It makes me want to find more pretty things to please Vali, too. That urge annoys me, because she should be grateful I am keeping her, and yet I am the one eager to please. Hmph. I do not need to do anything to give her a better home than she had.

I tell myself this even as I spend all night hunting the seagrass fruit.

I tell myself this as I make the swim to shore and cut down more cattail pods for her.

I tell myself this as I spend half the night swimming ahead of Akara to my grotto, where I store the goods I steal from humans and look for things that might please her. I have jewels and weapons and a few statues and vases, but nothing that seem as if they would appeal to a woman in pain. Frustrated, I dig through the fabrics I have stolen from laden ships and use them to make a large, soft pile that will act as a bunk. I normally drift in the water at Akara’s side when I sleep, but she clearly needs a bed.

I remember that she mentioned raw fish, too. The humans cook their meat, I recall from the few human settlements I’ve passed through. They cook their meat and cover it with salt and add roots, as if they are trying to make up for all the flavor they have burned out of it. She will want to cook her food once I bring her to the grotto, I suspect. She liked the raw fish I gave her before, but she could have been pretending. I look around at the treasures and pick up a jewel-crusted pot, wondering if this is used for cooking. My people do not cook. We eat what the sea provides, cold and raw. It irritates me that I must go to such lengths to suit her, and I toss the pot aside with a huff.

I swim back to Akara, my mood sour. Through our mental bond, I know automatically how to find her, letting our link guide me to the hamarii despite the endless sameness of the open waters. I climb back up onto her back as dawn nears, and glimpse into the tent at my human wife.

She lies upon the floor in a huddled ball, curled around her limbs. Cattail pods are emptied, the shells neatly lined up by her feet, and the scent of cattail fluff—and blood—is everywhere inside the tent. The burgundy fabric is carefully folded under her head, acting as a pillow, and she uses her torn dress over her loins instead of the fabric I gave her. Vali is asleep, her breathing regular. Even in her sleep, however, her brows are furrowed, as if she cannot escape the pain even then.

All of the annoyance I have felt at having to accommodate her vanishes in a moment. She hurts, and I want to make it better. She has been all smiles and eagerness since I met her, and I do not like seeing her like this. I do not like how helpless it makes me feel.

I drop my bags of cattails and seagrass fruit just outside the tent, hitch one of the pouches of gold to my belt, and head into the waters again. Perhaps I can find a place where they will trade gold for this “willow bark.”

As I tend to move along the same stretch of shoreline, I also have a few villages that I visit from time to time for trading. They provide me with supplies, and I trade them necklaces and gold and they do not ask questions. It works well for both of us. There is a village not too far from my grotto, so while Akara continues her leisurely swim towards my home, I head farther up the shore to Godsthorne. It’s a peaceful, tiny village at the crossroads of a major Aventinian trading route. While few farmers live here—the soil is too rocky for most crops—there’s a small population of traders, and an inn that stays busy.

I know the innkeeper, and he also peddles supplies from time to time. I shake off the water from the sea and make my way inland as the sun comes up over the horizon. It illuminates the craggy hills here and the cattle that graze upon them. There are few trees. I’m told that inland, in the heart of the continent, there are trees big enough to house entire villages, but I cannot picture it. A few sheepherders stare at me, covered in their human clothing from head to foot, and for the first time, I wonder whether I shouldn’t wear human-like clothing when I go into their towns.

Vali would know. She would be full of advice. Perhaps my wife will be of more use to me than I thought.

The road is a familiar route to Godsthorne, and before the sun grows too high in the sky, I can see the thatched roofs of the cluster of homes that make up the village. I head toward the largest one, the inn, and push the door open.

No one is inside. The inn itself reeks of too many people, spilled beer and last night’s food. The benches are propped atop the tabletops and the wood floors gleam wetly, having recently been washed. There’s a young woman with yellow braids behind the bar, rubbing a tankard with a rag and yawning as she does. The innkeeper’s daughter. She immediately straightens at the sight of me and races to the back room. “Papa! Visitors from the sea!”

I move to the bar and put my hands atop it, waiting impatiently. I want to get back before Vali is awake for too long and panics that she’s been abandoned. I should have said something to her last night, I realize. What if she awakens and thinks I’ve left her and jumps into the sea? She’ll sink to the bottom for certain, where Vor’s dark children will feast upon her. My mouth flattens at the thought. Why didn’t I say anything? She’s already skittish. I am three times a fool.

“Papa!” the girl screeches from the room behind the bar. “Papa⁠—”

“I know, I know,” calls out a grumpy voice. “I’m coming. Hold your woales, girl.” A fat, bald man enters the bar from another part of the house. His name is Anellas, and I’ve dealt with him for many years now. His eyes gleam with avarice at the sight of me, near naked, in his inn. “Hello again, old friend.”

Old friend. As if we are companions more than business partners. It reminds me that I’ve never told him my name. I have never seen the need to, and yet his words make me pause. Does he consider me a friend or is this a politeness? Should I be answering differently? I have never cared what humans thought. I don’t know why I care now.

I toss my bag of gold onto the bar top. “Trade.”

It’s all I ever say. When one word suffices, all I give is one. Today it feels impolite. I have a great many things I want to ask about. What is it that human women like to eat? What can I give my human to ease her pain with her menses? Why won’t she trust me?

“Of course, of course.” Anellas hustles over to my side, opening the bag with greedy fingers. “Been a while since I’ve seen you, sea friend. How’s the weather?”

“I have a wife,” I blurt out, and then my jaw clamps at how foolish I sound.

His bushy brows furrow and he looks up at me. “Felicitations…?”

“She needs willow bark,” I bite out.

“Ah. The monthly pains,” Anellas says with a knowing smile. He picks up a piece of gold and bites it, then shines it on his apron. “Willow bark isn’t cheap, though. Get her belly full of your child. That’ll take care of the willow bark thing. She’ll spend all your coin with her demands if you let her. Women are like that.”

Are they? I glance down the bar, where the yellow-haired daughter is watching us from the doorway, half hidden. She doesn’t look as if her father is spending coin on her at all. Her dress is ragged and patched, and she’s always been working here, even when she was very small.

Anellas bites another medallion, hums to himself, and then starts to rake it toward his apron.

I stop him before he can, hands slamming down on the countertop. “Wait.”

He pales, taking a step back. His gaze flicks over my four arms and my chest. “Is there a problem?”

I take a deep breath through my nose, frustrated. I came here for willow bark, true, but I also came for answers. I wanted to ask about human slaves and how they’re treated. I wanted to ask a great many things about human women, but looking at this man and his timid daughter, I do not think he will be the right one to answer most of them. I tap a finger on the bar as I think. Finally, I come up with a good question. “You have a human wife?”