Aha! See! I have kept to my schedule. Am so proud.... Anyway, thanks for all the reviews! PrincessCaz, I'm glad you liked the chapter. As for port v. larboard, they're both correct, but I liked the older, more foreign feel of "larboard." Black Knight 03, I'm glad both the sailing details and the Gordo-thoughts worked out well; they're the two things I've been most concerned about these past few chapters! I-Got-Butterflyz, I haven't had a chance to check out that fic, but I definitely will! As for writing a section from G's POV, it's not so much that I'm afraid or incapable of doing so, as I just can't in this story without ruining the flow. I'd always planned this fic to be L-POV, so all the revelations, realizations, drama, etc. flows from that POV. If, however, after I've finished this and I think G has something to say, I'll see if I can't post a G-POV outtake. :) Yes, MysteriouslyUnique, my dad definitely knows his stuff! :D I'm just happy to hear I've done that stuff justice—thank you! Wow, Jenny, thank you; I can't tell you how good it is to have some reassurance (that is, praise) on all those points. Keeps me writing, believe me! Lily, Gordo's back soon, promise, and I'll update on time, promise, so you won't have too much longer to wait! (Promise) pixievix, I'm missing him too. :( Soon, soon, soon! MP, there's a little more of the crew in this and the next chapter; I hope it's enough! Thank you, jennifer! So that makes graduation, a birthday, and moving into college for the last three chapters, right, swim6516? Anything exciting going on this update? (Hope you're enjoying college, by the way!)

Chapter 17: Of Seers and Sceptres

Despite her exhaustion, her first night aboard ship wasn't an easy one. It seemed every noise, every murmur jolted her awake. She roused to the tolling of bells, jumped at the thud of feet on the stairs, started with the ominous creak of the ship's timbers. It wasn't until the first hints of sunrise blued the sky, amid the deafening shouts of sailors loading cargo, that Lizzie at last tumbled light-headed into a sound, dark sleep.

When she surfaced again, her tiny cabin was awash in motion, an eager, joyous see-saw that made Lizzie laugh out loud. Bars of criss-crossed sunlight rose and ebbed along the floor and Lizzie laughed again, half in delight, half in disbelief. Amazing. They must be underway. On a sailing ship. And she not the least bit seasick.

On the next roll—or was it pitch?—she tumbled out of the bed and staggered, grinning, over to the windows. Outside, the ocean lay a rippling bolt of cyan silk, threads of pale foam spooling atop it in the ship's wake. Land, likely the peninsula they'd just left, dominated the horizon as a dark, faintly greenish smudge, hazy with distance, but above it the sky was wide, clear, and washed the translucent blue of Easter eggs.

Beautiful.

She might have stood there an hour longer, absently fingering tangles from her hair as she gaped at the view, had a knock not sounded behind her. Lurching across the room, Lizzie flung open the door to find Abil, the ship's boy, standing outside, a tray in his hands.

"Mornin', miss," he nodded walking past her to set the tray on her little table. "Compliments of the cap'n, miss. Nuncheon. He says as he's busy on deck, he's sorry he can't share the meal, miss, but he hopes y'enjoy it alone. Says too, miss, that y're welcome to wander the Amana as you will once y're done."

"Thanks, Abil," Lizzie said, smiling bemusedly at the deferential bow the ship's boy dropped as he left. And this the same boy who last night, in between bouts of song and dance, most magnanimously condescended to explain to Lizzie, "a new sailor, how-all the ship works."

Still smiling, she zig-zagged to the table and, once safely collapsed into the chair, reached to unwrap the bundles atop the tray. A wedge of pale cheese in one, an elbow of dark, moist bread in another, and a tall, open-mouthed stein of dark, steaming tea beneath the last. "More bread and cheese," Lizzie chuckled, but the bread was heavy, faintly bitter, and the cheese pleasantly spicy. Combined with the lemon bite of the tea, the meal bore almost no resemblance to the bread and cheese on which she and Gordo had been rationed.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, nothing remained but crumbs and dregs. Uncertain what to do with the tray, Lizzie decided to just leave it where it was for the time being and head above deck. The sun was still shining, though it had ceased painting squares along the floor, and the view through her windows was no longer quite enough. Not for someone who'd spent the last several days outdoors, Lizzie amended, mouth quirking wryly.

