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Chapter 13

The cool outside air stings as it enters my chest. Underneath my tightly buttoned up shirt, I carry the marks of the late Krish; a great, pink scar which will be with me forever and mark me for a killer. Just like the scar around my neck marks me for a slave no matter what I do to my collar.

And yet.

I can feel the vindication lingering underneath it all. I have been spared by the Gods, if the Gods are even watching. If not, then by this strange ability I've been given. Either way, my continued existence has to mean something. It has to be a sign that I'm going the right way, and that I've still far to go. I can survive again. And again, and again. If I just keep my wits about me, I can live. And if I can live, I'm sure I can thrive.

I come up on Kit as he's cooking the morning meal in the mess, and scoop him off the floor without warning. The sudden exertion makes my head spin, but I clutch my lover tightly, biting through the pain because the reward will be ever so sweet. But Kit gasps, and not of surprise or delight either. It's the gasp of someone who has lowered themselves into too warm a bath, or put weight on a sore ankle. It's the gasp of pain. I set Kit back on his feet, and hold him at arm's length.

"Kit, what's the matter?"

Kit chews his lip, his ears folded back.

"Ajag, he-"

"What did he do?" A weight descends on my soul as I hear that name. Kit looks away.

He has no visible injuries, but that doesn't calm me. Pulling the curtain across the doorway, I start unbuttoning his shirt with quick, determined movements. His paws are limp, his arms hanging by his side. He doesn't even try to stop me. None of his energy, or passion, fierceness or joy is present. I remember the last time I saw him like that, with a shudder that makes my hackles rise. Guilt is present on his muzzle, however, as if I'm going to be mad at him. I'm not mad. I'm outraged. When I was out with a terrible wound, that evil captain laid his paws on him. My anger bubbles forth like a searing, red hot blade directly from the forge, which plunges into my belly and twists when I turn down Kit's shirt to see what had made him gasp.

Underneath Kit's freshly groomed coat, angry red stripes stand out clearly against the white, some of them with beads of dried blood still present, running from the back of his neck to the base of his tail.

"I told him I didn't know where the tiger's gold went," Kit explains with a shaky, weak voice. "I don't think he believes me but..." Kit swallows. "I never said a thing."

"I'll kill him."

And just like that, all the black thoughts spring to my mind at once. All my joy, all my excitement fizzles out like a fire in a storm. Nothing can justify this. Nothing can forgive it. I'm about to head straight for the captain's cabin, but Kit stops. A gentle paw on mine, stronger than any chain or collar.

"Not now." Kit turns his beautiful, green eyes on me.

"I need to-"

"Don't do what you're planning to do."

"Why not?" I'm shocked, but I can't pull away from the weasel.

"I said... don't," Kit persists with a clearer tone. "Stay here with me."

He puts himself between me and the curtains hanging across the doorway, his shirt still hanging from his elbows. Pure. Vulnerable. But strong and determined all the same.

"Calm down, Kieran. Your wound isn't healed. Your... insides... Your mind... You're not done healing."

"He hurt you," I tell him, "I don't require more healing to know that."

"He hurt me," Kit confirms. "And I'll hurt him back, by leaving him. I can weather this storm, Kieran. You must weather yours. We're soon in Dalmatia, and everything will be okay. You should rest more."

"I'm fully rested, I-"

"You look a mess, fox."

I can't argue. But his bravery and virtue is misplaced. The captain has to die, there is no question about it now. If he is allowed to live, he will hurt some other poor soul. No, the first step of bettering the world has to be to rid it of this monster. Maybe not today. But eventually. For now, I yield to my boyfriend's wants.

I decide that breakfast can wait for another hour. Kit and I lay down carefully on the cot, fully immersed in each other's embraces. We hold around each other like we did in those hazy, halcyon early days of our relationship, stroking and comforting each other. I can think of no better way to heal his hurts. And though it takes me a long time, he manages to bring my rage down from a boil to a simmer.

Eventually, Kit has to continue his work as the duke's valet, and I have no choice but to let him go. That too will help him on a better path. But whenever he isn't in Duck's company, I keep an eye on him. I can't allow myself to fail in my duties to protect him one more time. But when you have a vermin problem, you don't hire guards to watch the pantry. You get yourself a ratter.

