Chapter 6
Ivander swoops over me, blocking the sun with his body. I dare to hope he’s helping me up, but he leans over me to brush broken glass back into the trunk. My knees sting from hitting the ground. Sweat drips down my face, and I swallow hard to keep from puking.
“She’s new, my lord.” Ivander lifts the trunk and sets it in the luggage pile. He gives the lid an affectionate pat and sticks a slip of parchment to the top. “I’ll have this sent straight to the crafters. Your dinnerware will be good as new by the time you arrive in your room.”
The man jabs a quivering finger at me. “But I’ll know they’ve been broken. Those are a family heirloom.”
Ivander steps between me and the lord. His smile stays, but his voice lowers an octave. “It’s her first day, Lord Benefor. If you hold it against anyone, hold it against me.”
Although my head’s still foggy, I release a short exhale. I didn’t expect him to defend me, especially at his own expense.
“I don’t care if she’s new. I’ll make sure no one gives her their vote. I swear it.” Lord Benefor grits his teeth, puts his arm around his wife, and ushers his children onto the gangway.
Ivander’s shoulders droop. He drops to his knee beside me when the lord and his family board the ship. The nausea abates, and I peer up at him through the sweaty strings of my hair. “Who brings antique plates onto a cruise ship?”
“Rich men. Only the best for our dear guests.” A flicker of a grin dashes across his lips before he smothers it.
His eyes narrow as he stands and looks down at me, brown eyes ablaze.
“Don’t expect anyone else to cover for you again.
If you’re not going to be more careful for your own sake, at least think about the others who’ve worked years for their retrials. ”
Anger prickles beneath my skin. He’s acting like I did this on purpose.
I wick beads of sweat from my brow with a furious swipe.
It’s only then I notice other staff members watching us in tense silence.
It dawns on me that this situation could have been worse.
Much worse. Who knows what that guest might have done if Ivander hadn’t stepped in? He might be obnoxious, but he’s right.
“Come on. We have plenty of bags left.”
I spend the rest of the scorching afternoon lugging heavy bags and trunks to the pile.
Despite the sweat rolling down my back and the ache in my joints, I smile at each of the guests as Ivander does.
I try to remember their names, although I forget most of them the minute they disappear into the atrium.
Finally, when the sun’s dropped beneath the horizon, Ivander stretches his arms over his head and yawns.
He runs a hand over the tight curls of his dark brown hair and wipes a bead of sweat from his brow.
The port’s clear, and all the carriages have left for the day.
The luggage and port supplies have been loaded onto the ship, and now only a few staff members check for remaining personal belongings.
“That’s everyone.” Ivander extends an arm to the gangway. “After you, my lady.” He sinks into a mocking bow, and I debate stomping on his foot. Seeing as I don’t want to make a worse impression, I go for a grimace instead.
“Here, it doesn’t matter who I am.” I motion to my muddy riding pants and tunic shirt.
“Now you’re getting it.” He looks up at the full moon in the sky. “Better get a move on. Guests aren’t supposed to be out of their rooms after dark, and neither are we.”
I remember something about that rule. Even as a child, I’d been warned not to leave the suite when the stars were awake.
Mother always seemed scared at night, even when Father assured her all was well.
Eliza hid under the covers, but I stayed awake most nights, peering through the peephole and hoping I’d get a look at whatever monster they wanted us to believe roamed the hallways.
“That’s just a trick to keep the guests in their rooms, right?”
Ivander cocks his head. Outlined by the last light of dusk, he could be a spirit himself. “No. That rule’s deadly serious.”
He gives me a funny look but steps onto the gangway without another word.
I follow him, but my feet drag with every step.
My family’s responsible for the creation of this fantastical Morphia storage container, owns the largest stake in it, and I know almost nothing about it.
Of course, he believes I’m a spoiled rich girl who didn’t think to do any research.
I follow Ivander and cross onto the ship. When we emerge into the grand atrium, a surge of magic warms my skin. As we pass over the threshold, colors become more vibrant, and I feel like I’m floating rather than walking on the floor.
It’s the same feeling I had when I was a child, but I’m seeing it again with new eyes.