With one last glance around the room, and a smooth of her skirts, Lizzie staggered to the door and out into the black passage beyond. She knew her way to the stairs by now, even in the dark, but that didn't stop the ship from throwing her off course. With more luck than skill, she managed to careen into the stairwell and stumble up the steps, hips glancing off first one wall then the other all the way up. She wasn't seasick, but damn if she didn't have the worst pair of landlubber legs. Oy.

"Ho, Miss Lizzie!" came Zev's voice as Lizzie catapulted out of the stairwell. "Joining us at last, I see." By some miracle of the deck's movement, she managed to stay on her feet and even turn around. The captain stood, at ease and with enviable balance, atop the quarterdeck, not a few feet away from the large, spoked-wheel helm.

"Yes," she called back. Then, with a wry frown, added, "Although I'm thinking perhaps I ought to have stayed in my cabin."

"On a day such as this?" The captain's arms flung wide as he negotiated the steep stairs down to the main deck. "Surely you are not so skittish of a little unsteadiness. Here," his arm braced her elbow, "perhaps I can help?" It wasn't perfect, but with Zev swaying at her side the uncertain motion of the ship seemed a little less befuddling. She even managed to keep her legs under her as he led her slowly up the deck.

"We should reach Aderet by tomorrow, late evening," he announced after a moment. "That's almost half a day ahead of what I expected." He laughed, "Thanks be to this miracle of a wind."

Miracle of a wind? "What?"

Zev's eyes met hers, a grin crinkling the corners. "This wind." His free hand curled as though to catch it. "Here in this part of the Middle Sea—near the Nai Islands—the winds are notoriously fickle. Coming out of Eliston, there's a favorable current that helps a little, but the journey into the Islands can take up to a sennight if the winds don't cooperate. But this wind," he laughed again, "I've never seen its like. This wind changes, yes, but it changes to help us...at almost the exact moment we need it. It's as though someone's—"

"Shifting it around?" Lizzie asked, grinning back at him.

"Yes!" The captain's brow folded. "You're not saying you—"

"Oh!" She shook her head emphatically. "No, not me."

"But someone." It was not a question. "Someone you know."

Lizzie's grin gained a sheepish bend. Bother. Did the goddess fit under Secrets Not To Be Told? Crap. Gordo was right. She sucked at keeping secrets. "Not exactly," she hedged. Zev's frown only deepened. Oy, she sucked, sucked, sucked at keeping secrets. "That is, I don't know her well. And I can't say for sure whether the wind's her doing...."

"'Her doing'?" he echoed.

Geez. Sucked. "But it probably is."

Zev merely repeated, "Her doing?"

Aw, hell. At least the goddess hadn't sworn her to silence. "The mother of the Sun. You know about her?" No answer was forthcoming. Not that she was surprised. Zev looked incapable of speech—mouth wide open, eyelids flickering in astonishment. Lizzie cleared her throat, took a deep breath. "See, I'm on a quest of sorts. That's why I'm on your ship. The mother of the Sun told me to take the Amana to Aderet—she gave me the pearls for payment—then I'm supposed to find the King of Jagur, who's supposed to know this Crane-guy, who's supposed to help me on the next step. 'Course, I'm hoping to find my friend along the way, but it's possible he's already finished his quest...assuming his quest is different from mine, which isn't altogether certain. Anyway, since I'm hurrying on my way, it's quite likely that the mother of the Sun is helping us to get to Aderet...since she's the one who told me to go there in the first place...but I said that." And breathe, Lizzie....

Zev was still blinking. But at least he'd managed to close his mouth. After a long moment, he croaked, "The mother of the Sun?"

Lizzie's mouth itched nervously at one cheek. "Geez, I hope you know who that is."

