CHAPTER 22 #3
I’m thrilled when I find Awri already in the domed fea room, until she turns to greet me and her smile falters, her eyes going wide.
She glances around the room at the female soldiers posted by the general, all with their heads close together, whispering near the door.
She rushes to my side with another nervous glance around us, her brother sauntering up behind her, offering his own curious perusal of my form.
“What are you wearing?” she hisses in a whisper.
My brows crease, and I look down at the dress, smoothing the thin fabric in confusion. It’s nearly the same as every other I’ve worn since the day I arrived.
“Xey said you turned him down,” she says under her breath.
“I did,” I say quietly, more than a little relieved that she already knows.
While I hadn’t decided how I would tell her, I knew it was a conversation that needed to be had.
“Let it go, Awri. She’s allowed to take a lover, even if it isn’t Xeyvian,” Riesh says in my defense, though I’m not sure why or what he even means.
I balk. “I have absolutely no intention of taking a lover.”
“Then why are you wearing that?” Awri hisses in annoyance.
Nervously, I smooth the dress again trying to find the fault in it when I say, “The dress is the same as—”
“She’s talking about the braid,” Riesh says, pointing to the golden plait banding my head. “Feyn ladies have worn their hair like that for millennia to show their intent to find a lover.”
The blood rushes from my face and my hand shoots to my hair, my fingers searching, desperate to unweave the mistake. I spin on my heel when I hear the loud stride of the general coming through the door behind me.
“Hisht,” I say under my breath.
“Hisht,” Awri echoes.
“Oh, foc,” Riesh says amidst an amused chuckle.
I shoot Riesh a glare and turn for the door in an attempt to walk past the general and back to my room to correct the error.
I may even take a moment to murder a sprite or two while I’m there.
The general’s eyes snag on the golden weave, his jaw tensing.
He hooks my bicep with his hand when I make to pass by and I suddenly feel the need to explain myself, not wanting him to feel slighted. Though I’m not sure why I care.
“I didn’t know about the braid,” I say, “About what it meant. I’m going to take it out.”
His eyes follow the bare flesh of my leg, then flick to the guards, staring. At us? At me? I’m not sure anymore.
“You look beautiful,” he says, releasing his hold, “Wear the braid if you want to. Whoever he is, he’ll be a lucky male.”
The words land like an unintended blow, the sincerity of his voice striking my chest and sinking deep in my stomach until it hollows. I pull in a breath, and as quickly as it came, the pain fades. The facade of his sincerity shattered by the image of the female I’d seen leaving his chamber.
“I’m sure your lovers are equally blessed,” I reply, just as sweetly, careful to keep any trace of bitterness from my tone.
He tips his head to the side, frowning like he hasn’t quite heard me.
Kishek barrels into the room, completely out of breath.
He looks about as bad as the last time I’d seen him.
He locks eyes with the general and tips his head toward the hall.
Awri is the first to run after him, disappearing into the corridor, Riesh and the general following shortly after.
It’s hard not to think about my conversation with Felias, and his warning about the coming war. There is every chance he’s wrong. Fates, I hope he is.
But I felt the truth of it when he told me. I will see war again in my lifetime, and perhaps not because of something I have done.
Awri is alone when she makes her way back into the room, a bit unsettled.
She smiles and tells me everything is fine when I ask.
She does a poor job of smoothing the lines of worry on her face as we go back to planning the king’s party.
If I’d thought I hated all of this nonsense before, now it is nothing less than torture.
I can hardly blame them for keeping things from me. Especially if a war is coming. I’m La’tarian after all, the enemy. I remind myself I have a role to play in all of this and that maybe the death of their sovereign won’t start the war but rather end it before it begins.
I make it through the day without another run-in with the general. The braid at the top of my head slips my mind until I’m reminded by the eager smiles of the guards as I walk back to my room.
Though Awri kept me past sunset, the sprites aren’t waiting for me when I return.
No matter, the torrent of chastisement I spent the entire day composing will keep.
I waste no time changing into the darkest dress and pants I own, my only set in black.
