The dirt paths and boardwalks of Eel Cay were busy today, even as dawn broke over the mountainous crest of its interior. Grey took a deep breath of sea air as she glanced out from her rented sunveil. The sun was just breaking through the clear water, and if she was lucky, she might catch a few of the lagoon’s dolphins playing in the surf.

  While she could have afforded a room in Akula’s Inn, she enjoyed sleeping in the more modest canvas tents that lined the cove. She had made the mistake of paying sailor prices for a room in an inn that ended up smelling like mold and stale ale. A stretch of fabrics between two or more palms and a trough of fresh water was all she really needed on the smaller islands.

  Many didn’t care for the sunveils because of the violent weather systems that arrived unexpectedly in the Myriad. If a storm came, she would have to weather it on the Paso Fino either way. Staying in the tents just made damn sure she was up and heading towards the ship as soon as the wind picked up.

  It had been a little under a week since she sat with the Captain while he unveiled his plan for Mayacar. She had done what he asked and let the plan roll around her mind, picking it apart and putting it back together. Akula had also done what she’d asked and fronted the grounders a little walking around money. It was likely all back into the economy of Eel Cay, but they were pleased nonetheless.

  Grey smoothed and flipped her deep dust-colored hair into a loose knot on top of her head. After she secured it with a stretch of cord, she sat to pull her tanned boots over well-worn canvas trousers. She sat on the edge of her bed platform and stared at the palm-sewn mat at her feet.

  Grey had never been a religious person. She loosely followed the teachings of Order the same way she loosely followed the laws of whatever municipality she was in. That is to say, only when they benefited her. There were only two rules Grey really lived by: don’t fuck someone on your crew, figuratively or literally, and don’t make risky deals for dream.

  She stood and shrugged a dark leather vest over her white linen tunic and began lacing the sides with practiced motions. The armor was supple and worn, with hardened, almost black sections over her shoulders, chest, and ribs, both front and back. Riptides favored movement over armor, but they also were in too many altercations to forgo traditional armor completely. A ripper’s set was a combination of both mobility and protection.

  There was a round copper crest sewn into the left breast of her tunic, signifying her rank as a riptide and the leader of the ground division for the Paso Fino. As such, she was over both the combat and sage divisions, and though it usually wasn’t her business, the sailing crew should also be obliged to follow an order from her.

  She dipped a rag into her tin of linseed grease and polished the disc, making sure to get into the edges of the raised bars: one for officer, one for division leader. There were other officers on board with their single bar, but she was the only sailor with two. The structure was standard for a crew their size, with the exception of the missing first mate.

  After she was satisfied, she packed the tin back into her belongings. In the evenings, she used the oil-rich grease to protect the brass and copper on her gear from rust, and applied a lighter formula to her knives and sword. The crest was the only piece that she touched up in the morning. It would be deeply inappropriate for someone of her rank to let rust accumulate on their crest.

  After her vest was secured, she buckled on hardened thigh guards, sheathing foot-long daggers on their outside edge. The knives were just long enough to wield as she would her main sword, but short enough they didn’t inhibit her movement. She pulled these if she was disarmed or needed a secondary. If left in place, they also created an excellent shield to ward off an un-blocked thigh slash.

  She picked up her bracers next and took her time checking the integrity of the small pouches and other tools sewn onto the interior straps. After she buckled them in place, she unsheathed and sheathed the throwing blades lashed to the exterior, checking that they freed smoothly.

  Last, she pulled a sword belt tight and clipped on its scabbard. Rippers were fond of relatively short swords, better suited for combat in tight spaces, but the type of short sword they chose varied to the sailor’s strengths in combat. Some preferred a curved weapon, like a scimitar or cutlass, good for slashing while moving. Others liked a thin blade, such as a rapier, for quick thrusts and complicated swordwork.

  Grey preferred a straight, balanced sword. It suited her combat style and could be used fluidly with her striking and groundwork. She tilted the hilt into a stray column of sunlight and looked past the small, rounded crossguard, checking the double-edge blade for any blemishes or scuffs. After she was satisfied, she sheathed the steel onto her hip.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  She checked that nothing was out of place in the rusted, worn mirror in her sunveil. It was foggy with age, with a large crack that ran its length, but still a commodity on an island like Eel Cay. Though she started with her gear, she eventually stepped back to take in her whole reflection.

  The state of her hair was well enough, and she didn’t spend much time on how the skin around her amber eyes was starting to wear. She was vain about her abilities, her strength, and her leadership, not so much how she looked. As long as a few women on a few islands were pleased with what they saw, it didn’t much concern her. Grey sighed and sent her eyes back to her gear, checking for rubs and weak points.