###

Whenever I catch sight of the captain, I can't help but stare at him. Seeing him so nonchalant and oblivious burns within me. How can he not labour under the crushing weight of his actions? How can he stand there and pretend that he deserves anything other than the worst hell imaginable? Only a matter of feet separates us sometimes, and I can't lay my paws on him. I'm too weak, too exposed, and too angry.

"Slave!" he calls out suddenly.

I've obviously been staring for too long. None of the other crew uses that word in my hearing, because they've learned that it sets me off.

"What are you doing topside? It's nearing dinner time."

I fleck my teeth at him. "I'll be the judge of when it's dinner time... captain."

Come on, just come a little bit closer. Come close enough that you can see how much I itch for a fight. But the captain remains where he stands, blowing me off with a shrug. "Don't tarry. If it weren't for the lack of alternatives, I'd gladly go without that swill you call food."

"Hey, now, capn'" a voice says from the crowd of sailors on deck. Some deck rat I haven't had the occasion to talk to very much. "Go easy on'im, aight? Don't reckon he'll make that meal he did, if you go about badmouthin' 'im. We don't tell ya how t'do yer job, don't tell 'im how t'do 'is."

"Shut your muzzle, Percat," The captain growls, looking out across the horizon with disinterest.

The rat named Percat gives me a sidelong glance, rolling his eyes. "What's gotten inta' yer bed, capn? No need to be so sore. Maybe Krish'd still be here if you'd-"

"I said shut up. Or you're on bilge duty. Fuck off the both of you."

I remain where I stand, near the gunwale. Challenging the wolf's authority for a moment longer. But his presence just ends up making my hackles rise, and eventually, I head below to clear my nose of his smell.

###

That night, after Duck has called me in for a meeting, I release some of my frustration that I've built up.

"The captain needs to die."

"What makes you think I will allow this?" Duck asks, crossing his legs in his comfortable chair.

"You ought to, sir," I mutter. "I dealt with the tiger for you. I almost died. It's the least-"

"I ought to?" Duck smiles an incredulous smile, but I can only see it as derisive. Then his voice drops several degrees, and loses any kind of warmth. "You have a curious way of 'dealing with' the tiger. I wanted him alive. And you have a curious way of interpreting my words, too. Because, and pardon me if this was lost in translation, but the phrase to discuss, means 'talk about'. Not murder."

"It won't be murder. It'll be justice. All I ask is for the captain to face some actual justice."

"Kieran," Duck sighs. "The world is so infinitesimally intricate in its structure, especially the world I've curated around myself. For this structure not to be disturbed, it means some men have to be allowed to live, despite their crimes."

"He hurt Kit," I counter. "Your own valet, beaten like some animal. He helped cover your tracks, sir."

Duck's expression freezes, but most crucially, there's no surprise there. He already knew.

"Kit... did what he had been told. He serves admirably, and understands-"

"Who are we if we do not protect those who need our protection. Why should I respect someone who can't even back up that simple ideal, which you yourself proclaimed!?"

"We are a brotherhood under my command," Duck persists, "Ultimately, I have the last say. Not you. Especially not you, in fact. Of course, I find the captain's behaviour heinous. But I don't want more bloodshed on this ship. You are careless, and untrained, and you are guided by your emotions. And just because you've been lucky once, that doesn't mean you'll be lucky again. If you go and get yourself killed-"

"-I will have given my life trying to protect the people of Dalmatia," I shoot in quickly, "As you made me swear to do. I don't know about you, but I stand by those words."

Duck curses. "I also made you swear to follow my orders."

"Are you ordering me to leave him alone until we disembark?"

I will myself to stare into the eyes of the man who had once bought me. We're locked together like this for a long time.

"Yes, that is an order." Duck growls. "Even this talk is far over the line. You're clueless about the outcomes you might cause, you're ignorant of the worth of the information his continued existence brings me. That's not to say I don't understand your pain Kieran. I have been where you are now. All I want is your cooperation, and I need that in order to keep you safe. I don't want you to die, but you seem hell bent on it. Why must you be so difficult?"

