Chapter 7 #2
“Not so fast. He needs the full approval of all the border lords. His vote is only one of five.” She paused. “But he can arrange the meeting.”
“And you trust him?”
“Completely.”
Seraphim leaned against the wall, watching the stars flicker in the sky. Beneath the low glare of the lanterns, she looked somber and calm. Not the kind of calm I expected from someone contented, but rather someone. . .
Who’d lost so much they’d grown from grief into acceptance.
Or maybe I was reading too much into a simple expression.
Draining her glass, Seraphim pointed it at me. “Eleos read you like a book when he spoke with you by the ship’s overlook. ‘She’s scared. But I don’t think it’s the danger she fears.’”
“Ha.” I chuckled bitterly. “Maybe he knows me better than myself.” I groaned. “Could you tell him to stop that?”
“Eleos is exceedingly polite and proper. He tries very hard not to pry.”
“Sure he does.”
“With everyone else, at least. Maybe he finds you irresistibly interesting.” She leaned toward me, smirking.
“What?” I asked. “I’m an open book, and not very interesting to boot.”
“Suit yourself.” Seraphim stood, brushing off her coat. “I’m glad to have you on board. With any luck, we’ll make it to Cynthus alive, and I can pay you the rest of what you’re owed.”
“Here’s to living.” I raised my glass.
“That’s the spirit.” She nodded and slipped through the door.
Sighing, I quietly finished my drink. In the unlikely chance we survived, I could return to Ikaria and resume the endless task of paying off my debt.
Or would everything change, assuming we succeeded? Would the Empty recede, and new lands arise? Or would it simply halt, and life would continue on as I’d always known it?
Shouldering my bag, I walked back inside. A quiet hum hung over the inn’s common room; Percy leaned on the counter, chatting with a middle-aged barmaid.
A married barmaid, judging by the tattoo burned into her finger, but neither seemed to mind. I briefly wondered if he preferred older women, but he stood straight as a much younger barmaid walked by with a tray of drinks and winked.
Percy preferred women with a pulse, then. He noticed me and waved with enthusiasm. Raising my hand in response, I wondered if his affable nature was an act.
Nearly everyone I’d known concealed their true nature behind more palatable masks.
Trotting up the stairs, I hesitated by Eleos’ cracked door. He sat inside, scrawling away at a journal stuffed head to toe with orderly notes. I raised my hand to knock, hesitated, and turned away.
“Come in,” Eleos said softly.
Standing in the door frame, I cleared my throat. “Last chance to stock up before we hit the road. Need me to get anything for you?”
“I don’t think so.” He looked up from his notes. “Surprising, isn’t it? I once gave Percy a simple math equation to solve, and it took him two weeks to come up with the wrong answer. Yet, the ladies seem to like him.”
“Most ladies don’t require maths from their suitors.”
“Where I come from, they do.” He brushed his light brown hair behind his ears. “I’ve never seen a forger at work. Care to show me how it’s done?”
“It’s boring work, really.” I pulled out my journal and flipped it open, laying it on his desk. “I kept loads of reference documents on me. Eventually, you start to memorize how they’re written.” I shooed him. “Move for a second.”
Eleos half-complied, shifting to take up only half the seat when I’d meant for him to vacate it. Shrugging, I sat on my half and dipped my quill into his pot of ink.
“Transfer orders are usually brief,” I said. “I just need our prisoner’s name.”
“Burgundy Rose.”
I snorted. “That’s his name?”
“No. Nobody knows his identity.” Eleos ran a hand over his eyes. “Always wears a mask, sneaks to his target’s location without being seen, then disappears into the shadows. As for the name, I think it came from a famous play.”
Plays were luxuries I’d never been able to afford. Wrinkling my nose, I leaned my elbow on the desk. “Who’s the character? A thief?”
“Thief. Assassin. Charming rogue,” Eleos said.
“Is he a murderer?” I asked, biting my lip as I concentrated.
