CHAPTER 8 #2
He pushes himself off me unceremoniously, plucking the sheet off the floor, where I assume it landed earlier. Draping it across my body, he examines my face, struggling to school his own features.
“It’s still early. Sleep if you can. I have business on shore today.”
He lingers by the edge of the cot, his eyes sweeping over my body as if the sheet fails to hide what lay beneath. His eyes land on mine and his face dissolves into the blank mask worn by the master of shadows before he makes his way toward the door.
“Tell me I’ll see you again before we reach the northern continent.” When I voice my request, his stride falters mid step.
“You’ll see me again,” he says without looking back, and then he’s gone.
I don’t know why I ask but if he says I will see him, I know he’ll keep his word.
As hard as I try, sleep never comes. Vakesh took the air out of the room right along with him when he left.
I lay in bed pondering my future as well as my past. Tonight will be my last night aboard the ship and then I will be lost to the northern kingdom until my mission is complete.
I will return home a hero, with the blood of a king on my hands. I just have to get to him first.
I never met a single soul on the southern continent that would not see the feyn king dead.
Each would have ended him if they had been capable of completing the task themselves.
There are plenty of war-torn orphans just like me, willing to seek vengeance at any cost. The king of A’kori knows it, and I have long suspected that it is this simple fact that keeps him hidden away.
Not a single La’tarian has seen the male for more than eighty years.
My own king may have even suspected him dead had it not been for the steady stream of men and women beckoned to the court of A’kori.
While most of my people would never take a bride from across the sea, it seems there is something the feyn find appealing about our people.
I try to remember if I’ve ever been told how old he is.
Had I ever thought to ask? I suppose it doesn’t really matter.
As far as I know, all feyn were immortal before the sundering.
While he may not be immortal like his ancestors, they continue to have unnaturally long lives compared to that of a mortal like myself.
He is gifted, that much I am sure of. Which means he at least has some feyn blood in his veins, though how much feyn blood qualifies someone for the gifts of their kind I have no idea.
I ring the service bell for a basin of water, soap, and a small amount of food which the captain is happy to supply.
He says nothing when I hand him back the full jug of ale he’d provided me with the night prior.
I can’t help but laugh when he lugs it toward his quarters rather than returning it to be stowed.
I wash in the small basin and stuff what remains of my jasmine soap into a small leather pouch. The floral scent is like nothing I have ever used before, and, despite my best efforts not to care, I love the way it clings to me.
I work my hair into its usual spirals as it dries, then set out the dress Leanna selected for me.
She had been quite particular about the cut of it and what jewelry I should wear to adorn it upon my arrival.
I have no doubt that the king receives a full report of every lady that makes the journey across the sea.
The day goes by in a blur of contemplation, but the ships withdrawal from port bristles me.
Heavy footsteps sound on deck, and I shoot to my feet, head tilting to the side in an attempt to understand the muffled shouts from the crew.
The ship pitches to the side, throwing me to the floor.
I land with a heavy thud and a curse on my lips, scrambling to my feet seconds later.
The cacophony from the deck above quickly fades.
The chaotic sounds replaced by a muffled shout into the bowels of the ship.
I stand close to the door, poised to strike for quite some time, both waiting for my small room to be raided and ready to burst out from within to enter the fray if necessary.
But no one comes. The shouting is replaced by the lulling drone of the creaking ship as it rolls across the waves on the open ocean.
Long after the commotion ends, I pace uneasily.
I hate being left in the dark. The small rope by the door begs to be pulled, summoning the captain so that I might demand answers, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
If there is a problem, I will only be drawing him away from his duties and if not, I can wait.
I plait my hair only to take it out again ten times over as I sit on the edge of my cot. My stomach growls. Still, I make no move to pull the rope.
I know it is only a matter of time before Kesh comes and explains to me what happened.
He will laugh about the fact that I have been worried and tell me a story of when we first met that he thinks I’ve forgotten.