"Did you not say you wanted only good and honourable brothers?"

"Where is the honour in disobeying your liege? Where's the honour of-"

"Didn't you disobey, in a way, when you went in search of Krish? You went against the will of your brothers, who trusted you to do the right thing."

"And I didn't do the right thing, Kiearn!" Duck raises his voice. It almost quivers. "Don't go there, fox. Do not step an inch in that direction. That is my burden, born of my own actions, which have nothing to do with the brotherhood."

"This won't be a burden to me," I tell him.

"You're really going to go this path?" Duck asks. "You seek to fulfil some personal vendetta? With me in this difficult position?" The dalmatian stands up, a fierce, angry expression on him. His fists are clenched, and he looks about to strike me. "Your insolence is noted, Kieran. I will remember this."

I'm about to speak up. To protest. But he speaks before I can.

"If you try to kill him on your own, you will die. So, you will listen to me, and do as I say, when I say it. And you will do nothing before that time. For your loyalty, Kieran... We will address the Ajag issue. But let it be noted that you have no favours left to ask me. I only concede because you are a special case, Kieran. But you take one step out of line after this, and there will be _severe_consequences."

The dalmatian curses in his own language. "This will put a beam in the cartwheels of future attempts to combat the smuggling efforts. You have a lot to make up for."

"I'm sorry sir," I finally concede, letting softness back into my voice, and lowering my shoulders. "This simply must be done. I'm not made of whatever you are, sir. I can't ignore his crimes."

"You will have to learn that, too," Duck says. The coldness in his voice does not make me want to question him further. I don't doubt his seriousness. And it strikes me, with a chill running down my spine, that he holds something in his paw of far more value to me than my own life. He can, with a simple dismissal of his staff, strike harder than any fist or tiger's claw.

"Go. Leave me be, and don't bother me again today." The Dalmatian growls as he rubs the sides of his head, "and don't touch the captain. I need to work out a plan."

###

As the Tamarind slowly ambles along towards Dalmatia, I lose track of the days. Every day blurs into the next, and bleeds over from the last, because I spend every minute of my free time keeping watch over Kit. Night and day. Just in case.

In the spare times between our duties, we usually hide away in the mess or down in the secret store room, practicing kissing each other or reciting poetry. Whenever there is lamp oil, we write together, honing my spelling and paw with sloppy, cute and silly love poems which we'd dedicate to each other, to life and freedom, to Dalmatia, and all her citizens.

Through many small gestures, Kit helps me recover in ways I never knew I needed help with. The poppied wine, which has a frighteningly strong hold on me still, he keeps me distracted from. My nightmares, he wakes me from with soothing words. My murderous thoughts, he takes from my mind with dreams of the times we'll share instead. In the weeks following my return to my duties, I fall deeper in love with him than I thought possible.

After another few days, I begin to notice slivers and outcroppings of land unlike anything I've seen before. Long gone are the waves, storms and rains of the Gray Sea, and the featureless beaches and endless jungles of the Golden Continent's vast land mass. In their places severe, pale rockfaces stand hundreds of feet tall, plunging straight into the azure sea with the staunch poise assigned to everything here. Lush and deeply green grass, dotted with purple and yellow flowers cling to these hills in a desperate struggle against the wind and rain. The trees here are great tall behemoths with pointed caps and dark green foliage. They don't sway in the wind so much as they defy it with all their might and power.

All in all, a land of great stoic power and unbearable beauty. A harsh land too. And cold, compared to the climate I've lived in all my life, where clothes are merely worn to accessorise and cover up one's shame. Here, clothing keep the warmth in and the winds out. They call this season "winter", which marks the end of their so-called warm "summer" season. Kit tells me gets milder when we come closer to Dalmatia. There's no rainy or dry seasons here, only cold and colder. Kit has no trouble weathering the temperature with his thick, white coat. He tells me that, had he not been travelling around so much, he'd have a thicker coat in the colder parts of the year, and a thin, brown and white one during the summer. He says his shedding periods have been turned on its side slightly. But if my coat works the same way, then it's all upside down, as I've just shed the last tuft of insulation I had, and it's apparently now that I need it.

