Chapter 11
Athousand stars sparkled down on the mirror-still water. Tyrell watched Lia as she gazed at the glimmering reflections. Seeing the ocean so calm made him wonder if ol’ bluey had used his terrible magic to turn off the wind and hold the ship at bay.
Then again, the calm brought a welcome respite from the lurching and bouncing the ship underwent as it had left the Allysian dock earlier that day. Poor Lia had been stumbling all over the place, but as with everything, she persevered. She had even laughed when she stumbled into him.
Or maybe he had stumbled into her? Admittedly, he didn’t really have any sea legs either.
Suddenly, Lia smiled down at the water and laughed through her nose.
Tyrell, overcome by curiosity, came and leaned on the railing beside her. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh?” she glanced up at him. “Nothing, it’s silly.”
“I gathered that, since you’re laughing,” he grinned.
She shook her head then said, “I just remembered this stupid game the princess and I used to play when we were children. We called it Too Puffy.”
“Too Puffy?”
“As I said, stupid.” Lia shook her head. “The princess would put on the puffiest dress she owned and demand I make it puffier. I’d run all over the room finding ruffles and pillows and anything I could to make her outfit ‘puffier’. Then, if she fell over, I won.”
Tyrell laughed. “How old were you?”
“Oh, ten, I think.”
“My Uncle Lavern could have won that game,” Tyrell commented. “Or Prince Erich. Did you see what he wore to the ball in Iseldis?”
“Now there is a man who knows how to stand out in a crowd, but do so with grace.” She motioned along her shoulders, remembering the prince’s dramatic outfit. “Although I would call that more feathery than puffy.”
“What bird even grows feathers that long?” Tyrell laughed.. “Perhaps we should find his seamstress and ask for a similar dress for the Greenreign Festival back home for you.”
Lia snorted. “Well, I much prefer when Princess Tavia is playing Too Puffy, perhaps I’ll suggest she hire Prince Erich’s seamstress . . .” Lia’s expression fell as she remembered she no longer worked for the Princess. “. . . Or not.”
They both stared out over the black, sparkling expanse for a long moment.
“I wonder,” Lia mumbled. “If I could do something with this.” She gestured outward.
Tyrell glanced sideways at her. “What do you mean?”
“For the princess,” Lia shrugged. “Like a black gown, with pleats like waves and diamonds all sewn in so it sparkles when she turns.”
Tyrell tried to picture Princess Tavia so attired but couldn’t—she always wore light colors, pinks and yellows and whites.
“Why not for yourself?” Tyrell suggested.
“Me?” Lia scoffed.
“Why not?” he shrugged.
“For one thing, maids don’t wear gowns with diamonds sewn in,” she explained. “And for another, the very first thing my grandmother taught me was, ‘a maid must never outshine her princess.’”
“Well, I think,” Tyrell answered. “After everything you’ve done for her, she should give you one day to shine in your own right.”
Lia rolled her eyes.
“You’re a kind man, my Lord,” she mumbled. “The princess is a fool for rejecting you.”
Tyrell’s expression fell, he hugged himself with his arms and shrugged.
“I cannot force her to love me,” he sighed. “I just want her safe.”
The worst thing about sea travel in Lia’s mind, was not dry biscuits or sea sickness or tight quarters. No, the worst thing about sea travel in her mind was being stuck in close quarters with men who took card games too seriously.
She had left in such a hurry, she forgot her sewing and now had nothing to entertain her during the long journey except Tyrell and a deck of cards. Unfortunately, Tyrell’s game of choice was Dead Man’s Waste and he had the actual rule book memorized.
“Pair of frogs,” Lia declared, laying down two fours. “The deck is mine.”
She began to reach for a stack of cards in the center of the barrel, but Tyrell held up a finger.
“Frogs are a house rule,” he stated.
Lia groaned. “This is how Grandmother and I always played!”
It seemed like every time she tried to make any move at all, Tyrell would suddenly recite the Dead Man’s Waste rule book explaining why her move was only allowable on the eve of the full moon.
“There is no such thing as a ‘frog’,” Tyrell chided. “It’s never mentioned anywhere in the official rule book. It’s just something women added over the years to make the game easier for children.”
“Or maybe women added the rule, because unlike men, women play games for fun.”
“There’s nothing fun about Dead Man’s Waste,” Tyrell insisted. “It’s more of an art than a game.”
Lia stared at him for a long moment, then threw down her hand.
“Wait, wait,” Tyrell insisted. “I promise, this isn’t that complicated, let me explain it again.”
“With all due respect, my Lord,” Lia said. “If you explain the rules to me one more time, I will throw myself overboard.”
Tyrrel locked her in a playful gaze, broke into a smirk and said, “The object of Dead Man’s Waste is to collect the maximum number of cards—”
Lia jumped to her feet and started for the ladder to the upper deck.
“Tell the princess it was an honor serving her!” she called.
Tyrell, still reciting an ever more complicated series of rules, leapt after her and caught her by the wrist. “Wait, I haven’t finished,” he laughed.
“All this time I thought Captain Julian was the danger,” Lia giggled, trying to jerk her wrist free. “And yet, our own Lord Tyrell is boring me to death.”
“. . . When the eighth round ends, assuming both players have at least a three each, the player with the most cards is declared the winner,” he declared.
“Are you actually finished?” Lia pleaded.
Tyrell took his free hand and grabbed her forearm, pulling her closer. “No, that was only chapter one.”
Lia squealed, pulled her hand free from his grasp, and ran in a circle around the storeroom with Tyrell in close pursuit.
“Maybe,” she suggested over her shoulder. “Instead of talking about this pointlessly complicated game, we should decide what we are actually going to do once we reach Castle Salamar.”
“Oh, that’s not complicated at all,” Tyrell called.
“My father knows Julian’s father. I’ll bring him some wine and congratulate him on the engagement of his son.
” Tyrell ceased running and leaned on a barrel, catching his breath.
“Then through very careful questioning of Lord Salamar, we determine the location of the forbidden wing, and the place where Tavia is staying.”
“Right,” Lia answered, stopping midflight and turning toward him with arms crossed. “And if the Captain happens to see you while you’re speaking to his father? Or Princess Tavia, for that matter?”
Tyrell furrowed his brows and blinked a few times. Apparently, he had put his intellectual arts to use mastering Dead Man’s Waste instead of formulating their rescue plan.
“It’s alright,” Lia answered. “I think we can make some minor adjustments.”