Chapter 20
“Now that we’re all together, it’s time for introductions,” says the Nomad.
We’re all gathered in the dining hall of the ship, the one the Nomad uses for what he referred to as important meetings with important people.
That all sounded a tad pretentious to me, and I couldn’t help but wonder which high-ranking government officials of the world consorted with a criminal like the Nomad.
“You’d be impressed,” he’d said with a flash of his teeth.
Tonight, we’d feasted on roasted pheasant, drizzled with a hot peppered sauce over a plate of rice and greens. It had been a hot dish, both in taste and spice level, and my stomach still feels the pleasant warmth as an aftermath.
“Some of you have met already,” says the Nomad, who is seated at the head of the table.
He’d offered me the spot next to him, but I had declined and chosen to sit next to Acel instead, who had taken the Nomad’s left hand.
Lars had taken what was meant to be my seat, and Venus, sparing one look at Lars and deciding I was the lesser of two evils, had chosen to sit beside me.
Phoenix had just rolled her eyes and taken the seat next to Lars, though she immediately appeared to regret it.
“But I thought it would be good if we spent some extra time getting to know one another.”
“That seems unnecessary,” says Phoenix.
The Nomad’s smile is only that in technicality. “These things tend to go smoother when the crew gets along.”
“And I can already tell you that the more I get to know about him”—Phoenix angles her head toward Lars—“the less we’re going to get along.”
Earlier I’d overheard Lars prattling on to Phoenix about how trafficking might be unethical, but it does serve as an undercurrent to the world’s economy whether we like it or not.
The Nomad takes one look at Lars, looks as if he’s trying to consider how to defend him, then quickly abandons all hope and turns to Acel. “Why don’t we start with you?”
“No,” says Acel. He crosses his arms for good measure.
The Nomad’s eyes practically skip over Venus.
“Wanderer?”
Thankfully the Nomad already taught me the perfect sign for this one. I go to sign “no,” but before I can, Venus snorts.
My hands freeze, my blood running cold.
“Do you have something to say?” asks the Nomad.
Venus pauses, her lips sporting an open-mouthed smile. When she starts speaking, her voice is sickeningly sweet. “I just don’t know that we have the time for Tink’s entire life story. That’s all.”
Acel clears his throat.
“I would disagree,” says the Nomad.
Venus glances around the table, mouth half open in exasperation, though it appears as if she’s searching for approval. “Oh, come on. I’m not the only one thinking it.”
“Actually,” says Acel, “it seems we have all the time in the world. Personally, I’d like to get to know Tink a little better. I imagine her story must be fascinating.”
There’s no flirtation in his words, but when his kind eyes find mine, I can’t help but notice the way the Nomad glances between us.
Venus rolls her eyes, then stares up at the ceiling.
Anger pricks at my stomach, but I reel it in and pull out my writing pad instead. I don’t particularly want to share my story, but Venus is going to have to sit here and wait for me to finish before she’s allowed to get up from the table if it’s the last thing I do.
I left home when I was seventeen. It wasn’t long before I was hired on by a circus master.
He didn’t offer pay, but he offered food and clothing and shelter.
I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect, but I thought it would work while I figured out what else I was going to do.
Besides, it was one of the few jobs—if you could call it that—that I could get as a winged faerie.
I didn’t know at the time that I wasn’t allowed to leave.
The day I told the ringmaster I was quitting, he had his carnies cage me.
That’s where I spent the next few years, though I was allowed out for performances when our tightrope walker or acrobats were injured.
People used to pay to come gawk at me. That’s how I met the Shadow Keeper.
I pause, glancing at the Nomad. He’s looking at me curiously, and I realize he probably can’t read my note from that angle.
He took me. Brought me to the Sister. They took my voice to bind a shadow realm. Eventually, I escaped.
Acel, who has been reading over my shoulder, whistles.
The Nomad leans over, but I pass it across the table to him.
He scans over it, but there’s nothing in there he doesn’t already know.
When he’s done, he passes it to Lars, who reads it in approximately three seconds.
Phoenix is the one who spends the most time on it, her brow furrowing slightly.
When she goes to pass it to Venus, Venus glances at it for less than half a second before pushing it away.
Anger pulsates in my chest, but I don’t care if she won’t read my words. She had to sit here and wait, and that’s enough.
The table has been quiet, but now that my note is no longer being passed around, it feels heavier.
Until, that is, Acel speaks, but only after clearing his throat. “I need the money to pay for a medallion.”
“What rank?” asks Venus, suddenly interested in the conversation at the table again.
Acel ignores her, and I can’t help the satisfaction that brims in my chest.
“You seem to me like you come from status already,” says Phoenix. “What do you need a medallion for?”
“The woman I love is of a higher class,” Acel says, and I’m surprised at how plainly he proclaims it. In the palace, he’d refused to admit his feelings to the princess. But I suppose he’s already left his position. He has little else to lose.
“Sounds like you should find another woman,” says Phoenix, though there’s nothing seductive in her tone.
Acel chuckles darkly before taking a sip from his goblet. “Now why didn’t I already think of that?”