The vast atrium holds two winding marble staircases and a floating cloud-lift between.
A wide expanse of floor flows like cerulean seawater beneath our feet.
Each time my boot hits the floor, it creates an illusion of ripples reverberating with the pressure of our footsteps.
Overhead, there’s the characteristic black ceiling with twinkling stars suspended in the air beneath it.
Glowing illusory animals walk leisurely about the atrium—elephants, horses, and leopards.
Even with the night sky darkening the room, golden lanterns with ethereal silver light and a massive, gleaming indigo chandelier keep the area bright and inviting.
Still, I sense an electric current of tension among the remaining staff members pushing mops around the illusion floor.
There’s something eerie about how fast the guests have fled to their rooms. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and I jump when Ivander clears his throat.
“Let’s go. We’ll be some of the last ones tonight, seeing as it took you so long to find me. ”
An illusion of a tiger’s silhouette outlined in shimmering orange stars runs past me and locks its jaws around a pillar.
Sentient towel animals run across the atrium carrying toiletries on their backs to the guest rooms above.
A towel animal of a dragon breathes a puff of fire before taking flight to bring an extra blanket to an upstairs room.
Morphia is the magic of alteration. We morph what already exists.
But we’re limited in what we can create in Tamarynth, where there’s no raw Morphia and the magic is restrained to what each Morphic can create with their personal gift.
Here, Morphic power is enhanced by the sheer proximity to the extracted Morphia.
The floating stars, illusion creatures, and towel animals moving on their own wouldn’t be possible back home.
The luminous jars of raw Morphia kept aboard make the magic stronger, much like it was centuries ago when raw Morphia thrived in Tamarynth.
Now the only place children will see live dragons is aboard this ship.
“What about the ‘don’t be out after dark’ rule?”
Ivander sighs, clearly fighting the urge to roll his eyes.
“Mandatory for the guests. Cautionary for the staff. The bosses don’t care what happens to us.
There will always be more Morphics failing their trials to replace us.
Besides, for the bosses to enforce that rule, they would have to risk their own lives in the hallways at night. Not happening.”
I’m not easily frightened, but something about this place sends a chill through me. It may be breathtaking and full of magic, but there’s a reason we keep raw Morphia locked away on a ship far away from our lands.
Ivander jerks his head toward the staircase. Upon second glance, I notice that the wide staircase spirals directly into a hole in the deck, as if it descends into the watery floor. “The bosses are on deck four and staff are spread over decks three and four. You’re on three.”
He crosses to the banister and leaps onto the marble stairs without touching the glass railing. Crater marks in the marble make the steps appear like the surface of the moon. He moves with the grace of a butterfly gliding on the wind and reaches his hand out to me.
I ignore his offer and take a tentative step down onto the staircase with my arms by my sides.
Although it’s a bit disorienting to feel like I’m sinking beneath the floor, I follow him to deck three.
Compared to the ethereal light and blanket of magic on the fifth floor, I’m struck by how dim and confining the lower floors feel.
In contrast to the wide-open atrium, these hallways are narrow and lit with rectangular iron lanterns rather than starlight and chandeliers.
A bloodred carpet extends the length of the hallway, and Ivander points to doors as we pass.
“Laundering service. You’ll need to know where that is no matter what your job is.
Trust me.” We walk a few extra paces, but he keeps glancing behind like something might be following us.
“The Morphia steers the ship. No need to worry about us going off course.”
As a resurrector, I bridge the gap between worlds, living and dead. I’ve never feared the dark. It’s hard to be afraid of much when you can conjure spirits at four years old. But here, the shadows on the walls make me shiver.
“This is the med-bay. Make sure to file an incident report if any of the guests get hurt when you’re in charge. If you don’t account for every detail, they’ll punish you for it.”
As he talks, black spots eat at the edges of my vision.
I make myself put one foot in front of the other, although the walls seem closer, and the shadows start to move.
Splintering cracks shoot through the walls, and trickles of scarlet blood run from the porthole windows.
I swallow hard and reach over my shoulder for an arrow, but then I remember they took my weapons.