15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Viola
T he ship is well-appointed, albeit small. The red sails that adorn the mast are slightly tattered from the wind, and the deck could use more staining, but overall, Jaz has kept their ship in good condition.
I was aware that Jaz captained a transport ship but had never cared much to dig into it or what that even meant. Max had sailed with them a few times in the Race's off-season, but I never saw the point in the travel. If I wasn't coming up with a way to keep myself fed, I was training. I didn't have time for a leisure cruise.
The ship is so small that I can tell we're lucky to get two rooms at all. As we walk, I notice that Jaz's crew seems to be half the size it should be for the size of the ship. They seem to be shuffling around the deck quickly, all of them doing multiple tasks to prepare us to leave the harbor. When I see a man with his beard tucked into his belt juggling ropes from two different sides of the ship, I grab Jaz by the shoulder.
"Where is the rest of your crew?"
"They didn't want to travel with Mace Nightroot. Several of them have lost family members," Jaz says, leading us to the underbelly of the ship. Mace is beside me, quiet and contemplative as he has been since our encounter outside my home. With Jaz's words, his shoulders droop even more.
I know that he is feeling crippled by the weight of his choices. Unfortunately, all actions have consequences, and I cannot face them for him.
My feelings for Mace continue to ebb and flow, with no clear pathway out of the labyrinth. It's made more complicated because I know what his lips feel like on mine, how his body fits so perfectly within me, the way his hands travel across my skin.
I cannot keep thinking like this.
Clouding my brain with lust isn't going to change the fact that the traumas of my life have his handwriting scratched into their surfaces.
We travel down a few rickety stairs into a musty hallway, the ceiling is so low Mace and I are slightly hunched.
"Well, here we are." Jaz points to two rooms on either side of the hallway. "These are y'alls. This one has bunks," they gesture to a door with a triangle-shaped peephole, "and this one has just a bed." The other door has a circular cutout. "Let me know if you need anything. I'm going to get this meat to the chef. Meet us in the mess hall when the sun goes down, yeah?" They shove past us and back up to the deck of the ship.
I turn to face my travel party, the five of us squeezed tightly into the narrow hallway. "Alright, how are we doing this?"
I cannot decide whether to room with Mace. I know my resolve may shatter if I do, and I'll fall into his arms once more. But if I don't, I suspect it will be the end of anything ever developing between us.
The decision is made for me before I can speak. "Plume and I will go in the bunks," Tulip suggests, opening the door with the triangle on it.
Morrow doesn't waste a second, "I'll join them. If we're pushing the idea that she is my wife, we'll need to keep up that rouse." Tulip rolls her eyes but doesn't protest much. I catch her cheeks turning a little pink.
"That leaves us, then," I say to Mace, throwing open the door of the circle room and gesturing for him to enter.
Inside, it's cramped, with a single bed barely wider than the one from my home shoved unceremoniously into a corner. There is a sconce with a large, partially melted white candle in it and an empty chest for storage against the back wall. There isn't even a desk. Everything is made of knotted wood, and the room smells faintly of salt and fish, but overall, there are worse places to rest my head for three days.
I can tell he's trying hard not to, but Mace's nose wrinkles at the sight. I don't judge or blame him. It's not exactly the type of accommodations he's used to. I sit down on the bed, the scratchy black linens, thankfully, hiding any hint that others have slept here. I'm sure if they were white, the stains would put us off sleeping here at all. He begins to store our things in the trunk, almost as if he's doing everything in his power not to talk to me.
I haven't gotten the chance to show Mace the weapons I brought back for him. When we were on our way here, I had them strapped to my back in a sack. Now, they're slumped against the bed.
I'm unsure how to start a conversation with him. Why does it suddenly feel like he's a stranger, not someone who's been inside of me?
"I, uh, got you some weapons," I say with no preamble. He turns from his crouched position to look at me.
Standing, he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "Weapons? I may need some help with training, then. I was never much one for fighting."
The bag is cinched closed with a strip of leather that I pull off and shove in my pocket to tie my hair up with in the future. "Well, I got you some knives, like mine," I say, unrolling the leather strip and presenting them to him. One has a wooden handle that has been shined to a deep cherry, with scrollwork carved deeply with the grain. Its blade is long, more like a dirk, and it has considerable heft to it.