“The muse is correct,” says Lars. “There are half a million women in Miinar alone. You’d be much better off taking one of them for a wife. In a cost-benefit analysis, your job was quite stable. This heist isn’t guaranteed. You’re much more likely to fail and be out of both a job and a woman.”
“A romantic to the core,” the Nomad says, peering at Lars in a sort of morbid fascination.
“Yeah, why are you here, anyway?” asks Venus to Lars.
“The chance to study that fine specimen,” says Lars, tipping his glass to me.
It feels as if spiders are creeping over my wings.
Venus makes a guttural noise of disgust. At least we have that in common. Acel just stares at Lars as if he’s wanting to ask what’s wrong with him but afraid of the answer he might get.
“And why are you here?” asks Acel to Phoenix.
“For something that belongs to us,” says Phoenix.
Acel raises a brow, but the Nomad interrupts him. “Now that we all clearly feel closer, we need to get to work on our communication. I expect each of you to have this list of signs”—he passes scrolls to each member at the table—“memorized by our first mission.”
Venus doesn’t bother to hide her huff. “Of course we have to make this complicated.”
Again, anger roils through me, this time tinged with embarrassment. She’s not wrong, and that’s the worst part. Things are so much more complicated with me on board.
Acel glances over the scroll, then pushes it back to the Nomad. “This will be unnecessary,” he says, and my heart sinks. He thinks it’s a waste of time, too. But then he adds, “All of the queen’s guard are required to be fluent in sign. It’s considered a vital skill.”
Warmth fills my chest. And perhaps a bit of satisfaction too as Venus sinks back in her chair.
Lars also pushes his scroll back to the Nomad.
“Let me guess,” says the Nomad, “you’re already fluent in sign as well?”
“Not at all. But I only have to look at something once to memorize it,” says Lars.
For some reason, this doesn’t make me feel better. Acel knowing signs is comforting. Lars knowing them—well, I have a feeling he’ll just make me feel stupid for not learning them faster. Only Phoenix stays quiet, reading over her scroll carefully, while imitating the signs as she practices.
I take my own and begin to read. Most of the signs I went over with the Nomad, which I’m relieved to find. At least I won’t be that far behind Lars. At the bottom, the Nomad has drawn diagrams of what our sign names are to be.
I furrow my brow, point to the chart, then write, These are just the first letters of our names.
“Isn’t it satisfying that all of our names start with different characters?” asks the Nomad. “I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”
This statement begs the question of whether anyone was cut from this crew due to having a redundant letter for their name, but that’s not exactly my focus.
The Nomad cocks his head, folding his hands together in front of him as he stares at me. “I take it you don’t appreciate simplicity.”
They’re boring, I write, then push the note toward the Nomad.
Acel leans forward, then huffs a laugh when he reads it.
The Nomad’s eyes shutter. “They’re easy to remember.”
“Only if you already know the signs for the letters,” says Phoenix.
“Well, do any of you have a better idea?” says the Nomad.
“I happen to like the original idea,” says Lars. I wonder if this is because he hasn’t bothered to learn our actual names.
“As a member of the Guard, we were given names by our tutor. She was deaf and only assigned us names once we earned her respect and confidence. It was quite an honor,” says Acel.
So what was your name? I write.
Acel gives a little cough, then, very deliberately, crosses his arms across his chest, both of his hands making the sign for the first letter of his name.
That earns a laugh from everyone at the table.
“Okay, so this might not be a waste of time after all,” says Venus.
“You,” she says, pointing to Lars. “I have the perfect name for you.” She then proceeds to make a dramatic move of making a circle around her left eye with her fingers then squinting.
We all chuckle, except for Lars, who simply says, “An object others associate with me. Easy to remember. It will do.”
“The sign for invisible looks similar to the first letter of your name,” the Nomad says to Venus, showing us the sign.
You really are stuck on the first letters of our names, aren’t you? I write.
“It’s practical,” says the Nomad, rather defensively.
He’s not wrong, and we end up naming Phoenix a mixture of “fire” and the first letter of her name, as well.
I have one for you, I say, passing my notepad across the table to the Nomad.
“Do you really now?”
I take the notepad back and pass a note to Acel. Acel frowns, concentrating. “That’s an odd one,” he says, but he shows me the sign anyway.
The Nomad’s face turns to ice, but he recovers quickly enough. “Urn. Because of my seal, I suppose?”
I’m a tad disappointed he doesn’t give away any more than that, but I’m not going to push the subject in front of everyone.
“What about a name for Tink here?” asks Acel, nudging me in the shoulder. The touch is friendly and welcome and evokes a smile.
I don’t miss the way the Nomad’s eyes lock in on the gesture.
“Oh, I’ve got one,” says Acel, holding up his hand as if tapping an invisible fork against a glass.
The Nomad and I exchange a look, and I know he’s remembering the man from the tavern, waiting for me to call Acel unoriginal.
I grab my quill and with a grin write, I love it.
From the end of the table where the Nomad sits, I hear the faintest of snorts.