Chapter 7
I wake to a girl peering down at me with her lantern raised. I push myself into a sitting position and smack my head on the ceiling. My body already aches, and the new throbbing in my skull doesn’t help.
“Are you okay? You’ve been asleep for a while,” the girl says. She wears half of her dark brown hair up while the lower half is left loose, and she’s outlined her deep brown eyes with soft black paint.
I realize with an unpleasant lurch in my stomach that she’s already dressed in her uniform. “What time is it?” I croak.
“Just before dawn. You’ll want to hurry. Breakfast will be over soon.” She waves her hand over a cramped wardrobe in the corner of the room. “I laid out your clothes. All you have to do is take a bath before we go.”
That’s a nice way of telling me I smell.
My joints creak as I climb down from the bed and gather my clothes for the bathroom.
Exhaustion makes my limbs heavy, but I’m grateful I had no deathmares last night after a full day without using my Morphia.
I hold out my hand. “I’m Roe Damarcus. Resurrector. ”
The girl’s eyes widen as she takes my hand. “I’ve never met a resurrector before. Or a Damarcus.” She brushes her hands over a dark blue skirt to smooth the wrinkles. “I’m Alana Reyes. Emotive.”
Now that I’m standing in front of her, her beauty is even more apparent. She has long dark brown hair, golden-brown skin, and inviting eyes, but it’s her shy smile that makes her glow. Already, her energy makes me feel less tense than Ivander did.
Emotives can manipulate how other people feel emotions.
They can’t create anger or happiness, but they draw upon people’s emotions hidden beneath the surface and enhance or diminish them.
I’ve heard they lose feelings proportionate to the use of their magic.
Mother made me visit an emotive healer after Leith died, but she couldn’t mask my pain for long.
Alana clears her throat and pats a timepiece on the dresser. “I’d love to talk, but we don’t have time.”
I run into the bathroom. The tub’s so small I have to pull my knees to my chest to wash.
There’s only one kind of soap. I must have twenty soaps and scented oils in my bathroom at home.
After a freezing ten minutes in the tub, I yank a comb through my hair and pull the strands into a quick, messy braid.
Alana has picked an off-white tunic shirt, a black vest, and an indigo skirt with off-white stockings.
As I lace black boots, I tell myself I’ll wake early enough to pick my own outfit tomorrow.
I tuck flyaway hairs behind my ears as I leave the bathroom and stand before the small hanging mirror in our room.
The mirror lets out a little cough and I yelp.
“Should have warned you about the mirrors,” Alana mutters. “They’re chatty. Stand long enough, and you’ll get a helpful tip for your future.”
“According to today’s position of your guardian Rivener, Medryna,” the mirror croaks in a rasping voice, “you’ll need patience and a winning smile.”
“A little vague,” I say as I try to get my breath back.
Alana shrugs with a small smile. She dabs crushed black powder into the creases of my eyes and swipes a dash of pink paint onto my lips. “Dress code,” she tells me. “Plus, it goes over well with the guests if we’re wearing it.”
Warning bells sound in my head. Even as a lady of Damarcus Estate, I’d never been required to wear makeup. I nod like I’m not surprised to hear it.
As we walk together through the hallway, Alana points out rooms and the names of people who live there.
I’m not really listening, too transfixed by the walls to hear her.
Whereas blood and flesh desecrated the walls last night, today they show no abnormalities.
They are plain, white walls with iron lanterns.
“We’re here,” Alana finally says. The sign beside the door reads CREW MESS, but I don’t need the sign to know there’s food. The smell of bacon makes my mouth water.
When we enter the room, a hush falls over the chattering voices.
Although I expected the crew mess to be another small room, it’s not.
Several long rows of rectangular dining tables with small stools anchored into the floor fill the space.
At the front of the room, chefs in white button-down coats restock a buffet line.
The inviting array of food is diminished by the presence of several bosses lining the walls.
They wear brown belts that hold daggers, polished short spears, and potion vials.
They all wear black gloves, obscuring the grisly, wounded fingers I witnessed last night.
All of them have the same gaunt, skeletal faces with bloodstained lips and sunken, bloodshot eyes that remind me of the spirits I call back from the dead.
