CHAPTER 5
OUT AT SEA
Present Day
Iflinch when Vakesh lets himself into my room the next morning, the creak of the door as it swings open landing on my ears like the crack of thunder.
My stomach roils and my head pounds as if it will rupture with every heavy step he takes toward me.
Moaning my disapproval at his presence, I crack my eyes open in time to see him pick up the empty jug discarded at the end of my bed.
He sniffs it to verify its contents, or lack thereof, his head snapping back in clear revulsion.
“What did you do?” he asks, mildly horrified.
“I took your advice.”
“That is a terrible idea. Why would you do such a thing?” he laughs.
I try my best to glare at him, but it only makes him laugh louder, the sound causing my head to split painfully and earning him a flimsy punch to the thigh.
“That was entirely uncalled for.” He smiles, rubbing the leg where I struck him. “I’ve brought you breakfast. You could at least sit up and thank me like a lady.”
“Kesh,” I groan, closing my eyes, willing him to disappear.
I want ten more hours of sleep, followed by a greasy meal and a hot bath, and I am in no mood for any of his cheeky sarcasm. My body pitches toward him as his weight settles on the edge of the bed beside me. His thumbs work magic, circling the tight muscles at the base of my neck.
“Kesh,” he purrs into my ear. “You haven’t called me that in years.”
I groan, my muscles becoming more pliant with each stroke.
“Why did you stop?” he asks, his hands turning to the muscles along my arms.
“Leanna,” I admit, my mind taking me back to painful moments I remember all too clearly.
“What a harpy,” he chuckles.
“She said that ‘Kesh’ was far too familiar a name for the master of shadows,” I groan out as his fingers press into the tight muscle between my shoulders.
“If it was anyone else, I would agree with her, but you,” he says, rolling me onto my back, waggling my nose mockingly with his finger, “are mi’ajna and you may call me whatever pleases you.”
“Incessant.” I smile. “Obnoxious.” I quirk an eyebrow. He clutches his heart feigning injury. “Obtuse.” I chuckle lightly, as he rolls his eyes, and I raise my hand to my forehead to comfort the pain.
“As I said, you may call me whatever you please, though I really would prefer you’d choose one nickname and stick with it. Or perhaps it would be easier if I simply respond to every insult you shout in my direction?” he pouts.
I can’t help but laugh, my head throbbing painfully as he swings himself off the bed, stretching his broad shoulders as he stands.
“I’ve brought you enough to last until dinner.
” He gestures to the small basket of food he set on the table.
I want to complain about his pending absence, but I won’t.
It isn’t his job to entertain me for the duration of the crossing.
Still, I will be bored out of my mind before midday and we both know it.
“We are at port today and I have work on shore,” he says, as if he already knows every question I leave unvoiced. “I’ll join you for dinner.”
He makes his way toward the door and my eyes fall on the obsidian daggers he left by my side.
Stretching lazily, I pinch one of the blades between my fingers, letting the cool stone soothe my psyche.
They are the same ones he gifted me years ago.
I know the look and feel of every notch and groove from the leather wrapped hilt to the tip of the blade.
Long after I’ve forgotten my name and the few fond memories I carry are ravaged by the thief of time, I will remember these.
“You said they are a crutch,” I say to his back as his hand reaches for the door.
“They are only a crutch if you need them, and I’m only leaving them for the day.”
He stops in the doorway and leans against the frame, picking at invisible dirt beneath his nails when he says, “Can I ask a favor of you?”
“You know you can.”
I push myself into a sitting position, my eyebrows drawn together as I ponder what possible task I can perform for him in the stifling room I am confined to.
Whatever he asks, if it is within my power, I will grant it.
After all we have been through together, even after the time we’ve spent apart, there is nothing that could persuade me to break the bargain of friendship we made years ago.
“Good. That’s good.” He nods solemnly, and I begin to worry. “In that case,” he sighs dramatically, “I’ll have the captain bring down a basin of warm water along with some soap, because Vari, my lady perfection, you smell like a cheap tavern on Sunday morning.”
My spine stiffens and my cheeks flush with the heat of my embarrassment.
With one hand I clutch the thin sheet to my chest, with the other I hurl a dagger toward the door.
It strikes its mark, embedding itself in the wood directly next to his jaw.