Mace picks it up, examining it from all angles. "It's so long," he says, peering at his reflection in the shining metal.
"It's not much different to wield than a dagger, but I wanted you to have something intimidating," I say quietly as he turns the blade over in his hands. Something about seeing him with a knife makes heat pool between my legs.
Shaking the thought away, I pull out the dagger I picked for him, with its curved handle and inlaid green gem, and hand it to him.
He runs his thumb over the gem. " This must've cost a fortune," he murmurs.
Shrugging, I duck my head to hide my reaction. "We had plenty of meat, and I wanted to get you nice blades. The gem reminded me of your eyes." I feel my face heating, and I regret the words as soon as they come out. This is not me. I do not think about men's eyes when I look at blades.
But Mace Nightroot pulls something out of me that has long been hidden. I feel that part of me preening for attention, but I shove it back down.
"Thank you, Viola. It means a lot that you trust me enough to give me weapons and that you care about keeping me safe."
He moves to sit beside me, and I interrupt his movements. "Wait! There is one more."
Stopping in his tracks, Mace gives me a confused look. "I only have two hands, Viola."
"A blade may not be enough to get the job done, and they're not great for surprises. Unless you slit a throat or hit a vital organ, they don't fully incapacitate," I say with a rush of breath. "And since you're new with them, I don't trust that you can land a killing blow from behind without being noticed."
"Gee, thanks for your vote of confidence." His sarcasm makes me chuckle.
"It's not a lack of confidence. It's lack of training, Mace." I reach into the bag and pull out the final weapon. It's heavy, with a thick handle that would require most to use it two-handed. On the end is a large ball with spikes sticking out of it.
He looks at me as I stretch the weapon out to him, confused. "What's that?"
"It's a mace."
The quiet in the room presses against my ears for a few agonizing moments before Mace doubles over in laughter. It's contagious, and I'm I find I am laughing too, harder than I can remember ever having done before. It's so refreshing to have a moment together that is not sexualized or guilt-ridden.
Have we ever just laughed like this together before?
He sits next to me on the bed, wiping mirthful tears from his eyes. "You bought me a weapon just because we share a name?"
I shrug, trying to downplay the gesture. "It's a very solid choice for defense." Since purchasing it, my mind has been racing, wondering how he'd react to it. It bothers me that I care so much, but still, I grin uncontrollably when I say, "A mace for a Mace."
"You've had all day to come up with something witty, and that's all you've got?"
"I never said I was funny, Macemace."
The mess hall is loud despite the reduced crew. There must be ten people here outside of our party, all sitting on benches and sloshing ale around in their mugs. Its low ceilings are unadorned except for the exposed beams, and the smell of sticky, soured alcohol permeates the room. Jaz stands at the head of a table, talking animatedly with a mug in their hand.
I've never seen them like this, in their element. While Max was close with them and spent a lot of time one-on-one with Jaz, I never did. I'd stick around if Jaz showed up while I was with Max, but I felt no attachment to them. They're a handful of years older than Max, so it always felt like it was a little sister-type relationship.
I know the time is coming when Jaz is going to ask what happened to Max. I have to decide, and quickly, how much I am going to tell them. Do I just say she fell? Do I tell the whole truth?
Also, I need to come clean about the Witch's Ladder and my theft. I should wait until we're solidly in the middle of the ocean, though, so they don't stop the boat and make me get off.
Jaz spots me and my team and waves us over, gesturing at the sparsely populated table on their left. We move towards it, and Jaz snags me on the arm as everyone slides into their seats.
"Everyone! This is Viola Mistflow!" The crowd silences and turns towards me, and I recognize several faces from my childhood among the crew. "She is this year's winner of the Race! And what does she do right after winning?" They scan the faces of their crew to see if anyone will speak up. When they don't, Jaz continues loudly, "She doesn't stay in Ytopie and bathe in the luxury. Instead, she boards our ship, gifting us enough meat to keep us in stew for weeks, and clears out all of the vendors in the market! The moment she could, she was back here, sharing the abundance that the fae have been hoarding!"
The crew jeers, and I see Mace ducking his head to not call attention to himself. Plume and Morrow do a decent job blending in as humans despite their shimmering beauty, but Mace is too recognizable.