It’s what he always does to soothe me. I never stop him to tell him that there isn’t a single moment of the years we’ve spent together that I have forgotten, because I love it when he tells those stories.
Late into the night, my stomach is a twisted mess of knots. I rest my head against the lumpy pillow on my cot and sleep finally wins out over worry. I only stir when a familiar weight settles down beside me.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says, brushing a finger against my cheek.
My eyes focus on the man sitting before me and I will myself not to cry, not to make for the door and turn the ship back to port so that I can level that town under the weight of my fury.
His skin is pale, and dark circles stain the flesh around his eyes.
Some of it is bruising, some of it is something else entirely.
I sit up and clutch his jaw, tilting his head to examine his face from every angle, my brow drawing down as I ask, “What in haliel happened?”
“Just a little tussle with some of the locals,” he says, wincing under the attentions of my hand.
It isn’t the broken flesh on his knuckles or the fact that they are caked in dry blood that stirs the demon inside me. It is the hand wrapping his waist and the pressure he keeps on his side, obscuring an injury.
“Show me,” I demand coldly.
“It’s nothing,” he says.
“I said, show me.” My voice doesn’t falter, and he concedes, standing and letting his hand fall so that I can inspect the wound beneath.
I rise to my knees on the cot, carefully lifting the fabric of his tunic, swallowing a gasp.
A long gash runs horizontally across his side, and given the placement, he is lucky the blade struck a rib bone and not the vulnerable flesh between.
It isn’t life threatening, barring infection, and has already been stitched shut.
My throat bobs as I lay the fabric back against his side.
“How did this happen?”
In answer, he settles a small leather pouch in the palm of my hand. I untie the leather strap that binds it, nearly dropping the small bundle onto the cot when I look inside.
“Pitch?!” I hiss, in shock.
His brow creases. “There is no veil in the sundering in which I would ever give you pitch, Vari. It’s an herb, a sedative.
It will help you with the dreams. Use it sparingly.
Try another way to find your release if you can manage.
You’re not likely to find more of this, so when you run out, you are on your own. ”
I can feel my blood heating beneath my skin as my hands begin to shake.
“You let them beat you, for this?!” I yell, shooting to my feet to glower at him closer to eye level.
I have no idea who ‘them’ is but nothing this man could give me would be worth risking his life.
“I got you what you needed,” he bites back.
I can’t let myself think about what he went through to get the herb. It isn’t simple thugs that did this to him. This isn’t some deal in a dark alley gone awry. Who on the whole of Terr could come so close to ending the master of shadows with only a blade?
“I don’t need this,” I spit out as I throw the pouch to the floor. “I need you, in one piece.”
“You’ve never needed me, Vari,” he says flatly.
“Fine.” I ball my fists at my sides and swallow, shoving down every survival instinct beaten into me over the years. “I don’t want it. I want you.”
“In one piece,” he adds, matter-of-factly.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to step forward despite every instinct I possess rebelling against the action. I rest my forehead against his chest and breathe in his scent.
My stomach twists as a truth I have been unwilling to admit, even to myself, tumbles from my lips unbidden. “I just want you, Kesh.”
There is a moment, I think I feel him lean into me. I imagine his arms wrapping me up and pulling me against him, as he whispers every promise my heart yearns to pry from his lips. When he does speak, my blood runs cold.
“You’re letting your guard down, Vari.”
My back stiffens and he takes a step back, out of my reach in so many brutal ways.
Every muscle in my body coils as I prepare for the blow he is about to land.
He’s said it hundreds of times throughout the years, always during our training.
It’s the way he’s always told me I am about to lose.
A small mercy in his own way, so that I can observe the mistake before he ends me.
My eyes reluctantly rise to his face. He wears his mask so well, his eyes void of all emotion, making me feel every bit the student as he looks down on me.
“Don’t,” I beg, nearly choking on my plea.
“You are never to trust anyone with knowledge like that again.”
“Except you,” I argue.
He has always been the exception.
“Not even me,” he growls, “Everyone is dangerous, those you trust and let into your confidence even more so.”
