Chapter One #3
“There is no blood proof of those deathbed claims tossed out by an elf whose mind was riddled with senility,” I hurried to point out.
The dwarf and the scout exchanged looks I would have liked to slap from their faces.
Instead, I poured myself more wine, watching as the dark red wine leapt from the bottle into my goblet.
“Also, if you call me your grace once more, I will toss you over the side and let the sharks nibble on your entrails.” The wyrm stopped gnawing on the lock to growl at me.
I glared right back. “Yours as well, you thieving shit.”
The dragon was not intimidated. Nor was I. For now. Give the beast a full four seasons, then I would be slightly less prone to poking him.
“But as a blooded son of the throne—”
I held up a hand to stop Beiro. “My blood is that of a pirate and a whore. That is what I was told. Until it is proven otherwise by those who know better of this than I, then I refute that shite title and all others. Now, do you wish to hear more of the sea witches, or do you wish to sit here spilling rice down your shirt as we piddle-fuck about with meaningless aristocratic drivel?”
The young scout looked chastened. “The witches please your…captain.” He flicked several kernels of rice from his shirt, which the raven hopped over to eat.
“Much better. The sisters are triplets. Nymira Tidebound, Lirentha Saltveil, and Vaelora Moonwake. She who counts anchors, she who unites storms, and she who sorts salt and bone.” I ticked the names off on my fingers.
Speaking their names stirred up a soft hum from the lucent in my pocket.
Dismiss them as I may wish to strangers, the sisters were wound into the bloodlines of my father’s family as far back as memory could recall.
“They govern the seas and those who sail upon them. Nymira picks through the debris of sunken ships, gathering anchors to take to the dark crack in the seabed where they reside. Lirentha summons small storms to bring them into mighty typhoons to wreak havoc on those who defile the sea, and Vaelora sorts salt and bone for use in divination. They are not good or evil. They watch over the beasts in the depths as well as we who sail on the waves, but if a soul misuses the creatures that the sisters call brother and sister, then they will lash out with a fury few live long enough to recount the tales.”
“And their father?” Asdren enquired then held out his glass for more wine. I filled his goblet to the rim with a smile and a flick of my finger.
“He lingers in the sea mourning the death of his wife, his anguish rising up at times to cause giant waves to wash onto land, wiping away the homes of mortals.” Asdren sat back, hands coming to rest on his belly, and belched.
I nodded. “Pith will be happy to hear you thought so well of the fare.” Beiro sat silently, breaking bits of bread for his raven to eat.
The wyrm flew over, obviously vexed by the locks, to grab a fish from the platter for his meal.
“You need to teach that wyrmling some manners. Does he behave so at the palace?”
“He has never been to the palace. This will be his first time among the nobles and the royal family,” Beiro replied as a new song floated in, this one accompanied by a lute.
A love song filled with angst. As one who had never felt the sting of love—and wished to keep it that way—the lament of the brokenhearted elf lad crying out for his lady love was nothing more than a tune on the wind.
Falling in love, my father had always warned, turned a wise man into a broken fool.
Those words now felt hollow. Did he love my mother, the aristocrat, and was that why he had schooled me to abhor romance?
Was my mother a noblewoman at all? Why would he leave her behind if she were with child?
Had he sailed off before she knew? If she were nobility and found herself increasing, would the shame of being unwed and carrying a bastard half-breed spur her to give away her son?
Or was I just a foundling like Simon, taken in by privateers to serve as free labor?
What story was true? Which one was a lie?
My head spun in confusion. Or perhaps the spinning was the result of the fourth bottle of wine I had ingested. Possibly.
“Ah, then perhaps your wyrm and I should become better friends, as we’ll be the sole newcomers in the castle with no courtly manners,” I offered, to which the dragon, humped over his pilfered fish, spat at me like a cat. “Perhaps not then.”
“He is not averse to becoming your friend,” Beiro rushed to say. The dragon shot him a look which was followed by a long silence as they stared at each other.
“He and the wyrm are head talking,” Asdren informed me. “They do that lots. He and any beast, to be honest. Cute, ain’t it?”
Prescott ambled past, towering over us all, two massive kegs on each muscular shoulder.
“Cute,” he rumbled, his bare chest showing the girth and skin coloration of the mountain troll in his blood.