I lace my leather boots around my calves and whip the dark, fur-lined cloak over my shoulders, pulling up the hood before jumping out my window.
I half expect guards waiting for me outside, posted there by the general after my failed attempt at sneaking in. I remind myself that he has in fact been well informed of my ‘sneaking’ twice now and likely has little need of that sort of thing.
It’s a quick descent to the sheer granite slab that walls the palace in, the guards’ paths still fresh in my mind from the night prior.
In my dark cloak, I vanish against the smooth black of the stone and take my time finding small imperfections in the wall to grip.
The effort to scale the slab is taxing, but not impossible.
I smile proudly when my feet hit the ground with a puff of loose dirt on the other side.
To walk to the A’kori port would take hours, but my uncle’s home is close by and his stables well stocked.
No one tries to stop me when I ride off bareback with a young midnight mare, toward the shadowed alleys leading down to the docks.
It’s late when I make my way through the quiet town.
The only sign of life in the narrow walkways between buildings, a few scrawny cats taking up residence outside kitchen doors.
Candles flicker in windows and dwindling fires crackle from within parlors, casting a warm glow upon the cobbled streets.
The saltwater scent of the ocean fills the air long before I lay eyes on the docks. A gentle breeze stirred by the current kisses my cheeks as I tie the mare to a hitching post behind the fishmonger’s storefront.
My eyes rove over the shipyard, nearly as dead as the streets of A’kori.
The echoing creak of the ships rocking in the harbor, the only sound to permeate the night.
I will board every vessel here before morning if that’s what it takes to find the ship Felias spoke of.
If the A’kori are receiving shipments from the south, I want to know what they are.
A familiar voice skips off the cobbled streets and my head whips toward the sound.
I’m just in time to see the general appear from below the deck of a large cargo vessel, followed by two cloaked figures.
My eyes narrow in the darkness, as I try in vain to discern what they take from the ship.
There is little doubt in my mind that this is the ship I am here to find.
The hooded figures load their cargo into a large cart, obscured by the shadows cast by the light from the streetlamps beyond. The general enters into a terse conversation with a dark figure slumped lazily against the wagon wheel, their words muffled by the evening mist wafting in from the sea.
My eyes glide back to the vessel, and I step through the shadows unseen, until I’m no longer watching from behind the fishmonger’s shop but from the deck of the ship itself.
A small light flickers below, and I find myself following the waning glow of a lantern, down a steep set of stairs and into the belly.
The entire space is deserted, little more than a ghost ship pitching gently on the waves that make it past the docks.
Cots and hammocks of various sizes create a labyrinth from stern to bow.
Open barrels of dwindling food supplies and fresh water lay scattered among the maze.
A flash of movement by the stern catches my attention and a pair of pink eyes reflect from within the dark shadows that cling to the corner.
I take a cautious step forward—the motion met with a throaty growl that stills my feet beneath me.
Eyes adjusting to the low light in the belly of the ship, I suck in a shallow breath when I make out the form of a wood sprite.
He is the spitting image of the sisters, cut from the very cloth of the earth and knit together by the fates.
His bloodshot eyes whirl nervously, and he watches me with apprehension. The branches mingling with his green hair are snapped, caked in dry blood where they’ve been broken. Bruises and scrapes mar his face, and he looks as though he hasn’t eaten in weeks. He cradles his arm at his side.
I take another slow step toward the sprite, and he bares his teeth at me, letting loose a loud and vicious growl that tears through the night. I glance over my shoulder, aware that we are unlikely to be alone for long, wondering if his protests made it above board.
Slowly, I crouch down, pulling back my hood and reaching my hand toward the fea in offering. The male could be feral for all I know and maybe the sisters have made me less wary than I should be, but all I feel when I look at him is pity.
“Reh’desh,” I say softly so as not to startle him, “Le’thay launa’hi meiur. Ty’liean vathai, vay’esh ka’ai.”
The sprite’s eyes widen. The low rumble in his chest quickly fading to a whimpering murmur and he tips his head to the side, observing me curiously.
“Reh’desh,” he replies.
I smile, a smile he returns with a wince when he puts too much weight on an injured leg.