Chapter 8 #2
Alana helps me pick a red-orange hibiscus for the center of my tray and small amber gemstones to scatter in a decorative pattern as another staff member jostles my shoulder.
“Have you seen a copy of The Kalenar Timely?” Her eyes widen as I stammer a quick no.
“Mr. Grazielle says he won’t leave his room the whole trip if we can’t get him a copy. ”
I’m grateful to leave the chaotic storage room behind.
Although the tray only holds towels, a scattering of gems, and a weightless flower, I struggle to navigate the throng of staff and guests.
Staff introduce themselves to guests from all over Tamarynth.
A woman with brown hair and golden-brown skin introduces herself as Lady Isabella to her staff member.
She orders a Sun Drop, the standard drink in Kalenar, though made with glowing golden liquid aboard the ship.
Another man wearing iridescent sun protection lotion over fair, freckled skin berates his assigned staff member for dropping his hot towel on the floor.
A woman with rich brown skin bestows a Riven Blossom necklace, an ornament more commonly worn in the northern provinces, upon her daughter before following her staff member out of the atrium.
Alana carries her tray with practiced ease and nods across the room to a family with four children hopping on the floor, creating glowing water vibrations each time they jump. “That’s my family over there.” She nods to a family of four hovering by the staircase. “And that’s yours.”
The woman holds up a card that reads STALLARD. She places one gloved hand on her hip.
“Just follow your itinerary and try to stay calm,” Alana says.
Stay calm. Okay, I can manage that. I bobble my tray and turn over my shoulder, but Alana’s already disappeared into the crowd. Riveners, help me.
With one hand under the wobbling tray and the other clutching the rim to steady it, I walk to the Stallard family, my legs threatening to give out. The woman drops the sign with a dramatic swoosh when she sees me approaching. “Finally. I was beginning to think you’d fallen over the side.”
She wears a midnight-blue, trim-fit gown with an opal-beaded bodice.
Black opals are high currency, which tells me she’s beyond wealthy and likes people to know it.
It’s one of the rare dresses that changes color throughout the day according to mood.
These kinds of fabrics only work on the ship.
Her light brown hair is braided into an intricate crown, and her ivory skin has the washed-out hue of a woman who has been spending too much time inside.
A few days ago, she might have belonged among the guests at one of Mother’s social gatherings, but today she’s my ticket to a retrial.
I drop into a low curtsy before the woman and her husband. The children chatter behind her about the game room and the top-deck lagoon that changes colors. “I’m Roe Damarcus, resurrector.”
The woman’s mouth parts and her face pales, but she regains control of herself and takes a hot towel from the tray.
“You’re here? A Damarcus … I never would have thought.
I suppose there are sources of shame in every family.
” Anger boils in my blood, but the woman continues, oblivious.
“Well, Ms. Roe, did you receive any training at all before coming on this ship? The towels won’t stay hot if you don’t pass them out.
” Her blue dress slowly transforms into a rich shade of crimson.
I’m guessing that’s the color of irritation.
The man beside her wears a dark blue coat and vest to match his wife’s dress.
Although he wears an opal ring, the rest of him looks surprisingly normal.
Well-worn boots and too-loose trousers make him look more like a staff member than a guest. The man’s dark brown eyes crinkle as he places a hand on the woman’s shoulder.
“Don’t let Asralyn scare you. We haven’t done a cruise in a while, and we’re a little on edge. ”
Starting vacation on edge … Great.
“I’m Vance Stallard.” Vance reaches out his hand, and I let go of the tray long enough to shake it. My arm trembles as I do, and I regain balance before the amber stones slide off.
I call upon the memory of staff members carrying beverages and sputter, “Would you all like something to drink to start your morning?”
Asralyn coughs into an embroidered handkerchief and puts a hand on her daughter’s shoulder to stop her chattering. “Darling,” she says with a pointed look at me, “we’ve been here before. Shouldn’t you people already know our preferences?”
Before I can stammer a response, Vance waves his hand. “No need for drinks. We’re already a bit late as it is. So, we’d rather go to breakfast.”
“The Harlequin,” Asralyn chimes in. “We don’t eat that buffet food.”
My smiles becoming more forced by the minute, I allow Asralyn to set the name card on my tray, and I hand the tray off to a passing staff member, who I assume keeps the ship clean based on the broom in his other hand.
The little boy squeals as an illusion winder, a shaggy, four-legged beast native to the cliffsides of Windmere, brushes by his leg.
His brown bowl cut bobs as he reaches up to stroke the curling gray horns on the creature’s head.
When his hand goes straight through, he giggles, and his older sister laughs too.
Her deep brown hair is braided even more intricately than her mother’s and layered with glitter dust.
Asralyn notices me looking and nods to my own hastily plaited braid. “If you want anyone to take you seriously, you’ll learn to do your hair properly next time. I’ve seen children do better.”
I’m struck into dumbfounded silence. When I say nothing, Asralyn sighs. “I assume we can’t leave this crowded atrium until you know their names. This is Sage. She’s nine. And here’s—stand still—Ezra. He’s six.”
This time my smile is real. “Your kids are adorable.”
Asralyn takes a step backward as if I’ve punched her in the face. Her lip curls, and the hem of her dress turns black. “They are not mine.” She spits the last word, and the hot fury on her tongue makes my legs turn to jelly.
Vance clears his throat and cuts through the intensely awkward silence. “They’re our niece and nephew. Asralyn’s sister wanted us to take them. First-timers.”
Hot embarrassment makes me wish I could sink into the floor and die. Or maybe resurrect a vengeful spirit to slap Asralyn in the face. I know deep down in the core of my body that she’s here to make my life difficult. This woman doesn’t care about my retrial or me.
But that doesn’t mean the children won’t. With instinct moving my arms, I reach into the pocket of my skirt and withdraw the glowing jar of Morphia. “First-timers, huh?” I ask.
When they both nod, jaws slack at the brilliant violet light, I pull aside a staff member carrying a tray of drinks and whisper a request in his ear. I’ll risk making us a little late.
Asralyn taps her foot with impatience as we wait.
Thank the Riveners it doesn’t take him long to return with two bowls of sticky gortha pudding.
While made from the same nutlike pod I had at breakfast, this buttery dessert has a special trick that only Morphia can bring to life on board.
I just hope it works the same way as it did when I was a child.
I unscrew the lid of the Morphia jar and close my eyes as a wave of light bursts free.
I leave the lid off for a flash, then close it, but I connect to the energy the same way I would to the spirit world.
I’m careful, like Alana warned me, using just enough to keep control.
Then, I take the desserts and kneel before the children.
The energy transfers from me to the puddings, and I experience food the way an enhancer would.
I connect to the sticky gortha pod paste and intensify the gooey, syrupy properties of the dessert.
When the children each take a bite, their hands and feet become sticky too.
What did Father always say? We draw upon what already exists.
Intention is important when creating with Morphia.
I jerk my head toward the wall. “Try climbing.”
Ezra and Sage don’t have to be told twice. They run to the atrium wall, stripping off their socks and shoes. With sticky feet and palms, they scramble up the walls like lizards. Children from other families point and yell, “I want to do that!”
I stand and look to Vance and Asralyn. “Follow me. We’ll go straight to the Harlequin, and I’ll make sure you get a window seat.”
Vance winks and makes a sweeping gesture with his arm as if to say lead the way. Asralyn’s icy eyes narrow, and she grabs the children by their hands, yanking them from the atrium wall. “We’re late. Thanks to you. I doubt there’ll be a window seat left.”
Without another word, she brushes past me. As shame forms a tight ball in my gut, I follow close behind, hoping my ears aren’t as red as they feel.