Trapped By Claws (Of Seas and Tides)

12. Heat

This wasn't just a room. It was a cavern. A cavern stuffed with…things.

The cavern stretched beyond sight, lit with small pale-blue orbs near the entrance. As I stepped farther in, I realized there were additional chambers. Inside this place were all manner of items from various wrecks. Some must have been from the Seaforger's Pride, because they were still drying out: strips of cloth, crates of food, broken boxes, books laid out on flat surfaces. All tossed in without any organization.

He just collected things and laid them out here to dry before figuring out what to do with them.

I raised an eyebrow. From the looks of it, he never figured out what to do with half of it. And there was wood. Lots and lots of wood. Enough to be a fire hazard if anyone managed to get a flame ablaze in here.

Tagger trotted in after me. He scuffled about and rubbed his chin on a broken bit of green pottery. As he scurried along, he slipped between a shattered crate and a broken chair.

There was just so much in here. Corvin must have been gathering these items for years. How long had he lived in this place?

The dripping of water was the only sound aside from my own breathing to disturb the space. It was hard to take it all in. I paused as I glimpsed a familiar shape in the middle of the first storeroom, a large swell of black metal.

"Son of a scallop. He's got a whole woodstove!" I set my hands on my waist and shook my head, sighing. The man had brought in a whole woodstove. Not just one or two. Three! One was so large I had no idea how he got it in here unless he dragged it in while in his eel form. His jaws had to have ached holding that metal beast.

The second was worth little more than scrap metal.

But the third was an old dwarven woodstove intended for travel, whether in ships or on wagons. It was sturdy but manageable, similar to one I'd encountered many times over the past years.

The dark grey woodstove was not as heavy as some I had seen. It had been made with a particular type of dwarven steel that was far lighter and more durable than the iron that was used in the tavern where I first worked. One side had been dented, and the door hung crooked. But, with a fair bit of huffing, grunting, and shoving, I moved the woodstove out into the main room.

The air flow was the next thing to manage. There were numerous holes and vents in the ceiling and walls that might work. So I tested each one until I found a couple that would suffice. From there, I started putting up the pipes from all three of the wood stoves, having to fit them together and twist them.

In this way, the day passed slowly but almost pleasantly. The last time I had put together one of these stoves, it had been in a ramshackle halfway house that served as a tavern, a general store, a flower shop, and a tiny hospital. Mama had been too busy with her translations and notes to see all the work that went into it, but I had been proud of myself for managing to fix the stove and pipes with precious little help from anyone.

Not that I blamed them. The shifters were dealing with a condition that sent them into rapid shifting. They had to take medicine regularly just to keep their human forms.

Tagger, at least, vocalized his appreciation of my actions. He chirped as he trailed along behind me, investigating each pipe and circling the stove multiple times.

I searched through the crates and found several items, including a dented pot. Ingredients were even easier to find, including some mostly fresh produce like potatoes, celery, carrots, sweet potatoes, onions, and garlic. Lots and lots of pickled and preserved foods, mostly intact though a few jars were cracked. Some sealed jars and tins of spices and herbs had made it through as well. I carried them all out to the table and then dragged out some of the wood he had gathered.

The wood near the front was either damp or soaked. But the pieces farther in the cavern were dry and brittle. I hauled these out. Then I fished out the bit of flint from the ring with my special spoon.

Within minutes, a fire blazed in the woodstove. And the pipes sent the smoke out into the farther depths of the cave. A little of the smoky scent filled the chamber, but that just improved the overall odor.

Feeling better, I changed back into my own dress, the mauve fabric stiff and uncomfortable but familiar. As I did, my fingers brushed over the little book I'd taken from Mama's desk. My heart clenched.

Mama.

Gently, I lifted the wet book and studied it. My fingers traced the delicate lines and fragile pages. It wasn't in as bad of a condition as I'd expected, probably because it had been made and treated for researchers who worked on the seas. Some of the ink had run in a few places, but the vast majority was legible.

The book naturally fell open to the spot I had last been reading. The part about the grounded staircases that led into the air and how they were not as dangerous to use as the ones that randomly appeared. There were several scattered throughout the world that still had the necessary grounding runes and mechanisms to work. And a grounded staircase could be used to create a portal that would connect to another grounded staircase with a portal.

I bit the inside of my lip, remembering my last words.

Guilt rose within me. My shoulders sagged.

I carried the book out to the kitchen and set it down so that the heat would reach it.

Tagger nudged it.

"Leave that alone." I adjusted the ties of my apron. "I need to get dinner started." As I started to organize my working space, I sighed. "Obviously, I'll make something with fish. I'd love it if I could get fresh fish. Ironic, isn't it? We're under the ocean, and the only fish I can find is that horrible salted stuff. I do have some cured smoked sausage, so that will help. But this is going to be so salty if I'm not careful."

Tagger padded toward the door that led out to the water entry. He pressed his paw against the runes and then passed through the small flap door set at the base.

My brows lifted. So that was how he did it!

Crossing over, I tested the door handle. It did not give at all. Nor did the little door at the base that Tagger had gone through. It was probably enchanted just for him.

Shaking my head, I returned to my little makeshift kitchen and started to prepare the stew. The well in the back corner provided plenty of clean water. The dirty water, I dumped into the waste chamber in the wash room. Over the course of the next hour, I seared onions, garlic, celery, and carrots. No flour to make a roux, unfortunately. But the savory fragrance was enough to make my mouth water and remind me of the tavern and of home.

Tagger brought in a large silver snapper. He dropped it at my feet.

My eyes widened. "Oh…that—you understood me?" Why was I even surprised?

He chirped happily, then darted out again before I could thank him.

