Yseult wedges her pole into a notch and stretches for the rum in the basket, loosening the cork and handing it over. She's not the most enthusiastic fisherman, but she doesn't mind the waiting, stretching out in the sailboat, wide hat brim shading her face and skirt twitched up to bare knees to the sun.

"I meant to tell you before we left," Yseult begins at some point, when the fish aren't biting and the last line of conversation has petered out, "Bastien had a magic ring that tells a person's true name, and it said my surname is Alström." She shrugs, like weird, huh?