Chapter 8 #2
“Cress is going to be placed in service of Gia, as a lady’s maid. The current one will meet an untimely illness, leaving the position available.”
I exhaled a sigh. Being close to one of the other team members was everything I’d hoped for.
I would wash Gia’s feet if it meant staying in close quarters to her.
I grew up with ladies’ maids in our household, so I understood the job well enough to pull off these duties convincingly.
I awaited Varro’s assignment, hardly breathing, while my thoughts ran wild with horrible ideas ranging from those of sexual slavery to abhorrent violence.
“Varro, you will be working in the shipyards—you and your gills can thank me later. There has been a peculiar increase in ship production in the bay outside of Nasallus. We are assuming King Silas has demanded the creation of an armada. We need you to find out what’s going on, and since many of those already employed are Sea Fae, you should fit in especially well. ”
I had no idea how far the bay was from the actual castle, but knowing Varro would be laboring near the water was a best-case scenario, as far as I could tell. I hoped the distance between us would be minimal and attempted to conceal my worry for his sake.
All in all, the plan sounded solid enough. We were well-suited for the roles we’d been given, and beginning to understand the details surrounding our enemy’s actions meant we could mentally prepare ourselves.
That night, we each scoured the texts available in the common room, seeking information that might help us in our individual assignments.
There were minimal texts on the etiquette of servitude for house staff, but I read what was available to me.
The tasks involved usually ranged from helping the Lady dress and bathe to general tidying and delivering meals.
Knowing I’d be serving Gia and not some spoiled Lady meant the margin for error would be generous; that is, if I were only assigned to her.
Gia was fully capable of doing her own hair, but to keep up appearances I would still need to be seen styling her.
Nori’s short, choppy hair wasn’t the most ideal for me to practice with.
When I approached Cairis, I began by stroking his ego, offering pleasantries and compliments about his long, beautiful locks.
He ate up the blatant flattery—until I asked him if I might practice on him.
Cairis was none-too-pleased about the request, but after much protesting he finally acquiesced in the name of the mission.
I swore to him there wouldn’t be any ribbons or bows…
for now. Once I got him to agree, I made Varro promise me there would be no jokes or quips at Cairis’ expense.
If he cost me the chance to practice, I was going to stop visiting the Vesper quarters with him.
Just the mention of that threat ensured his lips were sealed.
Within a few days, we arranged for additional texts to be delivered to Basdie.
From that point onward, Varro spent most of his time reading up on the mariners in the south.
He studied meticulous drawings of the differences in how their ships were constructed compared to Cambria’s, making note of even the most minute things—such as how they tied their knots differently.
He’d bore all of us at dinner recounting how the building materials used to construct Southern ships varied greatly from those in the North.
His enthusiasm for the subject was endearing to me.
The drastically different climates meant the availability of suitable timber was at a premium.
This was notably why what little trade that went on between the North and the South came at such a high price to the Artumians.
We had strong timber in abundance, and that gave us the upper hand in negotiations for such goods.
It was well documented by Cambrian scholars that the Great War was largely due to resource constraints that the Artumian people had brought upon themselves.
Because of this, the Northerners were firmly against letting them migrate any farther north, for fear that they would do the same to our lands.
The Ledor River became a natural border between the devastation they had caused, separating it from our still resource-abundant territories.
Artume, now an arid desert, had once teemed with natural resources.
Centuries of overgrazing and deforestation in the name of expansion and trade profits meant they had left nothing for themselves.
Before they knew it, the land became rife with shimmering heat and desolation.
The sun arced slowly across the sky, blistering the region relentlessly, with few trees or foliage to grant the relief of shade.
Instead, the endless sparkle of fine sands and twinkling mirages on the horizon became the new normal for a people that had once flourished.
I had read about it at the academy, seen paintings and drawings, but never thought I would someday feel the sands of Artume between my own toes.
If they were, in fact, building an armada of ships, then the king was likely spending inordinate amounts from the royal purse to acquire the timber—that or the illegal smuggling trade was at an all-time high.
Kingsguard were usually spread out along the Riverlands, but it was impossible to cover every mile of such an expansive area.
It was also common practice for villagers in this region, who were not wealthy, to aid the smugglers. After all, to them it was just wood, something that flourished in their lands, and if it meant putting food in the bellies of their children, who could blame them?
But the stakes were higher now. They had no idea they might be contributing to a fleet of war ships intent on bringing bloodshed to their shores.
Unfortunately, King Aeon could not alert them of their missteps, as this might set off a chain of panic within his own kingdom, so the illegal trade routes remained active.
We continued to ready ourselves by studying and training, awaiting the arrival of Idris.
Nori and Cairis guarded our secret as promised.
Varro and I had not broached the topic of sealing the bond since we’d last spoken with them.
But each time we met in the late hours of the night, practicing self-control became increasingly difficult.
Our bodies called to one another in a way that could never be denied.
His skin felt like home against mine. When we were entwined, we were of one body.
Now, after waking from my dreams, I felt extremely self-conscious during our time alone, knowing he had the same torrid fantasies rushing through his head.
How much longer could I keep the bond at bay when even our unconscious minds would not let us rest?