Chapter 8
Maggie
Ishoved the barnacle-blasted soup into his hands and refused to feel anything as he moaned and slurped his way through it, declaring it was the best he ever had.
Noth held Arthur’s fine porcelain bowl out to me when he finished, like I wouldn’t take it and shatter it against his thick skull.
He blew his nose into his handkerchief again but it was mostly sound and dramatic fury.
His eyes shone softer with some emotion I refused to name and it made me uneasy.
Rue would have called it gratitude. For a King, it didn’t seem like he had many people in his life that actually saw through his bluster and took care of him.
I noticed his startle at loud noises and the frequent smiles that ended up too wide.
Hadn’t anyone talked to him after we rescued him from Brad’s temple?
Ward claimed to be his best friend. Did he share that burden with him?
Then again, guys never communicated like that.
I shook my head. That couldn’t, wouldn’t be me. I should be murdering, not mothering him despite my impulsive addition to his soup of Rue’s favorite cold remedy.
“There. You’re fed. Get up. Aren’t you here for the Calix?” It came out weaker than I would have liked. His pain shouldn’t have softened his ridiculous behavior, but I saw too much of my bad choices in him.
“I can’t possibly fight that mermaid for the Calix today. I need a nap.”
His snarky reply snapped my short temper.
He had found it. I thought about stealing it for myself.
Anything to thwart what he wanted, but discarded that plot.
I didn’t want a bigger target on my back.
Still, my body itched to take action. Especially after the theatrical declaration that I was a fuck-up and knew nothing about human affection.
Noth clearly didn't understand what he was talking about.
There was no better self-esteem boost than the feel of a body against yours.
That was affection… of a sort. I was never cruel about it, at least.
These were the times I missed my sister the most. She gave me some outlet for my emotions, even if we mostly fought these days. Alone. In a strange town. On a mission where I feared I was out of my depth, panic set in. I wouldn't sit in this room another moment.
I stood. Noth’s coughing fit didn't deter me.
“Do whatever you want then,” I snapped.
He held out his arms as if I would fall into them.
“I'd rather run into a spiked mace.”
“I can’t sleep without a warm body next to me. I'm so cold.” He shivered for effect because he had not been frosty when he had smashed me to his chest earlier.
“Pumpkin!”
“Fuck this.” I stormed out.
“Maggie. Maggie!” Noth’s hoarse voice followed me.
If I was going to rev up the “bad decision chariot”, I would also test if Rat Faced Pickle Pants was the only one who sparked my power.
I stomped downstairs, ripping the cap off my head, marching to the corner where I left my pack.
The one dress I brought with me would have to do.
I knew I was lucky that my hair always did exactly what I needed it to without much effort.
At least one part of my life wasn't a mess.
As I descended the stairs, I got my first look at the strand of buildings by the water.
It might barely be called a village. I bet ghosts refused to live here.
Most of the structures sagged toward the sea but those that stood upright remained meticulously repaired.
That included the pub–pretty much the only sign of life in the square.
A trickle of men entered as the morning’s fishing ended.
A connoisseur of bad choices, I knew just where to find others making them.
I stepped up into the shadowy building, right into a wall of muscle and purpose.
I ducked. He weaved into my path.
“Y’ell take yourself right outta here, girl.”
Girl? What sort of cock-a-doodle-doo preening thing was this?
Peering around him, I couldn’t fail to note that no other women darkened the pub.
Everything from the leather bar stools to the scuffed bar top screamed rough, working class.
Dead fish hung on the walls as trophies and the smell of ego perfumed the air.
Somewhere I would never see Noth in a million years.
Fine. I did great handling men.
“If you want to dance, just ask,” I said.
My hand couldn’t wrap around his arm, but I still tugged him along with me.
I darted to the bar and snatched a lager the bartender had set aside for a hard-eyed local who looked like he ate storms for breakfast. A quick glance and I spotted the man of the hour, the person who brought their fiddle to the pub begging to have it played.
I set the lager down in front of him, still keeping hold of my date.
“What’s all this, Tuna?” the middle-aged man asked, squinting at the sailor in my grip.