His head tilted gingerly. "Yes. I know about the mother of the Sun. Mostly just as the wife of the Dragon King, god of the nine seas, but I know who she is." He swallowed. "You're saying the mother of the Sun is shaping the wind to our course?" Without waiting for a reply, he asked, "And she gifted you the black pearls you used as payment?" Eyes wide, "They must be the Dragon King's pearls."

"She did say you were one of her husband's favorite captains," Lizzie offered hopefully, "so maybe she really wants you to have them?"

"One of her husband's favorites?" Zev's shock-blanked eyes kindled. With a bit more of his customary firmness, he said, "Well, that's impressive."

"Yes." Relief nearly tipped her off her unsteady feet. "Yes, it is." No lightning bolts to smite her down, and the captain hadn't fainted at his slight brush with deity. Good. That was good.

"I'm suddenly very glad I didn't toss you overboard yesterday," Zev smirked. "Only think how angry the Mother of the Sun would be right now. Or the Dragon King." He winked. "A thing like that can ruin a sailor, you know."

Uh. "Yes." Overboard? "Would you really have thrown me overboard?"

Oh, he was fully recovered now: the light in the captain's apple-green eyes was positively wicked. "I don't know," he raised an eyebrow. "I was certainly tempted." And with a flourishing bow, he deposited her hand on the starboard rail, stepping away as he asked, "Until supper, dear lady?" Barely awaiting Lizzie's dazed nod, he swept another bow—the hint of a grin at his mouth just as wicked as his eyes—and turned away. Over his shoulder drifted a laughing, "Best of luck finding your sea legs!"

"But..." Lizzie protested to his retreating back. Evil man. Sea legs, indeed. And he'd been tempted to throw her overboard?! Her mouth pressed into an indignant line. Grrrr. Just because she'd surprised him about the mother of the Sun business, that was no reason to—a crack of laughter startled from her chest. Okay, so that was every reason to tease her.

"Fair enough," she muttered. Then, "Sea legs, eh?" Maybe if she took it slowly and held on tight to the ship's rail, she wouldn't knock some poor soul overboard...or herself unconscious. Right.

Right.

But for the moment, she'd just...uh...stay here and...look around a bit. Yup. Lots to see.

And, actually, there was. She'd seen the ship already, of course, briefly as she came aboard yesterday and then on the tour last night. But it'd been dark last night and, anyway, seeing the Amana at anchor was nothing like seeing her in action. Sailors still swarmed the rigging, bent like hairpins over a yard to gather sail, pulling this rope or that, swinging in acrobatic somersaults into the crow's nest—remarkable to watch in itself, but downright thrilling considering the sickening sway of the masts. What was no little motion here on deck became a roller coaster dip and reel up above. Yet the sailors looked at ease in their work—concentrating, yes, but nimble and sure for all that.

And the men on deck were a symphony of movement. Lizzie couldn't understand the commands they jumped to, but it was obvious they worked to a well-ordered synchronicity. Like a machine, almost. Frenetic, but purposeful. Nearly serene, despite the din of shouts and chanting, the hustle and the urgency. Not a machine so much as a dance, Lizzie amended, watching, fascinated.

There was no better way to travel the ocean, Lizzie was certain. There were safer ways, no doubt, and faster, but this way was best. This way, the Amana and all her citizens were a part of the water and the wind—a vessel of neither masterfully twining the two forces together. What had Seth said? Something about sweet poetry? She was, the Amana—poetry. Poetry and freedom and hazard and joy.

Lizzie let her eyes skim the ocean, wandering up tall, rippling waves dimpled by wind, noting dark, still troughs, wild, white crests. The sun glimmered hard silver in the distance, and she let the brilliance sear her eyes before she closed them. Eyes shut, the world was lulling motion in which she could just...almost...find the pattern. Fingers of wind threaded through her hair, sea water misting off the bow to salt her lips. And the crack of canvas, the hollow call of air in her ears, and above all the rustle, grumble, roar of ocean grudging their passage.

She was going to gain sea legs if it killed her. No more clinging to the rail, not when the wind, the sea, the ship herself dared Lizzie to ride free and unfettered.

