Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
Taking the lead, Ryc steps down into the rowboat with ease. He turns, offering me a hand, one I take with little hesitation. Already, unease screams through my veins. One wrong step and everyone here will see firsthand demons can’t swim.
The boat pitches under my weight as I step down, and Ryc quickly shifts to steady it. He guides me to a bench and I claim the seat with fervent haste. Ryc doesn’t release my hand, instead he gives it a gentle squeeze—I’m sure he senses my unease. My stomach rolls and I swallow hard against it.
And growing nausea.
This is going to be less than pleasant.
Eve comes next, assisted by Ryc.
She steps over the bench I’ve claimed, taking a seat on the bench directly behind me. If I were braver, I would turn and make some sarcastic quip. But right now, moving as little as possible feels the safest choice. May this be my first and last experience upon a boat.
As Cyran and Ryc settle into their seats, I ask, “This craft isn’t too small to cross these waters?”
The Captain steps into the boat, plunking himself onto the bench before Ryc and me with little care.
“M’lady, it’s not the size of the boat that matters. It’s whether the vessel lies in capable hands,” he replies. “You’ll come to find my hands are more than capable.”
A contemptuous groan rises from Eve and more of Ryc’s amusement resonates in my chest. Clearly, I must be missing something.
Grinning, the Captain raises his hood, hiding away his ears and I curl my hands around Ryc’s arm.
“’Fraid of the ocean, miss?” the Captain asks as he lifts a pointed finger aimed at the sky.
A strange gesture for a rather docile question.
“No,” I answer firmly.
Not afraid of the ocean.
Afraid of drowning.
With a quick twirl of his wrist, the boat moves. The rear end pulls away from the dock. It swings around, turning me so that my back faces the open water, setting Galyne before me. He gestures again, swinging the pointed finger forward and the boat sets off.
It’s certainly innate use.
But which?
It can’t be wind. There are no sails.
Telekinesis? No… someone with such a rare innate wouldn’t become captain of a cargo ship.
Daring to peer over the side, the waters lie calm. A stark contrast to the rushing waves a few yards away.
I scoff a silent laugh.
He’s a water innate.
The boat sits amid the center of a calm circle of water. He’s created a private current—one the boat glides upon. Fascinating to see a water innate used in such a way.
“Any of you folks are proficient in old magic?” Connak asks, pulling his hood tight under his chin. The furs blow dangerously close to the lit end of his cigarillo. “If so, I implore you to make use of that knowledge now. The wind will grow worse the farther we sail from shore.”
I’m not the most proficient in old magic, but a ward I can handle. As I lift my hand to do so, a blue-silver ward shimmers into existence and the wind dies. Confused, I glance over my shoulder in time to catch Cyran lowering his hand.
Impressive.
Though it’s not difficult to be better than me in summoning wards. It’s not a common magic used in the hells.
“Thank the gods for you, sir,” Connak mutters with an approving nod.
“Last patron was useless. By the time we reached the ship, we were nothing more than blocks of ice.” He chuckles, the sound quick to fade when he’s greeted by silence from us.
With a tight shake of his head, he turns his attention elsewhere.
The docks and shoreline shrink as we skim east. With another gesture from Connak, the boat picks up speed and my grip on Ryc’s arm tightens.
We sail for no more than five minutes before he lifts a fist and the boat slows.
A towering brown wall emerges beside us and we glide alongside it, our pace slowing further.
“With the wind, use of the davit is ill-advised,” Connak says, flashing a grin. “We’ll have to climb aboard the good ol’ fashioned way.”
I don’t know what a davit is, but I’ll trust this Captain knows his way around a ship, including how to board them.
Connak whistles twice. It’s a sharp, high-pitched sound that cuts through the noise of the wind and water. Three rapid whistles answer and seconds later a rope and plank ladder falls over the side of the ship. The ward vanishes, runes raining around me, and the wind takes its vengeance.
With a practiced hand, Connak catches the ladder, steadying it.
“Weather will worsen until we breach the isle waters,” he shouts. “I suggest you move quickly.”
“You first, little love,” Ryc’s warm voice rings in my head. He remains seated as he takes my hand, ushering me to stand.
As much as I want to argue, my desire to escape this weather is greater. Hoisting my foot onto the first rung, I begin the treacherous ascent. Racing wind threatens to fling me from the ladder, the damn thing twisting and swaying over the open water between the crafts below.
