Later, when they had sailed through the storm and the sun had risen to dry them, Saher tapped Xandar gently on the shoulder and said awkwardly: “You have my gratitude, Xandar Trenhilde.”
“What for?” she asked, genuinely surprised. She had been about to remove her shirt and wring it dry, never mind that the rest of the ship would see her in her bodice.
“You saved my life, and I owe you a blood debt,” the necromancer told her, equally surprised that she was oblivious to the momentous deed she had performed.
Xandar considered this for a very brief moment. Then she nodded as she peeled off her shirt to expose her pale upper torso. The sun warmed her cold body as she squeezed her shirt out and draped it over the bulwarks.
“It was nothing, Saher,” she assured him. “Had you been me, you would have done the same.”