Half human, half troll. He didn’t know which half was which, but whenever I thought on it, I prayed to the witches that his sire had been the human, for if it were the other way round…
well, birthing a child so large would be severely unpleasant.
A male of few words, he was fiercely loyal to me, a protector few would tangle with.
Another castoff found wandering Quinn’s Quay several years ago.
Half-grown, thin as a rail, feared by most of the people in the harbor town, father had adopted him.
Fed him. Clothed him. Taught him to speak Elven.
Then had told him to watch over me. And he had.
With a ferocity that made me glad he was my friend and not my foe.
We had concluded his mother, or father, whichever was the troll, had found him too weak to continue feeding.
The trolls are known to leave sickly offspring behind.
With his human blood making him smaller than other troll young of his size, he was unwanted.
A half-breed. Just like me. Perhaps that was why we had bonded so tightly. Two undesirable hybrid curs.
“Adorable.” I sighed.
“I have a real good sarcasm detector,” Asdren said while tapping his nose.
That made me snicker. I liked the dwarf.
And the scout. The creatures that traveled with them not so much.
“I’m not going to claim to be no lineage expert or healer with a keen eye for blood regents or whatever.
What I do have some knowledge of is ponies. ”
“Is this pertinent to what we were discussing?” I asked, sipping my wine as my half-eaten plate of rice and fish was being slowly fed to a bird and a big blue lizard. What bitter grog had my life become?
“It is.” The dwarf reached for a sweet roll that he tore in half to share with his lover.
It was a darling act. “See, when you have a strong stud pony that you breed to a fine mare, the foal will always breed true to its parents. You got the look of the Stillclouds to you, just like a newborn pony will resemble the stallion or the mare. Sometimes more strongly one or the other, but there’s always signs.
If I painted your hair yellow as the sun, you and the king would be two stamps from the same press, aside from your human height and the shortness of your ears. ”
I mulled over that bit of dwarven thought as I swished wine around my mouth. I let my chair drop to the floor with a thud that startled a croak of alarm from the raven.
“Tell me about Aelir.” I placed my arms on the table, the bangles on my wrist clattering as my forearms met wood.
“Not the palace fuckery that the realm wants said about the young king. Tell me of the man who wishes to claim a bastard pirate as kin. Why? Why would he wish to bring me to his bosom? Nobles hate those they see as lesser, or criminals, and I, by virtue of my father’s lowly human blood and my profession, am both.
So why would he not send an assassin instead of a scout to find me?
Wouldn’t most of the noble houses of Melowynn end my life secretly?
Why would the Ivory King bring me into his city and his home with open arms and a pat on the back?
Explain this to me like I’m a child of four seasons. ”
“It is simply how King Aelir is,” Beiro replied with the innocence of a newborn babe.
Surely an elf raised among bandits could not be so damn gullible.
I might have rolled my eyes. The scout bristled slightly.
“You make judgments of someone you have never met, never spent time with, never heard his impassioned speeches.”
“True, I haven’t. I have, though, been chased through international waters while not flying the blood banner and had my crew and several friends detained or arrested due to the fact that they have no credible papers to show to the dock inspectors.” I leaned over my arms, a wicked smile on my face.
“The navy and those under the king are only trying to ensure the docks and wharves are safe from…” He bit down on his lip, this son of a notorious bandit.
“Please, go on. They are seeking to keep the docks safe from what? Poor folk who are trying to fish? Hardworking sailors hoping to sell their wares to the good people of Melowynn but are turned away due to their skin color or lack of proper birthing registry? Shocking as this may be, I don’t possess any registry of birth papers, and I highly doubt you do either, offspring of Kagon Vahorn. ”
“No, I do not.” The young elf appeared stricken. A pox on me for my flippant mouth. Hyla had always said it would get me into hot tar, and it had. Often.
Asdren looped an arm around his elf. “Ain’t no shame in that, Chirp. Them fancy papers the snooty elves like to wave around don’t amount to the berries hanging off a donkey’s shite hole.”
I snorted loudly. Ah, the dwarves. “I’m sorry if that sliced too close to the quick.
Trust me, I know the snub of the crown and those that flutter about in silken trousers gazing down their noses at the ones who feed and clothe their dainty arses.
Let’s just table this discussion for another time.
No point in getting our noses bent out of shape.
Neither one of us is going to be supping with the queen anytime soon. ”
“You may well be,” Beiro responded, and I, for once, had no glib comeback.
Fukkate.