Late one night, I brave the cold and climb out onto the secluded foredeck to look out across the black-blue contours which break the monotonous horizon. The days are simply not long enough for me to take in all this grace.

The moon stands out clearly here. Its cold gaze comes without judgement. It agrees with all I desire, with all I want, and it has no issues listening to my deep complaints which I can't voice to the other steely gazed monolith in my life.

Will every death be like this? At first fearful, desperate self-preservation, followed by horrible nightmares, and unbounded, uncontrollable hatred? These emotions are so monumental compared to what I'm used to. Will I ever pass them, like a sickness, or will they torment me forever like another scar? Will things change, once I have enough blood on my paws? Will I want it to change? To become someone who isn't bothered, who doesn't care? Or would it be better to feel this conflicted every time I'm tasked to kill, just to feel that murder is something inherently wrong and bad? To make sure I'm still on the side of good, even if the burden is difficult? The scary thing is, I can't work out whether or not it will be different the next time, or the next time after that. It's the uncertainty which bothers me the most. Maybe I'll break after my next kill? Maybe I'd endure for a thousand? I have no choice but to brave the harsh seas and seek the calm port beyond, in the hopes I can recover enough to brave them again. At least I have Kit. He is very strong. How long can he bear it? I'm not going to pretend that this hasn't changed anything for him; but what if it changes him? The moon can't provide me with any answers, but it comforts me all the same. In amongst this alien landscape, it stands out as a permanent reminder that I am still the same fox, sharing the same world as the cub I once was.

As we get nearer the shores, and start to approach the Dalmatian city states, the view changes again. Stone roads, flat and straight as a beam of light. Squat wooden huts made from blackened oak. Great towers and keeps on every outcropping and defensible hilltop, and miles and miles of farm and pastureland.

Kit takes care to explain all the new sights to me while the ship sails lazily along the coast, and I listen obediently, not just because I enjoy Kit's talk, but also because that is what I owe to Duck. I've worn my welcome thin, close to breaking altogether. I don't want to find out what he's like when he decides he's spent enough goodwill on me. He's given me much. Taught me more. He is interested in keeping me loyal to him. I just couldn't bring myself to believe that. I was always waiting for the penny to drop, and his mask to come off. And when it did, he was completely honest, and even remorseful. And how have I repaid him? Rudeness, boldness, and hair-splitting negotiation, in some misguided attempt to assert myself as something more than a slave. But he never treated me as one. He's never ordered me to do anything. He asked, and he always did so after explaining to me what my service means, and why it was in my interest to do as he asked. I accepted, knowing that I could have refused without being punished. He's included me in something greater than myself. And I don't believe it's just because I'm a valuable asset. But even if it was that cynical, I don't think I'd mind much. I've been granted a chance. A chance I have no inherent claim to, and no right to demand, but a chance which has been given to me. That's worth a little subjugation.

"Slave!" Captain Ajag shouts as he catches sight of me on deck one afternoon. We have just passed an island town called Sar Illir; a fortified naval base guarding the entrance to Dalmatia, where a small ship had drawn up besides us. Ajag had parted with some gold in order to be allowed to trade in these waters, and now he's in a foul mood. This is by no means a deviation from the norm. He's taken the news of Krish's "disappearance" very poorly, and for the most part he's taken it out on me. Had it not been for my absolutely forbidding Kit to go near him, I'm sure he'd have taken his frustration out on the weasel instead.

"Where is Kit?" he bellows. "I need clean clothes before we make landfall. Fetch him, and tell your master that he'll have to go without his staff for a few hours."

"Where is Kit indeed?" I ask. "Good question. Though... you know where he is, don't you?" Everything about the captain's reaction suggests he knows.

"Fetch the weasel for me," he snarls through clenched teeth. "I will speak with him now!" The captain's speech is so unrestrained that droplets of spittle shower from his muzzle with every syllable. He thinks I'm someone he can boss around like Kit? He will soon learn. Because earlier today, I paid a visit to Duck. I've just been told of his plan, and my role in it. And I've got some harsh realities to impart to this brute.

"That won't happen." I step up to where the captain stands, feeling braver and braver every second as I place myself squarely in his path. This has been a long time coming. "He's not yours anymore."