By the time I finished cleaning the first fish, Tagger had returned with another snapper. The third time, he came back with something similar to tilapia. I scaled and chopped the fish, leaving the heads, fins, and scales in a yellow bowl. He hopped up on the same stool and scooped up the top fish head, devouring it with contented chirps.

It was hard to tell how much time had passed, but it had to be at least a few hours. Maybe several.

The stew simmered beneath the dented lid, and I had gathered the rest of the necessary items for a nice evening meal as well as chopped and stacked a sufficient quantity of wood. The cave had become pleasantly toasty, and the air smelled like garlic, snapper, tomatoes, and spices.

I stirred the stew with my special spoon, my fingers settling nicely in the familiar carved runes. I breathed in the steam and sighed, a pang of homesickness and a yearning for times long past sweeping over me.

The door scraped open across the stone.

Tagger shrieked with delight and bolted off the crooked chair, fish head tucked against his chest.

Corvin stood in the doorway, a bewildered expression on his face and his brows knit. "What did you do?"

The look of utter shock on his face made my smile crooked. I tapped the spoon on the side of the dinged pot. "I made a few changes. Partially because they were needed. And partially to say thank you for saving me." And partially to help convince him that he needed to let me go. I couldn't stay here.

Once again, the thought of leaving him struck me. Harder this time.I soothed it with a promise to ask him if he would go with me.

"How did you make it burn?" He crouched down beside the woodstove, setting his hand on the stone behind it as he peered inside at the flames with something like reverence. "I've tried…so many times."

"I had flint with me."

He glanced up at me, his expression soft, almost vulnerable. "It's warm in here now."

Something in the small way he smiled cut my heart. He just remained there, crouched, staring at it. "How did you move this stove in here? It's heavy."

"I'm stronger than I look," I declared, smiling. "I bet if I needed to, I could carry you." As he scoffed good-naturedly, I shook my head. "I could."

"I'm heavier than this woodstove by a long shot," he said.

"And I am far stronger than I look." I glanced back at him, those threads inside me plucking as I looked at him. "So you've never had any heat? Ever?"

"We don't do fire in this place. There are hot water streams. Especially in the King of the North Sea's actual home. But not where I live. The caves stay fairly constant in their temperature year round." He stared at the flickering flames and the glowing wood. "I didn't even know fire existed until—well, until one of the ships caught fire during a storm. It was an oil fire."

"How long have you lived here?"

"Oh…years now. As soon as I was old enough to hold the eel form, they put me here." He ran his hand along the edge of the wood stove. "It's hard to keep track of time down here."

"And you've always been alone?" I knew the answer as soon as I asked it. But it had slipped out nonetheless.

"I'm an enforcer. Enforcers aren't allowed to have mates. And these are the outskirts of the North Sea. I'm fortunate enough to have shelter and a purpose," he said quietly. He pulled his hand back and looked down at it, his fingers pressing against the clawed bracelet that was set against his flesh.

Something inside me clenched. I wanted to ask more, but before I could, he turned his gaze to me. "You really are remarkable with your problem solving, clever girl."

Heat rose to my cheeks at once. I at once took my special spoon and scooped up the stew into one of the bowls. "It's nothing." Discomfort at the compliment clipped my words. "Now come on. We should eat before it gets cold." My gaze drifted back to him. He was still looking at me. The moment our eyes met, sharper heat and tightness spasmed through me. My cheeks had to be bright red by now. "How are you able to get dry so fast?" I stumbled over my words.

He held my gaze a moment longer, his eyes bright and yet vulnerable. Then he cleared his throat. "It's a shifter fae trick, but it isn't always reliable." He ran his hand through his thick hair, finally breaking away. "Sometimes I accidentally destroy what I'm trying to dry."

"Destroy it? How?" I scowled, raising an eyebrow.

"It turns to dust. I've lost whole outfits that way." He straightened and took the bowl from my hands. He carried it to the table. "I don't have complete control over my shifting all the time. Part of—well, just part of who I am." He set it down and then crossed back to me as Tagger trailed along. "It smells…incredible."

"If you can't have fire, what do you do for cooking food? Do you just dry it?"

"The only time we eat hot food is when we're in the king's court. They have streams of hot water there and lava vents," he said, his voice tight.

I ladled the thick stew into a second bowl, making sure to add a little extra of the savory red broth. "Well, now you can have hot food here." I set my special wooden spoon down. The silence barely breathed between us before I launched into my own question. I couldn't handle any quiet right now. "Why do you have all this stuff if you don't use it? There's almost enough there to build a whole ship." Was he maybe trying to escape on his own?

"You never know when you'll need it," he said with a shrug. "I don't know what a fair bit of it's for. But it seemed wasteful to leave it." He took the second bowl from me and carried it to the table. "You didn't have to do this. It was a lot of effort."

"It benefits me as much as you." I tried to sound casual. My heart raced faster.I paused as he pulled out the chair for me. "Oh. Um. Thank you."

I sat slowly, realizing that the place he had chosen for me was where he had put the first bowl of stew. He'd served me first. "Were you able to find my mother?"

He took a spoonful of the stew. "She was resting in the shelter," he said. "I didn't want to wake her." His eyes widened as he took a bite. "This…this is incredible." He took another bite, then gasped as he burned his tongue. Shaking his head, he gulped down mouthfuls of water. Then he cleared his throat. "They said she was fine. It was the captain I spoke with. He was at the meeting point. So I gave him your message, and he promised to tell your mother when she woke. I think that storm is going to keep them there for a while longer."

I paused. "How did Hosvir know to meet you there?"

He lifted his head from his stew, startled. "What?"