Not to mention Zev didn't seem to think she could do it.

Opening her eyes, Lizzie turned from the rail, stepped away, and let go.

For the rest of the afternoon, she meandered all over the deck—truly meandering at first, from one solid grip to the next, but after a little while achieving a comfortable rolling stride. She paused at the helm to chat with the pilot's mate, stopped in the bow where some of the off-duty crew gathered, and watched as, bit by bit, the peninsula behind them faded and the lumps of Nai Islands ahead grew larger and, slowly, sharper.

Mostly, though, she tried not to think. Because, beyond the occasional moment of awe at the ship, the crew, the sea, thinking really meant Thinking About Gordo.

Again, she agonized over whether to tell him she loved him. In love, Liz...in love. Frankly, she just didn't like the odds. If she told him, he might a) apologize 'cuz he doesn't feel the same, b) lie and say he does, c) say he loves her, go away to college, and fall out of love with her, or d) really love her, for ever and ever, amen. Which meant only one-in-four chances of a positive outcome.

But then, what would happen if she didn't tell him? She'd already established that she sucked at keeping secrets, so she probably wouldn't be able to act as though nothing had changed. And apparently she also got really jealous at the thought of Gordo dating someone else, so, again, probably not gonna be able to keep to the status quo. So if she didn't tell him, their friendship was pretty much shot.

Plainly, the one-in-four chance was better odds than no chance at all.

If only the former didn't scare the hell out of her.

And, really, she could probably revise the odds to one-in-five. Either she told him (with the four possible options there) or she didn't (the fifth option). In all five options, their friendship was going to change. That was inevitable. She just wasn't sure she wanted to risk all the humiliation of telling him how she felt just on the off-chance that the change might be for the better.

Nonononono. No more thinking. None at all.

Sometime while she'd been deep in thought, the sun had set and twilight fallen. From where she stood at the larboard rail near the mizzen mast, the moon was nearly right in front of her, three-quarters full and glowing like a pearl. The sky behind it and the sea beneath it nearly melted into one, both a shade of blue Lizzie had never seen before. This was what they meant by navy blue—a deep indigo with a touch of yellow and red, a purplish blue with gold undertones, plush, rich, so heavy it could almost be velvet. And trailing below the pearly moon, a glittering reflection undulating on the waves.

Funny, Lizzie thought, eyes filled with the beauty of the dusk, everyone said the moon left a silvery path on water. But here the path was jade and lemon, cornflower and saffron, a radiant swath of shimmering, changeable gold.

"Breathtaking, is it not?"

Lizzie flicked a glance at Zev, leaning on the rail beside her. "I suppose 'breathtaking' comes closest, yes," she smiled.

The captain gave an appreciative chuckle. "Sometimes, when we've been at port too long, I forget there are sights like this one to be found out here. Forgetting, I could just about cheerfully give all this up. But I always remember. Eventually." Was that a note of rue in his voice?

"You seem as though you wouldn't mind forgetting," she said, trying not to sound as curious as she felt. It was his business, after all.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, clearing his throat, his tone unusually solemn, "Yes. Well, I'm not really a captain, you know. That is, I had never planned to be a sailor. I became one for a very good reason, and it's that...reason...that I sometimes wish to forget." Another long, silent pause. "It's not a bad life, of course, and there's challenge and beauty aplenty," he swept a hand at the moonlit dusk, "but I've been living aboard a ship for nigh on five years now and I'm—tired." The word came on a resigned sigh, as though it did and yet did not quite say what he really meant.

Turning to him as she murmured an apology, Lizzie couldn't help but think again of that odd exchange between Zev and his crew when she'd first come aboard yesterday. The moonlight glazed the captain's eyes, hiding any truths lurking there, but caught the long, pained lines etching his mouth, sharpened the defensive hunch of his shoulders. It was plain, now, that the grief she'd sensed between Zev and Mr. Jeshin the day before was Zev's alone. And if that same grief had nothing to do with the guest quarters and the someone he wished to stay in them, Lizzie would jump overboard.