"Get Kit or I'll throw you overboard, fox."

"No," I whisper, getting right up close to the captain, so close I can smell nothing but his foul breath. "You can't have him anymore. He's coming with me to Dalmatia, and there's nothing you can do about it. He's with me."

"What did you just say?"

"I said..." I draw a deep breath which strains at my bandages, and call out so that all the deck can hear me. "The first prick who lays a paw on him will have my foot so far up his fat, grey and black backside that-"

Before I can reach the punch line, which would've been a really good one, the captain hoists me clean off the planks by the scruff of my neck, among scattered laugher from the crew. Perfect.

"I'll have you whipped," Captain Ajag growls. "You insolent slave. I'll have you keelhauled. Obey my orders, I am your captain!"

"Uh-uh." I shake my head, wincing under the agonizing pain of having my wound slowly reopening under my shirt. "We are in Dalmatia. My service on your crew ends here. There's a lot of things that begin in Dalmatia, though. Like it's laws. I'll have you know, I am feeling... grievously... insulted right about now."

I call the last words out as loudly as my aching chest will allow.

"What was that, slave?" The captain growled, confused. "Why do I care at all what you're feeling? If you don't-"

"Captain Ajag?"

Duck's voice, calm and clear, cuts across the deck and causes the captain's confused scowl to freeze on his muzzle. Most of the crew around us turn to the dalmatian, who is leaning against the main mast some ten yards away. "Are you addressing Kieran with violent intent? My servant?"

"Sir, your slave... he's quite unruly. I told you it was only a matter of time before he went feral, you gave him far too much-"

"Freedom?" Duck smiles an enigmatic smile. "Indeed, I have. Far in excess of what's good for him. You're currently accosting a free citizen of Dalmatia. A squire, I should mention, in his majesty's employ. You will now release him, I believe."

At length, the captain does just that, but without lowering his arm first. I clatter to the floor, brush off my knees and elbows, and get to my feet.

"Quite right," I say loudly to Duck. "This insult will not go unanswered..." I turn to the dalmatian who gave me the slightest of subtle nods. "If you would be so kind, sir?"

On cue, Duck pulls one of his gloves from his belt and hands it to me. I can read his expression. This farce is not what he wanted. But if he wants the loyalty of the free fox he once bought and brought with him to a foreign land, he will have to grant me this.

"Thank you, Your Grace," I say, tipping my ears back in recognition.

"Get on with it, Kieran," he responds.

"Y-your Grace?" Captain Ajag asked, confusion thick on his voice. "You mean... this Dal-"

I fling the proffered glove in Captain Ajag's face, where it hits home with a satisfying smack.

"What's the meaning of this?" Captain Ajag barks, stunned, as the glove slowly peels from his muzzle, falling to the deck. "Who are-"

"Thank you," I tell the duke most cordially, bowing to return the glove to the before turning back to the wolf. "Ajag, with all present as my witnesses, I challenge you to defend your deeds with your life."

The sensation of speaking back to someone of authority, or indeed anyone like Ajag, with the words I always felt needed saying, feels amazing. I am allowed to do this. I won't be reprimanded or be called foolish. Well, I have been called foolish already, but I'm free to be a fool. I'm doing what is my right, and I'm doing the right thing, and right now, I don't care what anyone thinks.

"Will you answer him?" Duck asks, his stern voice cutting through where my agitation threatens to escalate the situation further. "Or, will you publicly apologize for this transgression? In which case, you will probably find it prudent to apologize for the reprehensible treatment you extended to my personal valet, too? Should you choose to do that, I will have to submit this case to the magistrates instead." I swear I see the dalmatian's lips twitch just a whiskers breadth. "I hold some influence with the court, as you know. I believe they'd be very interested to be allowed aboard, don't you?"

"You... you said... I was in the clear... but... but." The captain looks frantically around him for support, but none of the sailors dare to stand up against a Dalmatian of royal blood. Or, maybe they don't dare getting on the wrong side of the cook. Ajag's stretched to the very end of his tether, now I just have to hope he has enough rope to hang himself.