"Now, I know many of you have reservations about traveling with Mace Nightroot," Jaz continues. Mace's shoulders tighten, the tension practically radiating off of him as the crew grumbles their agreement. "And I thank you for your dedication and willingness to help one of our own despite that. Viola came to me seeking passage for her friend and member of the other ten, and I could not say no to the bounty they heaped upon us and helping out an old friend."
Tulip flushes at the attention as heads whip towards her. She's so young that eyes widen when they see her. "Please treat our guests as if they are members of our crew. Drink with them, laugh with them, and eat with them! Dinner is ready, bitches, so let's eat!" They bang their empty mug on the table and the crew roars.
The crew is on their feet in a moment, rushing towards a window off to the side of the mess that opens in the galley. A frazzled older man stands over a giant pot and ladles a large scoop into everyone's bowls. My group hangs back, wanting to go last since we've been eating well despite our traveling situation. When we get in line and get our scoops and a hunk of stale bread, we move back to our table, where mugs of ale are waiting for us.
"Welcome aboard," says a middle-aged woman with streaks of gray around her temples. Her arms are corded and strong, and she has wide hips and thick thighs that extend well past the width of her shoulders. Her red hair is pulled back tightly, highlighting the severe curve of her nose. "I'm Kira, Jaz's first mate. Thanks for the meat. Fish are getting harder to find lately, so this has been a real boon."
Morrow drinks half of his ale in one gulp and belches loudly. The crew cheers from the other table. "Apologies, ma'am. I never had ale before. I didn't realize it had bubbles." We all spin our heads to look at him.
"No ale? What kind of person doesn't have ale?" Kira asks.
He shrugs, pushing his braids over his shoulders to fall down his back. "I just haven't. My pa didn't drink it, and my ma only went for wine, so I never grew a taste for it. I like it, though. Thanks for sharing with us."
"Well, I'm glad you do, I made it." Kira beams at the praise. "It's hard to keep everything clean enough on the ship to brew it, but I manage the best I can."
Plume takes a dainty sip before a bite of her stew, and Tulip slams down almost as much of her ale at once as Morrow did. Kira beams at Tulip. "Looks like you and your wife may drink me out of the ale before these three days are up," Kira jokes.
Tulip's eyes widen so much they may burst from her head, and I have to smother a laugh at her expression. Morrow wraps his arm around her shoulders and nods to Kira. "Yeah, she's an incredible woman, huh?"
Mace grips my knee under the table, a clear sign he's struggling to withhold his laughter, too. The touch is out of character but not entirely unwelcome. I risk a glance at him, and his eyes are sparkling. The casual contact feels like a step in the right direction, even though things have been strained.
"You really Mace Nightroot?" Kira asks, narrowing her eyes at him. His hand on my leg tightens, and at this point, I turn to face him entirely. He's rigid, his spoon frozen halfway to his mouth.
As he slowly lowers it, he answers simply, "I am."
"My nan was expendable last year."
I wouldn't want to be Mace right now. The awkwardness of the situation contrasts the levity of just seconds before so acutely it's as if a partition was constructed between two moments in time.
"I am so sorry for your loss. It will never make up for what your people went through, but let me be the first to tell you. The Race is over."
With those words, the entire mess hall falls silent, all heads spinning to look at Mace.
"Say that again?" Kira whispers.
Mace rises to his feet and moves between the two tables where Jaz previously stood. I spot them at the end of one table, eyes narrowed and trained on Mace as if they don't trust him.
I understand that sentiment. I felt the same before I knew him.
But still, I do not know what his plan is. I try to communicate to him with my eyes that he should back off, that he shouldn't make a spectacle of himself. His eyes meet mine for a second, and his face slips into that sharp grin, the one I have learned to associate with his Influence magic. I feel the magic spreading out now, but it's not trying to make me feel one way or the other. It's seeking attention. He's pulling in the attention of the crowd so they all hear what he has to say.
"The Race is over. This year's was the last Race. It does not change all the horrors and strife you went through –that I put you through – in prior years, and I will spend the rest of my long life living with the guilt for my part in perpetuating the Race as long as I did. But it's over. Neither you nor your families will ever Race again."
You could hear a feather hit the deck at the silence that blanketed the room.
Finally, a loud, gruff voice spoke up. "And what about the Gods? Don't they need it?"
Mace looked at me, and I winced, knowing what was coming but unable to stop him.
"The Gods are in trouble, and Viola is our key to saving them."