I glance down.
Awful mistake.
My stomach lurches, forcing me to pause and close my eyes else lose my very hastily eaten breakfast. With a huge exhale, I press on, reaching the top after what could have been eternity.
Two males offer their arms as I pull myself up.
I take neither.
Sweeping past them, I rip down the hood and cowl over my face and gasp for air, hoping to quell my rolling nausea and calm my racing heart. I stare at the darkened gray sky, perching my hands on my hips.
Eve appears beside me, curling an arm around my shoulders. “Hey,” she says. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I reply with a weak nod as I continue to steady my breathing. Deep, even breaths. “I’m fine.”
She laughs. “Consider not lying for once, Ves.” She pats my back.
I lower my gaze, meeting the shocked stare of a few sailors.
“By the Aether, you’ve brought Celesta aboard, Captain,” one of the men says, his eyes wide.
The slap of regret is sharper than the damn wind.
Despite cold-numbed fingers, I raise my cowl and hood, tucking my braided hair away. Ryc joins me, staring intensely at the man before turning to me. Connak walks past, giving the man a friendly slap on the shoulder.
“Possibly, Saren,” he says, laughing. “But in what world would a goddess ever allow a brute like you to see her?”
Saren clamps his mouth shut as the few others around laugh. Connak turns to face us, but continues backpedaling across the deck. He gestures for us to follow.
“Set sail for Illa Ysari,” he calls out.
He pulls a flat, silver container from his coat pocket.
“If you’re like Saren and believe you’ve seen a goddess—no, you didn’t.
If you believe you recognize our passengers—no, you don’t.
And if you believe your curiosity will get the better of you, might I remind you to keep your eyes and your minds focused on your jobs. Am I clear?”
A syncopated chorus of voices all call out the same answer—aye.
Grinning, Connak pops open the container and plucks a cigarillo from a row of others. He whirls on his heels to walk forward, but swings his arm back as he peers over his shoulder.
He offers the open silver container.
“Smoke?” he asks with lifted brows.
“No, thank you,” Ryc replies with a single nod.
I shake my head.
He peeks between us, to Cyran and Eve. “And you two?”
Eve declines with a gesture and shake of her head and Cyran gives the same answer as Ryc. The Captain snaps the container shut, shoving it back into his coat pocket with a shrug.
“We’ll discuss a few things in my office as the crew gets us going,” he says.
Looking overhead, he shouts.
If it’s common tongue, I don’t understand a single word.
But the others on deck do. Sails rise and people ferry into high-hoisted baskets, each of them in their own swirl of fierce wind. There are close to a dozen of them spread amongst the three-sailed masts, bellowing out orders and whistled calls of their own.
We follow Connak up a small flight of stairs, and while he ignores the massive, intricately carved wooden wheel featuring orderly, jutting spokes, I do not. Each is shaped like a mermaid, a busty one at that. As he passes, Connak gives the closest mermaid an affectionate pat.
Is bawdiness a universal sailor trait?
Light take me.
Connak opens a rather short door, dipping to ensure his head doesn’t meet the frame. Ryc does the same. Eve, Cyran… they do as well.
Not me.
The frame is no semblance of a threat for someone of my height.
As we pile inside, it becomes clear Connak’s office is more of a closet. Half the room lies swallowed by a desk covered in parchment rolls and stacks of maps. The other sits consumed by a narrow slip of a bed, pushed against the wall below a long window.
There’s hardly enough space for the four of us to stand. My hip presses into the edge of the desk as Eve presses into my back. No doubt the door pushes against hers.
Gods let whatever this fae has to say be quick.
Squeezing between the bed and the desk, Connak throws himself into a plush green chair. He lifts his unlit cigarillo to his lips as he reaches, shuffling papers aside to reveal a metal cylinder bolted upright to the desk.
He plucks a match from the makeshift container and strikes it along the side. Upon lighting his cigarillo, with a flick of his wrist, the burning match dies.
“Now,” he says, opening a drawer. He drops the match inside and closes it.
Eve’s hand finds my arm and gives it a firm squeeze as I stand bewildered. This fae did not just drop a hot match into a wooden drawer in a desk buried in parchment. The sheer chaos of the act leaves me staring.
Judging by Eve’s tightening grip, she feels the same.
“Will you be needing return fare?” Connak asks.