On each of their necks, there’s a black tattoo that I assume was once meant to be a constellation but, for most of them, has now morphed into what looks more like a black hole infecting the surrounding skin.
Alana bows her head as we walk past them but relaxes when we move farther away.
She wiggles her fingers in a shy wave as she leads me to the front table closest to the buffet.
“There’s a ton of newbies here today.” She sits on one of the stools and pats the empty one next to her.
“Whenever we get to port, a load of new Morphics join.”
I sit and my face heats under the scrutiny of so many pairs of eyes. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The bosses watch me too. “Then why are they all looking over here?”
Alana’s lip quirks. “Because you’re Roe Damarcus. News traveled fast that the daughter of the only Morphic on the High Council had to join us.”
I expect the same judgment I got from Ivander, but she waves her hands in defense. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. We don’t have any resurrectors on staff either. That might be another reason why they’re looking.”
Hot shame nibbles at my insides, but I try to ignore it.
Being judged for my father’s position is one thing, but being judged for resurrection feels like a personal attack.
I may as well try to make a friend since everyone else is looking at me like I’m about to raise an army of the dead. “What’s your job, then?”
“I’m like you,” Alana says, craning her neck to look for someone. “Concierge. I got promoted from deckhand at the beginning of the year. Everyone says I’m getting good with the guests. Maybe I’ll actually have a shot for a retrial.”
I talk to smother the loud rumbling of my stomach. “How long have you been here?”
Alana blushes and tugs at the ends of her hair. “Only a year. Sorry, I know I shouldn’t be complaining until year three. That’s what the veterans say, anyway.”
I must look surprised because she explains, “I’m only seventeen.
I had to come here early because of an incident at my boarding school.
I went to Corraine’s Boarding School in Kalenar.
” Her cheeks warm, as if saying the name aloud is too prideful.
It’s one of the most rigorous boarding schools in Tamarynth, and the teachers are known for having unreasonably high expectations.
“I always put so much pressure on myself, but I was doing well. I had a close friend, though, who was struggling and really needed to pass her history course. Her parents threatened to send her to study with her strict aunt in the remote mountains of Illoryan if she didn’t bring home perfect marks.
Our teacher was known for giving unfairly hard tests. ”
She bites the ends of her nails before continuing. “My friend was crying during one of the tests, and I knew she wasn’t doing well. After she turned it in, I used my Morphia on the teacher to influence her emotions while she was grading.” Alana sighs. “Clearly, I shouldn’t have.”
It’s quite the punishment for trying to help someone avoid their parents’ wrath.
I’ve heard no one goes to the ship before they’re sixteen, but I never considered what it would look like for that grace period to end.
I mistakenly thought everyone here would be older, since most are here because they fail their trial just before their nineteenth birthday.
My time at Almanac’s Boarding School wasn’t as rigorous as Alana’s, but it was lonely. I’d have been grateful for a friend like her while I was there. Before I can tell her this, she blows out a puff of breath. “I wish Ivander would hurry up. He always does my nails before work.”
My head snaps up. The way she says his name, it sounds like they’re friends.
I can’t help but wonder if he’s not eating with her this morning because he knows I’m here.
Before I can ask, a commotion near one of the back tables startles us.
Bosses descend upon a pair of boys waving their arms emphatically.
Alana sucks in a breath. “Traveston Santos and Jerell Malone. They both had two insufferable families on back-to-back charters. They like to act out the arguments they’ve had with the families for their friends. You know, do impressions of the guests and things like that. The bosses hate it.”
I sneak glances at the back table. One of the bosses with greasy brown hair forces one of the boys’ lips open. She pours red liquid down his throat, and he screams. The other boy swallows the same potion, and they’re both led away by a pair of bosses.
Alana shakes her head, saying a quick prayer to the Riveners.
“The red potion makes your body feel like it’s on fire from the inside.
I’ve never experienced it,” she adds quickly.
“The bosses use raw Morphia from the jars to create potions like an alchemer. Of course, they aren’t anywhere close to the strength of a true alchemer’s, like your father, but they do create some terrifying concoctions. ”
“Why do Traveston and Jerell keep doing it, then?” I ask, trying to contain my shock at such a painful punishment for mocking guests.