Maybe that was the reason he mentioned for becoming a sailor? He was looking for someone?

Shaking her head, Lizzie turned back to the ocean. It really was Zev's business. She had no right prying into something that was obviously painful. No matter how curious she was. No matter how much she empathized....

Gordo again. Dammit.

Scrambling to turn the subject, Lizzie suddenly remembered what Seth had asked her to tell the captain. "Do you know someone named Seth?" she said abruptly.

Zev jumped. "Seth?" he asked, puzzlement plain in his voice. "Yes, I know a fellow named Seth. He's something in the way of a divin—" he stiffened. "Did you meet him?" he demanded, one hand clamping urgently onto her forearm.

Blinking, startled, Lizzie could only stammer, "Y-yes, he's the one who told me how to get on board the Amana. Not stay on board—that was all my idea—but find you, if only—"

"Did he say anything?" Zev interrupted, fingers pinching tighter around her arm. "Did he mention me?"

Lizzie's brow furrowed. "Yes. We were talking about your ship, after all. But he did want me to tell you—ouch!" The captain's grip had become painful. With an apologetic wince, he loosened it. "He wanted me to tell you he had a feeling about me. That if anything came of it, you'd pay him for helping me, yourself." The hand fell away, Zev tilting his head back to release a breath to the sky, his whole body slumping. In relief? Despair? "What?" Lizzie pressed. "What's it mean?" This time, her hand found his forearm. Tugging on his sleeve, she repeated, "What did he mean, Zev? Is everything all right?"

Zev's head came down, eyes brilliant with a light not entirely of the moon. "I could kiss you, Miss Lizzie," he laughed.

Despite herself, Lizzie recoiled a little. "Not that I'm not flattered, Zev, but...what?"

He laughed again, a light, incredulous sound. "Seth is a diviner, Miss Lizzie, a seer of sorts. He doesn't have visions—nothing so clear or obvious—but he gets what he calls feelings: a sense that this is a right action and that a wrong one, here's a right place, there's a wrong one. Nothing easy or simple or specific, but useful in its way." He shook his head. "I asked Seth's help years ago, but he had nothing to tell me. And now, you come along...and he has a feeling...finally! Four winds," he swore, "if he's right, he can have my crown...and joy of it!"

Crown? What the hell? "Wait a minute," Lizzie protested, "what are you talking about? A seer? And help on what? And what's this about your crown?" The last was a shrill squeak, and Lizzie was aware of not a few sailors stopping to stare at her.

But Zev only laughed again—which was becoming just slightly irritating now—and took her elbow. "As you are turning out to be quite the good luck charm—" he announced, ushering her toward his quarters, "a fact which none of my crew debates after today's winds, by the way—I shall trouble myself to explain the whole story. But let us do so over our meal, shall we?" As they were, by then, already inside the captain's office, Zev marching across to the dining room door, Lizzie could only nod. "Good." And then he was settling her in a chair, loading up a plate for both of them, and talking again.

"As I said earlier," he explained, sitting down, himself, "I never planned to become a sailor. Never trained for it. In fact, most of my training has been in philosophy, mathematics, political and economical theory, and history, with a dash of music to please my mother, a lady of considerable musical skill, herself. My learning has been all that is suitable for a man who would in future take up the crown and sceptre to rule his country. I am, you have guessed, a prince." Lizzie, mouth full of tart, spiced apple, could only roll her eyes at the nonchalant way he delivered an utterly shocking statement. No wonder he'd been so intimidating when she'd first met him: he wielded not only a captain's authority, but a king's. That was enough to have just about anyone shaking in their slippers, let alone a young, solitary chick-from-another-universe. Oy.

But Zev was still speaking. "The school I attended was the best in this world, of course—a school designed to train royalty to their positions. Thoroughly detestable place, really, just as you'd expect of a campus full of obnoxious, arrogant students used to having their every whim obeyed. So it's not terribly surprising that my first few years there were bitterly lonely. But then I met Judith.

