. With Nerifes' knowledge, she understood that the ship had already pulled back and was heading away by oar; there was no way that the rest of them were getting out of here alive.

We have them.

—Walter and Fenimore had most of the pirates cut off from the rest, where the knights Gulcasa had brought with him and a few of their own iron erens were carving them up neatly. Stella and the crystal erens were backing up Senel and the rest of the iron erens in seeking out any stragglers.

And Gulcasa had turned the wall of forty attackers into fifteen, holding every one of them off and striking them down one by one.

…The flames around his body were starting to gutter, and she could see the irises of his eyes through that haze of gold. He'd put too much strength into his initial charge, fought too recklessly and too desperately—his strength was guttering.

Shirley took a breath and rose up onto her toes, holding out her left hand as her right sped back and forth in the air, frantically conducting in Relares.

"Great will of the ocean, fairly if thou deemest me thy proxy, then let all hear thy marvelous voice—"

The power swelled in her, and Nerifes rose, her will one with its—its with hers.

"Gulcasa—!"

He lifted his head at her call, and broke through his opponents in a dash. Shirley felt more than sensed him arrive at her side—and she let loose the sea.

Water roared and burst in funnels, and Shirley rose on the power. Her heart, her body, and the waves surged—and broke—and she was standing feeling a bit drained as the water burst into droplets and faded, leaving the deck covered in the bodies of the dead and the only men standing their own.

Breathless and suddenly feeling nauseous, Shirley turned. Gulcasa closed his eyes and the fire that haloed him died out—and the next second saw him staggering. Shirley grabbed the rail with her left hand and reached out to support Gulcasa with her right arm, fist still clenched tightly on the black feather he'd given her.

He was breathing hard and his shirtfront was drenched in sweat, his skin slippery with it. But he held onto her just as tightly, and kept her on her feet even as she kept him on his.

They stood like that even as cheers of victory began to rise all over the ship, a mixed choir of Ferines and Bronquian voices that resonated straight to the sunset sky.