Morning came again at sea. Life aboard the ship was tedious beyond words, the quarters cramped enough to suffocate. The air hung hot and damp. Lothar found himself lingering near Prajna more and more; the steady chill radiating from her was like having a personal air conditioner.

Fringilla offered no such comfort. Her body was cold as well, but only when one pressed close enough to feel it. Their Affinity had not reached that point.

Still, however little he wanted to leave the cabin, a knight had obligations he could not neglect. He checked with his two attendants on the training of the male villagers, saw to the women sewing surcoats bearing his crest for the men from their village, and made sure the crew were tending the horses properly and watching for seasickness.

Hans could have handled most of it alone. But Lothar could not become an absentee lord. His authority needed to be seen. The symbols of rank and command could not be entrusted to another's hands.

When he came up on deck, a thin mist veiled the sea. The crew worked the sails and steered with practiced focus. Father Beckett stood among the passengers with a wooden crucifix in hand, delivering another sermon. Lothar listened from one side, crossing himself with conspicuous devotion and mouthing each prayer at the proper moment.

Once the sermon ended, he went over. "Where are we now, Father Beckett?"

"We've passed the Ionian Sea and left the Adriatic well behind us." The monk paused and pointed toward the blurred coastline. "On a clear day, we would see the lighthouse of Morea from here. That is the Eastern Empire, a land whose customs are far removed from those of your homeland."

"The Eastern Empire..." Genuine longing touched Lothar's voice. "Once the fighting in the Holy Land has settled, I must see Constantinople, the Queen of Cities, Vasileousa Polis, built upon seven hills."

Beckett chuckled. "Then take care. A knight as bold and handsome as you will be mobbed by the noblewomen of the imperial court."

Lothar grinned. "If it were Empress Lagaya herself, I might be tempted."

"Wouldn't anyone?" Beckett's voice turned wistful. "She is the most beautiful woman in the world, and the most powerful. Marry Princess Sibylla, and you become heir to Jerusalem. Marry Empress Lagaya, and you become Emperor of the East. The two prizes are hardly comparable."

Lothar smiled and let the matter rest. He was not a man for idle fantasies. Becoming Emperor of the East was a pleasant dream, and no more.

"Sir Lothar, do you know that while I was preaching, the sailors kept warning me about sea monsters? Normally, we must watch for Norman, Moorish, and Berber pirates. Now they say we should fear creatures hardly anyone has ever seen." A faint mockery colored the monk's voice.

He had crossed between Italy and the Holy Land at least half a dozen times, perhaps more, and had never once seen a sea monster. To him, they were tales invented by bored sailors.

Then someone cut in. "Father, hardly anyone has seen them because nearly everyone who does dies."

It was the captain, a weathered middle-aged man whose face had been carved by sun and salt. "Just as you cannot know the misery that awaits Christians sold to the chieftains of Africa, you cannot know what became of sailors who laid eyes on those creatures. But ignorance does not make them unreal."

His voice grew grave. "They say sea monsters hunt when the sun is hidden. They sing to stir a man's deepest desires, then tear apart whoever falls under their spell and swallow him piece by piece. If you hear a strange voice, cover your ears."

He left after that, visibly uneasy.

Lothar and Beckett looked at one another. "I think he may be right," Lothar said. "Not seeing something does not mean it is not real. At the tournament in Lienz, I killed a werewolf with my own hands. At the very least, that proves the creatures of folk legend are not all fiction."

"But sea monsters belong to pagan myth."

Lothar said nothing. He merely gave the monk a long, meaningful look.

Beckett hesitated. At last, he said, "I understand. I'll pass the captain's warning along to the passengers."

A monk who had spent time in the Holy Land tended to be more flexible in such matters. Even Jerusalem welcomed the caravans of fire-worshipping merchants.

By evening, the fog had grown thicker, and the world had dimmed with it. Fringilla stood on deck, stretching her lithe form without restraint. Most of the passengers were asleep now, so she had no need to fear drawing attention. She leaned lazily against the gunwale.

"My lord, this life is unbearable. I spent the whole day staring at a wall with that woman Prajna. My very existence as a vampire is dimming by the hour."

Lothar glanced at her. "It may be dull, but surely not duller than sleeping in a coffin."

"How is sleeping anything like this? When you're asleep, you know nothing. You cannot be bored." She took his arm, her eyes bright with expectation. "Please. Let me find one man, just for a quick drink. I'll throw the body into the sea. The fish will clean up every trace, and no one will know."

"No." Lothar's expression hardened.

"Fringilla, understand this: I am human, and so are the people you want to feed on. Do not speak of their deaths as though you were ordering a cup of wine. And I have warned you already: without my permission, you will not touch anyone."

"But I am asking your permission right now!"

"My answer is clear." He paused. "They say sirens haunt these waters. They are creatures of the deep sea, and they hate the light. Tonight's weather is perfect for them. You had better stay alert."

"Tch. Sirens? Those wanton things who go looking for human men to mate with? What is there to fear from them?" Fringilla's voice dripped with disdain.

If sirens were the stuff of schoolyard ghost stories, vampires stood at least two ranks higher: the stuff of urban legends.

"Do not be careless. Your strength has not recovered. It is heavily suppressed, and you may not be much stronger than this world's supernatural creatures." Lothar spoke gently. "Pride is the first of the seven deadly sins. I have told you many times: this world is no simpler than the one you came from. I do not want arrogance to cost you your life one day."

"All right, all right, I understand. Must you nag like some dreary old antiquarian?" Her voice was full of impatience.

And the Affinity notification appeared.

This child and her stubborn mouth. Lothar smiled. "Do not be so impatient. When we return to the cabin, I'll tell you and Prajna a story. Will that do?"

"Fine." She made it sound like a concession, but she was delighted. Lothar's mind, steeped in years of web novels, held a bottomless store of stories.

"The monkey story again?"

"You do not want to hear it?"

"Hmph. I suppose I could listen." Her voice trailed off as she quickened her pace, almost skipping. She could not quite hide her excitement. No one had ever told her a bedtime story before.