"What is your business here?" Laesha, Archmage of Pyre Tower, shot an annoyed glance at the ruffian on her doorstep. He might've been handsome, were he not covered with dirt and grime, hair touseled with sea salt. His eyes caked near shut by the muck, she couldn't even tell their color.

The man stared back at her, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his salt-stiffened, water-stained coat. It looked to be of better quality than someone such as him could possibly afford. Her lips quirked as suspicion rose. "Have ye been unaware of the storm, milady?"

"I have not." Did he think her an imbecile? No one could possibly have ignored the waves crashing against the island's high cliffs, nor the wind blasting against her tower's walls, and certainly not the lightning striking down trees which had stood untouched for centuries. Realization dawned on her. "You were out in the middle of that and survived?"

"Aye." He ducked his head in a nod. "I did. My crew did not."

She tightened her lips, lowering her head in an expression of sympathy. "I am sorry to hear of your loss, sirrah." Thunder rumbled across the sky and lightning crackled. Even though she did not trust this man, she couldn't just leave him at the mercy of the elements. Laesha extended her hand, beckoning. "Come. You have my hospitality until the storm passes."