“But you would never—”
“Stop!” he shouts. “Whatever it is you are about to say, I would, I have, and I will again. You are going to get yourself killed if you continue to believe anyone is the version of themselves they show you. It’s all the dark hateful bits we keep tucked away that truly make us who we are, and no one is ever going to trust you with those. ”
“Stop it, Kesh. You sound like Leanna.” My voice is weak, my mouth dry, but there is still venom when I hurl the words at him.
“And you,” he says pointing a finger at me, unable to stop his hand from shaking as his words rush out in a torrent, “sound like a petulant child on the verge of tears because she’s been told she can’t play with her favorite toy.”
I take every word he hurls at me like the soldier I am. Back stiff, chin high, eyes nailed forward. All while he breaks apart the most fragile parts of myself, pieces I trusted him to keep safe when I laid them at his feet.
Once he is sure I won’t talk back he stalks toward the door, stopping with his hand on the lever.
“I hate to be the one to break it to you, Shivaria, but all your toys are broken. And if, by some cruel twist of fate, you are ever handed something pristine I recommend you discard it before your own damage infects it, turning it into something you could never adore.”
I don’t flinch when the door slams shut behind him. I don’t fall to my knees and cry. I just feel sorry for her, the girl standing alone in the room. The girl I was before.
I try to map out a memory of that girl, knowing in the deepest recesses of my mind I will never see her again.
There are parts of her I will have forgotten ten years from now, parts of her that I’m sure important people in my distant future would have liked to meet and will now never know—parts I wish to preserve and parts I wish to forget.
I snatch the small leather pouch from the floor, spend an hour teasing my curls into perfection, and artfully place a plethora of jewels into my tresses until the silky black spirals sparkle like the heavens under a new moon.
Leanna chose well when she packed the dress I wear for my arrival. The neckline sweeps high and wide across my shoulders. The thin fabric covers every part of my body, and yet somehow the ivory of it blends seamlessly with my skin leaving nothing to the imagination.
I pull a light cloak over my shoulders, the shade of grey a perfect match for my eyes. The small leather pouch, left by the master of shadows, I place inside a well-hidden interior pocket, wondering if the substance is even legal. Best to keep it out of sight, just in case.
I wait on my cot, and it isn’t long before the ship drops anchor in port. When the captain comes to collect me, I follow him without hesitation, leaving behind the Drakai woman I was only hours before, in the small room where she was broken apart.
“Lady Shivaria.” The captain offers me his arm and puffs out his chest as I survey his dress uniform and nod my approval.
Hooking his elbow with mine, I seamlessly slip on the mask of the woman I was born to play.
The captain makes a show of parading me around the upper deck.
His crew take me in, whispering amongst themselves.
No doubt they have all been wondering about the secret lady brought across the sea hoping to tempt the king.
Locals working the dock eye me and fine carriages slow as they make their way past, their passengers peering out curiously.
A simple but elegant carriage pulls up to the bottom of the gangway and the captain escorts me down to the pier.
The door swings open and out saunters a somewhat plump, tall man with dark eyes and meticulously groomed golden hair that exquisitely contrasts his rosewood complexion.
He’s dressed in an ostentatious purple velvet suit with diamond crusted buttons.
Plucking a colorful handkerchief from his pocket, he glares down at a fresh pile of manure.
Waving the fabric in front of his face, he skirts the pile with practiced grace, smiling when he looks up at me.
“Ah, my lovely niece!” he says when he reaches me, kissing each cheek before pulling me into a warm embrace. “It is so good to see you. How is my dear brother? Oh my, how you have grown!” he beams and gestures toward the carriage. “Come. I am sure you are tired after your long journey.”
I let the captain pass me off to the stranger, taking the arm he offers.
The moment my foot touches the carriage step my skin prickles as a gentle breeze glides across my cheek, bringing with it the scent of a storm.
My back stiffens involuntarily and my step falters.
I already know what I will see if I turn around.
So instead, I thank my uncle for his arm, and step into the carriage without looking back.