“Yes,” Ryc replies. “Eventually. We’re unsure how long we’ll be remaining on Illa Ysari.”
Connak’s brows raise as he pulls on his cigarillo, the scent of tobacco filling the small space. “Are we talking hours or days?”
“It could be either,” Ryc responds.
Connak nods in a slow motion, his lips becoming a fine line as he does. “It will be easier for us to ride out the storm at Illa Ysari’s docks. That gets you until tomorrow morning. After that…”
He falls silent, his brows creasing.
“There’s a beacon on the docks. Light it when you’re ready to leave. My crew should be able to spot it through the fog,” he says and Ryc nods.
Fog?
In addition to snow?
“It may take some time to reach you,” Connak continues. “But we’ll be trekking between Galyne and Point Jasper over the next three days. Should be easy enough to pick you up along the way. If you require longer than three days, I’ll only be able to return here after our trip to Nyluma.”
“Understood,” Ryc says with a firm nod.
“Which brings me to fare pricing,” the Captain says, leaning back in his chair as he folds his hands in his lap. “Thirty thousand.”
Eve’s grip keeps me firmly planted in place.
“You’ll be paid once you provide the service,” Ryc says.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Connak replies, grinning.
“Pleasure doing business.” He gives his desk a firm, celebratory slap as he stands.
“You and your lot are welcome to remain here, out of the weather, should you like. I apologize I don’t have more spacious accommodations.
There’s more room below, but after Saren’s reaction, joining the crew is not a choice I recommend.
You’re also welcome to enjoy the views the Jaded Kelpie has to offer above deck—just…
stay out of the crew’s way. We’ll be dockside in roughly an hour. ”
He swings around his desk, forcing Ryc and me to part. As I press myself into one corner of the room with Eve, Ryc and Cyran swing out of the room, allowing a blast of cold wind to enter. Connak steps out, vanishing out of sight as Ryc and Cyran return.
The instant the door closes, Eve pitches herself around the desk and yanks open the drawer. Ryc joins me, and Cyran takes post in the other corner.
Eve scoffs a dry laugh. “He’s got a box of sand in here,” she says, unamused. She flings herself into his seat and heaves a sigh.
“I’m glad I wasn’t the only one concerned,” Cyran says with a chuckle.
“Is it common to have a box of sand in drawers on boats?” I ask.
Eve bursts into laughter. “Don’t let Captain Cuckhold hear you call his ship a boat.” She rolls her eyes.
“Is this not a boat?” I ask, confused.
“It’s a ship,” Cyran answers.
I send him a flat stare. “I fail to see the difference.”
Ryc laughs. “Calling it a boat in the presence of the Captain may inspire him to throw you overboard,” he teases as he draws me into his embrace.
“Then there isn’t a difference. It’s all ego,” I retort.
“What gave you any indication it wouldn’t be ego with that male?” Eve asks with a scathing laugh. She turns to Ryc. “Honestly, of all the times I’ve seen you grow territorial over Ves, you didn’t at the docks. I hoped you’d drown the bastard after his comment.”
Ryc laughs, a genuinely amused sound. “Ves wears my gift and I hers. The Captain and his… distasteful comments aren’t a concern.”
“Comments?” I repeat, confused. “Did he say something I missed?”
Eve reels, leaning back in her seat. “Did you not catch the euphemism about his disgusting ass di—”
“Lady Eve,” Cyran interjects in a firm warning tone.
“Oh get out, Cyran.” She waves him off with a hand and a scoff. “His dick, Ves. He was referring to his dick when he answered your question about the smaller boat. Maybe you and he would get along after all.”
Unable to stop myself, I burst into laughter. “I can’t say I caught that. But it explains why you laughed,” I say, jabbing Ryc with an elbow.
“I’m more than half tempted to tell him who he’s transporting just to watch him shit himself.” The look on Eve’s face is pure contempt. Ryc gives her a warning look. “Of course I won’t,” she drawls flatly.
Ryc’s eyes meet mine. “Would you like to see the water?” The warmth of Ryc’s voice and the smile on his face are enough to crush my heart.
“Yes.” I nod. “I’ve never been on a ship like this.” I emphasize the word.
Smirking, Ryc raises the cowl and hood of my leather armor, careful to tuck my hair away. He takes my hand, leading me from the cabin. Both Eve and Cyran remain behind.
“I give her ten minutes,” Eve calls from behind, laughing. “See you both shortly.”