Free Child of a Hidden Sea by A.M. Dellamonica Page A

cupboard, the twin to the one in her quarters, and drew out a small wooden case. Within were strung strands of fine thread, each next to a pinned and labeled specimen of a spider.
    â€œMmm, sciencey.” The case had wooden hinges and a wooden latch, she noticed: iron was apparently scarce here. “So?”
    â€œSpidersilk is a key component in shipbuilding scrips,” Lais said, indicating the threads. “The best silk fetches an incredibly high price. People weave sheets of fabric for the magical texts.”
    â€œAll of this magic is tongue of newt, eye of bat stuff? You write these things on specific substances, using inks brewed from rigidly set out recipes?”
    â€œAnd using specialized tools, depending on the intention.”
    She remembered Bastien, scratching words into the conch shell with what looked like an ivory dentist’s pick. “And when the text is destroyed, the magic goes too.”
    â€œI cannot understand how this is unknown to you.”
    â€œYou’ve never seen a hand grenade.”
    â€œNo end of wonders in this world,” he said; from his tone it was something people said often. “I’d never have guessed there was a lady anywhere who knew nothing of inscription.”
    â€œI grew up in a land of gunpowder and cold steel. Tell me about your specimens. These look like they’re all females?”
    â€œYou have a good eye.” He touched one of the spiders. “These are lesser chindrella. Their silk’s decent, but not top of the line. I’ve been working to raise one that produces better thread.”
    â€œHow’s that going?”
    â€œI’m getting close.”
    â€œYou’ve moved from horse breeding to spider breeding. You’re a genetic engineer.” No wonder she got along with him: Sophie and scientists, her mother was fond of saying, like a house afire. “Would anyone kill you for building a better spider?”
    â€œThey might,” he said seriously. “But their method was peculiar. If you’d never seen a … grenade?”
    â€œDefinitely a grenade. And just so you know, I’m hoping to never see one close-up again.”
    â€œDracy and I would have let it burst at our feet.” He leaned past her, closing the case and sliding it back into the cupboard. The move put him within inches of her. She felt a sudden urge to run her hand through those golden locks of his. Seriously, this guy belongs in a Hercules costume.
    â€œI owe you two debts now, Kir,” Lais said.
    â€œGive the Stele Islanders whatever food you can scare up.”
    â€œMy family will repay the debt to our business, of course. But I can’t repay Stele for my life.”
    â€œI’m just passing through,” she said. “There’s nothing you can do for me.”
    â€œNo?” His hand eased around the small of her back. Pressure, but not a pull.
    â€œYou know,” she said, letting him draw her closer, “Dracy seems to think you’re an incredible cad.”
    â€œThey take their sacred matrimony seriously where she’s from,” he said. His hand was tracing a circle around the base of her spine. “What about you? What does the land of cold steel say about such things?”
    â€œIt says if I’m being packed off home, I might as well have some fun beforehand.”
    With that, she kissed him, tasting apricots and just a hint of the ale, running her fingers up the nape of his neck as his arms closed around her.
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    Sophie had had a couple of shipboard romances over the years—one with a Canadian grad student on a narwal-filming jaunt to the Arctic, another with a German who was the world’s foremost expert on forest carbon budgets as well as a fanatic about meditation. She tended to enjoy the affairs in the moment and overthink them afterward, but it worked all right as long as she knew she wouldn’t see the guy again.
    With Lais, she was