Tuna? I guess it was a fishing village. Hopefully, he was as smart as one, not as aggressive as one. Luckily, he stood still–too dazed to reply. So that meant smart as one.
“Just a bit of fun.” I told the fiddler. “Play us your fastest rhythm and I’ll keep these coming!” I pointed to the pint before him.
The light in the man’s face brought his fiddle under his chin and the bow to the strings.
Some of the other pub-goers cleared a space in the middle of the room.
Reluctant Tuna stood there with his hands at his sides.
I managed to be a pretty competent dancer.
I could help him through the steps of something simple.
The fiddle struck a high note that whipped Tuna’s hands in place, with no coaxing from me.
A magic current crackled through the air and I felt the smallest amount of my power ignite.
Tuna swept me right off my feet and I worked hard to keep up with the steps of the Banty Pint.
Thank the Godds my friends Ruby and Emrys practiced the bar favorite with me.
My secret human settlement hardly saw the latest in entertainment.
The man might have a stupid name–that wasn’t his real name, right?
–but he danced like a kitchen demon. My feet flew over the boards and a ring of grinning faces surrounded me.
Abruptly, the song ended and a pint made it to my hand.
Now wasn’t the time for my careful diet.
I wasn’t dumb enough to get drunk, but taking the edge off my madness would do.
“My turn,” a towering, thin man declared and the fiddle began again.
I almost put my hand up. This was just to soften them up, not make my soul leave my body. But the entire crew looked like they would cast me out bodily if I said no.
I didn’t know this dance, but my next partner was excellent enough to lead me through it.
Five dances later, I cried mercy and slumped down next to the fiddler after I handed him another pint. The rest of the men argued over something, the dance floor still clear of tables and chairs.
“You’ve done started it now, girlie,” the fiddler said.
“Are they about to slug each other?” I checked all possible exits.
“Worse,” he replied.
“Halberd’s Market, double time.” One of the heavy-set men called out.
And then two neatly arranged rows of brawny, rough-cut fishermen began to step-dance together, in time.
Halberd’s Market was the opening of The Fisherman's Odyssey, as the fiddler told it.
There had never been a more manly display of strength and stamina.
This was everything Noth would hate - out of control, rugged, boisterous.
I clapped along to verse after verse, ready for my main event.
Topped up on sex magic without Rat Faced Pickle Pants, I would use it against him to boot.
My life was perfectly fine the way it was.
This was normal, wonderful. I was in complete control.
The dancing only stopped because they shouted for another round.
“You lit the spark, girlie,” the fiddler said as he gulped his next pint. “Portsgrave Harbor trained the finest step dancers in the territory before everything dried up.”
“The Measuring!” A cheer went up from all the men–the signal for a different contest to begin.
One by one, each man held their leg extended until exhaustion made it drop. The winners then faced off against each other, angling their legs higher and higher until my eyes almost popped out of my head. Inspiration stuck. This I could do.
Tuna was about to declare himself the winner when I stepped up to take the loser’s place.
A gasp ringed the pub. “Don’t be daft, girlie. Tuna works the boats–double shifts.”
I didn’t quite understand what that meant, but I wouldn’t lose. My shin touched my shoulder. Years of stretches and deep meditation kept it there.
All the men cheered and not because my dress hiked around my hips.
I had underclothes on. They didn’t see much.
But that wasn’t the point. Tuna saw something.
He got his shin to his shoulder just as easily, eyes trailing down my body.
Neither of us moved, locked in a leg-trembling tension that might have almost been fun until Tuna shook a bit too hard and I realized I would have to lose.
A humiliated man didn’t take you to bed.
I resented him just a little. Noth took my full effort, my full fury and he didn’t make me cater to him, other than to annoy me.
Big as it was, I couldn’t imagine soothing his ego.
I dropped my leg and crumpled to the ground in a dramatic heap. Tuna graciously came to my side.
I stared up at him, arranged in a gracefully disheveled pile.
“I’ll never live down my disappointment. How are you going to make it up to me, Tuna?” I even batted my eyelashes for good measure.