  Riptides on the Myriad fought in some of the hottest, most humid environments on the Known Seas. Grey had seen more than one prideful little Lord of Etos fall to heatstroke in thick, heavy gear, sometimes before they even made it to the skirmish. Her armor, and training around its use, had been designed to take exertion and heat into account.

  The leather of her ripper gear was impressively thin where she needed movement and air. Even a brand new set was worked over and supple. Any armorer worth their salt knew to condition the joints and straps well before putting it up for sale. Grey’s gear was old, well taken care of, and moved with her like a second skin.

  Of course, a simple layer of hide wouldn’t help her much against anything larger than a thrown weapon or projectile. The parts of her body where she didn’t need movement were reinforced. The hardened sections on her vest, guards, and bracers were a mold-pressed and leather-wrapped bamboo shell over leather pads, leaving a hollow pocket where her armor appeared thickest. These air pockets made her insulated from the heat and more buoyant if the fight ended up in the sea.

  Even her scabbard was made with pressed bamboo and wrapped with leather, making it much lighter than traditional armor. It wouldn’t float with the sword still sheathed, but it did keep the damn thing from sinking so quickly.

  Her head, neck, upper arms, and top of her chest stayed uncovered completely. Riptide training revolved around building up her muscle memory to keep these vulnerable areas safe, and at this point, she wasn’t sure if adding armor would ever benefit her more than her mobility and comfort in her ripper set did.

  Grey tugged at the buckles a few more times for good measure and heard yelling coming from outside the tent.

  “Grey! You wouldn’t believe! Leaving the Inn this morning, which is where you’ll find any decent Etosian sleeping, maybe you didn’t know... I hear the madame crying out over the sea breeze. She was downright distraught. Her women are all bedridden, having fits of hysteria.”

  Grey spun from the mirror before Lotti could catch her looking at her reflection. It was a ridiculous reaction, as Grey was still in her tent. She rolled her shoulders and glanced out of the open flap.

  Lotti feigned dramatic concern as she sauntered up the boardwalk to Grey’s sunveil. “Seems the Osprey paid them all a visit in the night. Every last one of them! Left them delirious, unable to face the day, worn to shreds.”

  The Wind Sage wore her classic shit-eating grin, wide and youthful, though her age matched Grey’s own. “She’s looking for you high and low.” Lotti gestured extravagantly toward the town. “Get this, Osprey. They want to pay you! Can you imagine that? Twenty dusk workers all in line to give you a gold coin. They insist. If you just finish figuring out your buckles, we can head up there and..”

  Grey knew if she didn’t stop her, Lotti would run this thing into the ground. “Lotti, they’d just be paying me to keep you the fuck away. They had just stomped out the itch when you landed.”

  Lotti’s smile turned warm, pleased to see her friend. “You know damn well I haven’t had a serious bout of the itch since we were stuck at that Order-forsaken Blackwater post for three months.”

  Grey stretched her arms and shoulders as she stepped out of the sunveil and onto the boardwalk. “Don’t make light, that Etosian naval unit is forever changed. They have whole briefings about sand-washed sages and the itch now.”

  “Well. They should have had those anyway. Breakfast?”

  Grey nodded and extended her forearm to greet her friend. She clasped arms with Lotti and pulled beside her as they made their way towards Eel Cay’s only town. The citizens of the small island gave them a wide berth.

  The Wind Sage’s raiments made her stand out in all but the largest towns. The mystery of her profession would cause anyone pause, but her confident bearing only added to their wariness. Lotti’s head only came up to Grey’s chin, but she carried herself like she had several inches on the riptide. If the two walked together, they never had to worry about making a path in a crowd.

  To make matters worse, the sage was a breathtaking woman, and to Grey’s constant amusement, she was extremely aware of it.

  Lotti’s golden blonde waves fell loosely over her bluebell and pearl sage raiments today. She wore the light curls half up to beat the heat, but Grey knew her vanity rarely let her commit to wearing them fully tied back. Grey thought her hair would look nice pulled up, accentuating the spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her opinion had been dismissed with prejudice.

  Lotti’s laugh carried over the surf, and the sun shot morning rays of light through her jade eyes. Grey was content navigating the weathered planks and sand at their feet, mostly listening to the sage’s news while she guided them.

  Akula may be Grey’s longest friend, but she felt the most comfort with Lotti. They talked about almost nothing as they wound through the palms and shacks of Eel Cay.