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

something of a mess. The first night, after sex, the weird anger she’d felt over the grenade resurfaced. She’d burst into hysterical tears, ranting: How could you not know what a grenade was and where the hell am I and what kind of people are you all anyway ?
    He’d hadn’t been put off; to her surprise, he all but cried along. Nearly getting blown up had shaken him deeply, and he wasn’t too macho to admit it.
    They’d spent a couple freaked out hours churning through it: the ransom demand, the grenade, the blast itself. Her mind kept latching onto the idea of it blowing up in her hand, of her fingers being blown off.
    She wasn’t even sure when they segued from processing their trauma to resuming the lovemaking.
    To spare Captain Dracy’s sensibilities, she and Lais tried to keep the fact that they were sleeping together under wraps. By day, they spent their time on on deck, acting chaste and talking about spidersilk, about magic, weapons, and science.
    Lais was a treasure trove of information about Stormwrack, patiently answering question after question. His own bafflement about her ignorance never seemed to resurface. A week was seven days, he told her, a month was five weeks plus a day, a year ten months. He knew some English words: called them Anglay and had an atrocious accent, but he understood “table” and “clock” and, most important, “faster.”
    He’d never heard of Earth; even after she’d explained, he seemed to believe she was an overly sheltered person from some very remote island.
    Lais was able to put names to the various species of sea life she’d collected, to tell her a bit about the local ecosystem. There were things he didn’t know. His home, and thus his area of expertise, was farther south. But he understood the basics of wildlife management.
    It made sense. Stormers would be keen to preserve animal and plant species—even if an organism had no magical use that they knew of, there was always a chance they’d discover an inscription that made use of it.
    She asked questions, took notes, told him tall tales about San Francisco. At night, they had whispery, athletic, enthusiastic hammock sex.
    On the second evening aboard they were all sitting out on deck when Dracy raised her head, squinting. “Wakelight,” she said, pointing to a faint glimmer, barely visible against the fading light of sunset.
    As they neared the glimmer, it brightened to a candle flicker. It was a floating balloon, about the size of a bathtub; it had the texture of a jellyfish body, and within was an intricate, crystalline blossom, pinkish in color—a wild rose, Sophie thought. The flower glowed within its protein float, as if there was a flame within it, as it rose and fell on the waves.
    â€œApprentice spellscribes practice making them,” Lais said, behind her. “Look, there’s another.”
    The other was tiny, barely a mote … and they were making more or less straight for it.
    Sophie scooped up a pail that had been tucked under a bench near the rail, then tied and threw a knotted rope overboard.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œI need a better look at that.”
    She let herself down the rope, enjoying the feel of the wind rushing through her hair. Winding the rope around one wrist so that she was secure, she reached out with the pail, skimming the surface of the water. Only one shot at this …
    It was all she needed. The little flicker splashed into the bucket, right on target, and she tucked the rope handle of the bucket into her elbow and hauled herself back up to Estrel , passing the pail to Lais before pulling herself up and over the rail.
    This one wasn’t a rose: Growing within the pouch of protein was a woman’s face, a flat profile much like a cameo.
    She lifted it out of the brine. The clear skin holding the crystal had the gelatinous solidity of a sea jelly. At its base was a