He doesn’t so much as glance up from where his eyes are still firmly glued to his hand.
He simply stands there, unflinching, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he turns to leave.
The dagger wobbles, clattering against the floor when he closes the door behind him. I’m sure my cheeks are still crimson when the captain delivers a steaming pot of water with a small sliver of jasmine soap not long after.
Every layer of sweat disintegrates beneath the floral lather I work across the planes of my body. As I cleanse my skin of an entire jug of ale’s worth of sticky perspiration, I silently thank Vakesh for the kindness though they are words I will never voice aloud.
I let my hair dry into its natural spirals, and I’m surprised to find that I do not immediately miss my fighting leathers when I put on one of Leanna’s silk dresses.
The thin fabric cocoons my body, caressing it with each step I take.
If I am to be confined to my small room, bored out of my mind for the duration of the voyage, I can find no reason not to be exceedingly comfortable.
Smoothing the dress idly, I recall just how badly I balked when Leanna presented me with the first of the gowns she’d commissioned for my assignment.
As Drakai, I am privileged to have the promise of three hot meals a day, a roof over my head, and fighting leathers.
Drakai are not paid for their service to the crown, and the only other possessions I will ever own will be gifted to me or acquired by means of mission or challenge.
Fea Dien often return from their missions with all manner of rich and handsome gifts they receive along the way, though I don’t personally know of any missions that began with the crown’s endowment.
I will not, under any circumstances, acquire a taste for silks.
It is a mantra I know I will have to repeat often if I intend to remain unspoiled by the fabric.
I spend the better part of the day practicing with my daggers.
It’s a comforting pastime I’ve been encouraged to pursue for years.
I will never claim to be the most beautiful of the Fea Dien, and though I surpassed both Bront and Leanna in the ring long ago, there are other Drakai with proficiencies I can’t even fathom.
But when it comes to blades, there isn’t a soul in all of La’tari that can come close to besting me. At least, none that I’ve met.
Hours pass, and finally our departure from port is marked by muffled shouts overhead.
The ship sways, rolling upon the waves of the open sea.
I glance at the table, my stomach growling at the sight of cured meats and what remains of the thick wedge of cheese I enjoyed for lunch.
I find myself pacing the small cabin as I wait, picking at the leftover morsels until the late hour settles a weight upon my eyes.
Finally, I succumb to my body’s bid for sleep. Turning down the wick of the lantern by my cot and hanging my gown in the wardrobe, I settle in for the night. Despite what I expect, sleep does not come easily, my mind grasping at every possible reason he hasn’t come.
Perhaps business kept him ashore. Maybe he’s been killed. Drakai aren’t known for their exceptionally long lives.
And I prefer these options to the nagging voice that says he is as bored in my company as I am without his.
Eventually the sway of the ship lulls me to sleep. The torment from a maddening array of worry, self-pity, and loathing gives way to the more familiar bloodbath that dries my throat and leaves a gaping hole in my chest every night.
She is so lovely, the woman reaching for me. A thick, dark braid is draped across her shoulder, dragging along the floor as she pulls herself toward me. A dark trail of blood follows her, staining the wooden floors a sickening shade of red.
“Vari,” she whispers.
Bile surges in my stomach, burning the soft tissue of my throat as the woman collapses onto the floor at my feet. Her eyes are fixed on me, and I watch them dull as her breath leaves her.
“Shivaria.”
“Wake up.”
Some incoherent, distant part of me thrills at the rasp of my blades sliding against one other as I pull them from under my pillow. I draw a ragged breath, my lungs refusing to fully expand, my chest roiling with the demon I can never fully expel.
“Vari stop!” The voice is a harsh whisper in my ear, and I will my eyes to focus in the low light. I struggle beneath an unfamiliar weight, my demands for release muffled by a hand over my mouth, my arms pinned above my head.
Dark eyes peer down at me through a tangle of white hair, flicking from my face to the blades I fist in a death grip.
Just a dream. I’m safe.
I relax my grip and Vakesh looses a sigh, shoulders tense as he slides his hand off my mouth, easing the daggers from my grasp.
He gives me a single terse nod. Only after giving him a reassuring nod back, does he pull his weight from me and sit on the edge of the cot, pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling sharply.