"I don't need the magistrate... your... Your Grace." The wolf's ears folds back when he speaks to Duck. He looks across to me, and his eyes narrow, calculating. "I'll not need to involve the bloody bureaucracy... and... I stand by my words. This slave has raised himself far beyond where he belongs. I will put him back in his place."

"I demand satisfaction, then," I bark, holding his eyes with my own. He wants to point at my collar and tell me that I am nothing. In fact, judging from the way his fists clench and shake, he'd like nothing better right now than to wrap them around my neck. But the mere presence of the duke keeps him in check. That's power. It doesn't matter whether or not Ajag believes the dalmatian is a duke or not. The captain has authority, Krish had plenty of strength and intimidation. But this dalmatian has more power than any of them.

I stare into the captain's eyes, and see something there which cuts through his white heated anger. Doubt, perhaps? Fear? Even had it been regret, it wouldn't have mattered. There's no way he's getting out of this.

"Then it's decided," Duck calls. His authoritative voice carries across the entire deck. "An insult has been perceived by Kieran, a former slave now in contractual employ of His Majesty, Prince Mateo of Dalmatia. The perpetrator of the insult, Captain Ajag of the Tamarind, refuses to apologize for statements or actions meant to cause harm or insult, a duel will be arranged, to be fought at dawn on the following day. The duel is to be witnessed by me, His Royal Highness, Reis Alfonse Cattaro Cisare Di Tomasi, Duke of Dalmatia." At the pronouncement of that name, several whispers break out among the sailors on deck. "And whomsoever might wish to witness it for themselves. Under the laws of Dalmatia, the duel is legal, and legally binding. This duel will be fought without seconds, and it is understood that the duel is to the death, or the victor's discretion. As the challenged party, Captain Ajag will be invited to select the weapons."

Duck's well-prepared speech doesn't surprise me. Captain Ajag's outburst didn't surprise me. Everything I had done and said had been agreed upon, rehearsed and practiced in private all day yesterday. Ajag won't chose to duel with pistols. At least we hope so. That is the only thing we couldn't plan for, but it's almost certain all the same. Too random. Too equal. When Ajag looks at me, he sees a weak and feeble cub who has never fought back. When he thinks of himself, he probably imagines a stalwart commander who can do no wrong; who gets his way with the force of what he might perceive as his intellect. That will be his undoing. The only thing I hadn't anticipated, after all this planning, is how much it'd hurt when his rough grasp tore my wound open.

A chill runs down my spine as I see small, red roses bloom on my shirt. My knees feel weak, and my head feels light. Suddenly, everything seems like a poor idea. I'm still wounded for heavens' sake. Why not just sneak in and slit the bastard's throat in the night? I could even have him invite me in, he's easy enough to fool. Why not do that, or a thousand other, safer solutions? Why does it have to be done like this?

Legality, Duck had insisted. We don't want to invite suspicion around the circumstances of the captain's death, with the tiger's disappearance so fresh in the crew's memory. A stray accusation and a peek through Duck's belongings, where the tiger's blood soaked letter and book resides, could upend the whole mission.

I stagger out of the half circle of people which has formed around us, followed by hushed mutterings and confused questions, all the while trying to maintain my triumphant smile. My head spins as more and more blood soak through my shirt. I cover my chest with my arms, and stumble downstairs and into the seclusion of the mess.

It had felt so great to see the reaction of Captain Ajag's face. To feel the weight of the glove in my palm before I threw it. To taste the scathing denouncement on my tongue. Now I can't even say I'd have done it again, if I had the choice. The horror I feel when seeing the blood trickle through my shirt is worse than I care to contemplate.

I find Kit in the kitchen with his head buried underneath his pillow. I take the opportunity to down the dregs of yesterday's dose of regular wine, and in doing so, announce my entrance.

"I heard what went on topside," the weasel groans, but he speaks from under his pillow as if he has a headache.

"I told you he had it coming." I try to force a crooked, half-apologetic smile as the small red roses spread out on my chest. I try to keep a steady tone so I don't betray how much they frighten me. "Do you have more of that wine? The poppied one."

"Oh, for God's sake, Kieran... I told you not to drink so much."

"I'm not drunk... no more than usual."