"The only daughter of an emperor, she was a few years younger than me, but utterly brilliant. Almost from the first moment of her arrival, we shared scholars and lessons, and as she was the only person I'd met there with even a mote of sense and kindness, we swiftly became friends. And over the years, from friends we became something more.

"I think I fell in love with her first, but I never would have told her—" he chuckled, "too afraid, you understand, and I knew my father had betrothed me in my cradle to some unknown princess—but on the last day of our studies together, Judith kissed me. And then, of course, it all came out. That she loved me, I loved her...we resolved to marry one another, arranged betrothals be damned. Imagine my surprise, then, when my father told me the princess he'd determined I would marry was Judith. Her father and mine had met and agreed to the betrothal before either of us were born."

Zev smiled—a distant, reminiscent smile. "I was in alt, of course." Lizzie frowned. Alt? Presumably, he meant joy, delight maybe...? "I set out immediately to see her. But something had gone wrong. I believe, now, that the emperor must have been feeling pressure from a neighboring kingdom, or maybe an advisor nervous about allying their country with my own. Regardless, he betrothed Judith in her absence to a lord of his own court. So when I arrived to see my beloved, he did all he could to keep us apart.

"In the end, though, we found one another and decided to run away to marry under my father's authority. On the way, we stopped at a small island to replenish our supplies. I left Judith gathering fruit near the boat while I went inland to hunt, and when I returned," Zev's voice faltered, but Lizzie could guess what happened next.

Swallowing her last bite of fish, she finished, "She was gone." Zev nodded, forking a bite of his own fish. It was probably cold by now. To let him eat, and perhaps regain his composure, Lizzie went on. "So you became a sailor, to look for her?" Another nod. "And asked Seth for help, but he couldn't tell you where to look. Until now, when he suddenly got a feeling about me." Lizzie settled back in her chair, pushing her empty plate away. "Does that mean Judith might be in Jagur? Aderet even?"

"I hope so." There was a wealth of emotion in those three words—hope, certainly, but longing and sadness and grief and a flickering flame of fierce, fierce joy. Lizzie closed her eyes. Geez, she couldn't even imagine...loving someone so much only to be separated for almost five years, separated and worrying for that person's safety. Worrying and wondering, surely, whether that person had changed...still loved you...even after five years....

Lizzie's eyes flickered open. All right, so maybe she could imagine. That scenario sounded downright familiar. "I hope she's there, Zev. I really hope she is." But...damn, was it wrong to ask him? He had suffered through five years of heartache; she didn't need to add to it. But he had to have thought the same thoughts before, right? And could she afford not to ask him?

Swallowing dryly, she coughed, then murmured, "C-can I ask you something? About—about you and Judith?" If he said no, she'd leave it alo—

"Yes." He sounded perplexed, but willing.

Please don't hate me. "Do you worry that maybe she's...that maybe Judith doesn't...l-love you...now...anymore? That she's changed?" Please, please don't hate me!

The silence stretched so long, Lizzie couldn't help lifting her eyes from the immaculate tablecloth to meet his. He didn't look furious o-or shattered, at least. "Why," he said at last, a hint of the usual sarcasm edging his voice, "do I get the feeling this isn't a question about me?"

Of course he'd guess. Lizzie felt the blush sweep fast and furious into her cheeks. "Because I'm about as subtle as a blow to the head, maybe?" she asked with what she hoped was a charming smile. Eyes and smile dropping, she continued in a near whisper, "I...just...your situation is very similar to one I find myself in. I was hoping—"

"—Maybe I might be able to help? In all my superior wisdom and all?" Oh, yeah. That was definitely good old dry Captain Zev. But before she could answer, he said, "Since you may very well have led me to my betrothed, I suppose it's the least I can do. But you'd best explain the whole of it."

And so Lizzie did, painfully, feeling nearly as humiliated as she expected to feel when telling Gordo, and with not nearly as much style and insouciance as Zev had told his own, doubtless just-as-uncomfortable tale. But at last she finished, her voice winding into silence as Zev swallowed the last bite of his supper. Breathless, stomach fluttery, she waited for the captain to respond, but he merely stood and poured them each a glass of the same alcohol-stuff with which they'd finished yesterday's meal.