“Depends on who you ask. Some call him that. Others, an assassin. And fewer, a hero.” He watched me with interest. “Have you done this before?”
“Actually, I have. It was a much smaller prison, though, so security was somewhat lax.” I chuckled, quickly scrawling a mock order. “Percy will have to show me how his father signs his name, but that’s pretty much it. Seal it with wax, and most won’t know the difference.”
“Look like you belong, and nobody asks questions.”
“You’d be surprised how well it works.” Wiping off the quill, I smiled at him.
I hadn’t spoken to many priests. When envisioning them, I pictured old men. Bald. Probably a little pudgy. Or, young and scrawny.
But a man with brilliant eyes, handsome features, and beautifully soft hair that fell in gentle waves around his face? Tracing my eyes over his locks, I resisted the urge to touch them.
Eleos blinked. “It occurs to me we don’t know anything about each other.”
“Whose fault is that?” I snapped out of my trance. “You dodge all my questions and read my mind.”
“Thoughts,” He corrected me. “I read thoughts. They’re often emotions, scattered and erratic. Even if I could peer into someone’s heart, I wouldn’t.”
“I see.” Glancing away, I studied the curtains swaying in the breeze. Did I really think about Ainwir so often? I needed a new hobby.
Expecting a smart response, I eyed Eleos. He tilted his head innocently. “What?”
“I expected you to respond to my thoughts.”
“I already told you. It’s not polite.” He said.
Glancing between him and his notebook, curiosity swept over me. Laying my quill on the desk, I flipped the page in his journal and studied the notes. A detailed description of my encounter with the keres and the Empty’s sudden stop painted the page.
Eleos leaned closer to me, reading the forgery I’d drafted up. His hips and shoulders pressed against mine, and the words on the paper blurred.
When was the last time I’d been intimate with anyone? Not sex, but simple touches like hugs or linked hands?
Years. The last had been a man I’d courted before realizing he only wanted me to warm his bed.
Gods, how long had I been this lonely? Eleos’ warmth called to me like a stream after days without water.
Eleos looked up from the desk. “Do you need help sleeping again?”
“No.” I shot from the chair, mind whirling as I considered every errant thought he might have overheard. “Magic is bestowed on those who experience something extraordinary. Percy won’t tell me his story. Neither will Seraphim. I suppose you won’t either.”
“I. . .” Eleos’ face was usually impassive, but distress flickered across his features. “Psyches are those with great empathy. I found myself in the company of an unfortunate soul. I suppose Psythos noticed my distress and. . . ensuing actions.”
“I see,” I said. He moved to speak, but I cut him off. “No, it’s alright. I prefer not to pry into personal matters. What you’ve said gives me enough of an idea.”
“I’ve read you correctly, then.”
“And how’s that?” I laughed awkwardly, tugging on a curl. “Scattered? Hopeless? Clumsy?”
“Kind,” he said. “There’s a hole in your heart you seek to fill, but never with yourself.”
I froze, brow furrowed, unsure what he meant.
“You should get some rest, Ae-” He quickly corrected himself. “Lady Aethra.”
“Great. I guess that name is stuck now, huh?”
“It’s only polite to call people by the name they introduce themselves with.” His sly half-smile returned.
“Hm.” I pursed my lips and walked away.
Eleos must have seen someone suffer unimaginable horrors. He’d failed to save them and had fruitlessly sought revenge. At least, that’s how I interpreted his vague story.
Psythos favored those with great empathy. Small wonder one of her blessed was risking his life to save the strangers he’d never meet.
Ainwir had taught me to save only myself. Once, I’d thought his words were those of a caring mentor who didn’t want to lose his apprentice.
I’d wondered countless times how he’d managed to convince Laverna to loan him such a ridiculous amount. An answer I’d never learn. Maybe she had killed Ainwir for robbing her blind, and that’s why he’d vanished.
Or perhaps the bastard had gamed the system and was living happily ever after somewhere far away.
Maybe he, too, had fled to Duath Nun, and I’d see him again on its distant shores.