Page 103 of Valour

“Well, yes. Where’s that famous optimism, Septimus?”

He huffed a laugh and collapsed the spyglass. “We have to get there first, don’t forget.”

Hester grinned and leapt on him, wrapping her legs around his middle, and he caught her, palms on her ass, tongue in her mouth, just how she liked him. She tugged on the bright tether in her chest and felt him answer. The feeling was getting less strange and more second nature. Whenever she couldn’t see him, she still knew he was there. A warm, glowing bond stretching between them, steadying her.

“Do you hear that?” She stilled in his arms. The grating of cracking ice had her peering down at the edge of the floe they stood on, which then broke off.

“Shit!” Septimus dropped her to the ice and grabbed the back of her overall. “Jump. Ready?” She launched herself over the gap that was opening, landing back on the floe, then spinning and hopping.

“Jump!”

He leapt, staggering into her, toppling them both over with a thud.

Hester scrambled to her feet. “That was close. The floe is breaking up.”

“We should ready the boats to be launched.” He grasped her by the hand and tugged her along, back to the camp.

“We should eat what we can’t fit into the boats. We need a good meal before we take to the water. Who knows when we might get chance to eat something hot?” A part of her was excited to take to the sea again, albeit in an altogether different manner to sailing on the Valour.

“Yes,” he agreed. “And…your magic?”

“Used up.” Thank God.

He laid a hand over her heart. “And this?”

She grinned up at him. “Much improved.” And it was. She was slowly healing the lifelong emotional wounds with his help.

“So we don’t need to worry about visits from Orcus?”

Hester shuddered, lacing her fingers with his. She certainly hoped not. “I don’t see how he could find us.”

11th April 1916, Weddell Sea

It was only marginally warmer in the tent than outside of it, but Charlotte could think of nowhere better. Arnold was tucked in close on one side, Marjorie on the other. The wind howled outside, the canvas flapping loudly. They had launched the lifeboats the previous day and landed on a floe for the night. Her hands were aching from working the oars. The rowing was hard. The wind biting.

“The wedding is giving everyone a lot to talk about,” Arnold said, tucking her further into his side. “It’s a shame Hester cannot wed us down here now she has no ship to command.”

“I’d prefer a church wedding, anyway. Hester offered her services as a bridesmaid.”

Arnold laughed, the twin tassels of his woollen hat bobbing. “Of course she did.”

“She said it was—and I quote—her ‘God-given right’ and that she would ‘try not to outshine’ me, but she ‘couldn’t promise anything’.” Charlotte had rolled her eyes at the time, but in actual fact, she could think of no one better to walk down the aisle with.

“That’s our captain, ever the modest soul. Though I should think she’d burn up when she stepped over the church threshold.”

Charlotte stifled a laugh. “I’m not sure I’d fare any better, laying here, a-bed with a man.” She stroked his cheek, and he leaned over to kiss her. Marjorie immediately stuck her snout between the two of them, breaking them apart.

“Marjorie!” Charlotte huffed, pushing the giant dog away. “She acts like she is our chaperone.”

“She’s doing a fine job of making sure nothing untoward occurs.” Arnold narrowed his eyes at the malamute.

“Was that a hint of disappointment in your voice?” Charlotte teased.

“More than a hint,” he said.

She had to laugh. “Will it kill you to wait a few months until we’re wed?” Hester was right. The anticipation was rather exciting.

“No, although if we were to perish out here on the ice…” He said it with jest in his voice, but Charlotte fell quiet. “I didn’t mean it. We will get home. Trust in the captain.”