Returning to the table, he set her glass in front of her and sipped from his own. Lizzie knotted her hands together in her lap and squeezed. The quiet was almost deafening.

Zev drew a long, deep breath. "You need to tell him," came his soft verdict.

Tell him. The words rang like a death knell. OhnoOhnoOhnoOhno. "But—" she started, only for the protest to die away as Zev's hand came up.

"You know you need to tell him, Miss Lizzie. I don't think you need me to tell you that. Or maybe you do, if my giving you an order makes you feel better. You'll regret not chancing it, if you don't, but more importantly, your Gordo deserves to know." Zev took another sip from his glass. "Judith deserved to know when I fell in love with her. As my dearest friend, she had earned the right to my secrets. Especially the ones regarding her. Wise as she was, she understood that and had the courage, moreover, to risk all on that kiss.

"If your friendship will change—and you said yourself, it will change no matter what happens—better that it change for honesty than for lies. Gather your courage, my friend, and tell him. Do it with a kiss if you can't say the words, but do it. You may surprise yourself with the results."

Another sip, another long silence as Lizzie let the captain's words sink in. Then, "As to whether Judith still loves me—and whether your Gordo will still love you even if you part—there is no certainty in these matters. There never really is in anything, but the fact is that I love her, and because I love her I must trust that she still loves me. I must have faith that any changes wrought in her, or in me, will not change our regard for one another. If you cannot have that faith in either yourself or your Gordo, what you feel is not love, Miss Lizzie. Not the love you should feel, anyway. The right sort of love should require your faith and your courage and your strength...all the best parts of who you are. Any other sort of love will pale in time. Of that, I am certain."

And what was there to say to that? She was still struggling to assimilate what he'd said, but she already felt the truth in his words. If only she could let herself—ha, make herself—act on them.

With a last gulp, Zev finished his glass and pointed at hers. "You've a lot to think on, Miss Lizzie, and tomorrow we arrive at Aderet. Finish your port; it'll help you sleep. Then tomorrow you can think yourself into a stupor all over again." Setting his glass on the table, "I know I certainly will. Drink."

With an unsteady hand, Lizzie obediently lifted her port and drained it in several quick swallows. The heavy, sweet liquor burned a trail down her throat to settle warmly in her stomach. Zev chuckled as she set her glass down.

"Good girl. Now get yourself to your bunk before you can't stand up." With a wink, he rose as she did. "Tomorrow, once we dock, I'll show you around Aderet."

Lizzie summoned a smile. "And tomorrow," she countered, "once we dock, you'll tell me what your Judith looks like, so I can help you find her." As though she couldn't guess. If Zev looked like Jon Dukov, Judith doubtless looked like Miranda. Damn, it'd be good to see Miranda, especially if she couldn't find Gordo.

Gordo.

Bed, McGuire, she ordered herself, before you can't stand up anymore. And putting Gordo as firmly and far from her mind as possible—not very, as it turned out—she bid Zev a good night and slipped off for her own quarters.

####
end of chapter 17

Chapter Notes:
Yet another thank you to my ingenious, awesome Father-Dearest. Yet another mea culpa for any mistakes made. If anyone's interested in more of this lovely sailing stuff, may I recommend the incredible Patrick O'Brian? To get into the sailing mood, I read his The Golden Ocean, detailing Commodore George Anson's voyage around the world in pursuit of Spanish navy and merchant ships. Apart from his superb knowledge of the sailing life, O'Brian is a fantastic storyteller and an adept, elegant, hilarious writer. If you don't know his books, you've probably at least heard of the movie Master and Commander: the Far Side of the World, which was based on his Aubrey/Maturin novels. I also want to recommend the book Historic Sail: the Glory of the Sailing Ship from the 13th to the 19th Century (plates by Joseph Wheatley, text by Stephen Howarth). I based the Amana on Plate 84, the East Indiaman Falmouth, 1752 (part warship, part merchant ship). There's also info and an illustration (Plate 83) of a ship like the Centurion, the ship from The Golden Ocean.