Kit looks up finally.

"You look awful."

"I love you too, weasel," I reply, but guilt gets the better of me before I can continue. He's not done anything to deserve my snarky tone. Kit gets up from the bed, and starts to undress me.

"You ought to have left him alone," he mutters unhappily as he redresses my bandages. "I asked you to leave him alone. To focus on your future, and not my past. Why could you not just listen to me?"

"I told you that wasn't an option." I grumble right back.

"Listening to my concerns is not an option?" Kit frowns.

"I left my past behind. Matron... She's probably bullying some poor new slave right now. I will not make that mistake again."

"You're going to break my heart," Kit complains quietly. "You're going to get yourself killed... with all this... this stuff... if the poppy doesn't claim you."

"It's just for the pain," I brush his paws off me, and shrug out of my shirt by myself. "And who gave it to me to begin with anyways?"

"I had to do something," he responds with a wounded tone. "You needed rest, or that wound of yours would never have healed." Kit sighs unhappily, whiskers drooping, as he surveys the worn bandages, which stain his paws with red. "If I'd have known you'd keep taking it."

"That's how it works, Kit," I groan, "It claims you and doesn't let go easily. And anyways, if you wanted to relieve my pain, you could always slip under my sheets."

"I don't find this funny, Kieran," Kit grumbles. "I mean it-"

"Look, once the captain is dead, it's going to be over. Okay? Once we've put all this behind us, we'll get better together. Things will be fine in the end." I tell him as much mostly because I need to hear myself saying it. "It's just this bastard left between us and freedom. He had it coming."

The weasel sighs, and remains silent for a long time.

"He had it coming," Kit echoes at length. Then he says nothing for a long time.

"Kit?"

He doesn't respond to me, not when I prod him or try to nuzzle him. In fact, he's cold. He leans away from me, even as he's changing my bandages.

"Kit, come on, talk to me."

"No, Kieran, I've had it with this," Kit says sternly. "You put yourself in this situation when you didn't have to. When I begged you not to, you wouldn't listen to me. And now you're going to fight to the death? Did you think I'd just smile and approve?"

"I'm sorry Kit," I deflect. "It'd just be a step too far to me to allow him to life."

"A step too far to respect my feelings, too?" he shoots back. "Was that a reasonable sacrifice to be allowed to kill him? Was it worth it?"

I don't want to respond. Because he's not wrong, and trying to argue against him will just make me sound like a bloodthirsty murderer. So, I look away instead.

"I know it's hard for you to accept this," Kit mutters, "but I can actually handle myself, despite what you might think. And when you can't respect that, it hurts me. I hope you realise that. All I ask now that you swear something, because that seems to be the only way to get into your thick skull sometimes. Promise you'll make it out alive, Kieran. Because we didn't come all this way together for me to carry on alone. Swear on your life. Don't argue with me, just do it."

I tip my ears back and nod. "I will, I'm sorry, Kit."

"You need to learn about respecting your partners feelings."

I swallow.

"I do respect your feelings," I tell him, meekly.

"No, you don't," Kit insists. "You never listened to me, you didn't trust me to know what I wanted, because you disagreed and thought you knew better. Do you still think you're protecting me?"

"I was... He was... I mean... Kit, please."

"I'm serious, Kieran," Kit says sharply, as he reapplies my bandages tightly. "I'm really upset by all this and I won't stand for it. You betrayed my trust. I don't ever want you to do that again. Do you understand what I'm saying, Kieran?"

I fold my ears down, and nod. The ache is in my throat now, a massive lump which makes it hard to breathe.

"I didn't... I didn't mean to," I tell him weakly. "I'm sorry, Kit."

He's cold with me. That hurts worse than the wound ever did. More so because I know I deserve it. I've not been a decent partner to him. I decided on his behalf what I thought was best, when I should've just trusted him. It might be hard to trust that he wants what's best for him, but that's not the point. He can want whatever he wants. If I wanted what was best for me, I'd not have questioned Duck, and I'd have obediently done everything he told me to. No, I wanted what I wanted. And Kit wanted what he wanted. And in the end, I've denied him that when I could've given it to him. Like an owner. The thought makes me want to wretch.