3. Bryn
Bryn
Wood creaked with each step, and the distant lap of water mixed with the sounds of the ship’s crew going about their work—what few remained on board.
“Come quickly before you make a mess of Captain’s ship,” the bosun muttered. Leading the way down stairs and rooms, we finally reached a door at the back of the vessel. He knocked once and barged inside. “Laceration for you, Laknar.”
A white-clad, elderly fae turned and faced us. “My, my. You aren’t the crew.”
“N-no,” I mumbled. “The captain said you could help.”
The healer nodded. “She’s fine with me, Rolf.”
“T-thank you,” I said to the retreating bosun.
He waved a hand over his shoulder and was gone with a gruff huff.
“Now tell me, young lady,” the healer said. “How did you come by this malady?”
“Tripped and fell near the alehouse. Reached out to steady my fall and landed on a piece of glass.”
He looked at me with a hint of skepticism, but with the amount of blood currently redecorating the floorboards, there was little to argue with.
“Very well.” He patted the exam table in the middle of the room. “Hop up and let me take a look at it.”
I did as I was told while he shuffled across the room to his worktop and shelves covered in bottles and ointments of all shapes and colors. He returned with cloths and bottle of something.
Cleaning the wound while humming a sea shanty I recognized from years gone by, his wrinkled hands worked with the diligence and efficiency of a man of many years. I winced at the ointment as it stung my reddened skin.
“If you think that’s painful, you’re not going to like this next part,” he mumbled.
“I appreciate the help.”
He chuckled, a soft and low sound, then held my arm out, setting my palm flat on the table. Proffering a cloth to my mouth, I took it with one bite and grit my teeth around it.
“You’ve done this before?”
I tilted my head from one side to the other. The truth was yes. Yes, I had. But he didn’t need to know about the dozens of times I’d accidentally landed on the sharp end of a weapon. It was a workplace hazard. One I did my best to avoid, but sometimes luck wasn’t in my favor.
I pulled the material out of my mouth. “You don’t want to restrain my free arm in case I might lash out from the pain?”
Laknar shook his head. “I only do so with men. I’ve found women are far more capable of handling pain.”
Of that we could definitely agree. I replaced the cloth in my mouth.
“Hold still,” he said and wrapped his hands around my injured arm—one above and one below the cut.
The air around his fingers flickered, and a tingling sensation settled over my skin before soft light erupted from his hands.
Fiery pain shot down my arm, concentrating around the cut.
I bit back a scream and a tear spilled down my cheek.
Ancestors, that was painful. Why had I done this to myself?
The room blurred in and out of focus.
“Almost done,” Laknar said, but I could barely hear his words through the agony spearing through my arm. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
Eventually the laceration was sealed, leaving behind a ragged pink scar. The healer’s magic had wrapped around it and stitched it shut. Thankfully healer fae existed among all four factions since not every fae had healing abilities. Right now, I was very grateful for Laknar and his powers.
I spat out the rag and took a deep breath.
“Water?”
I nodded. Brandy would’ve been better, but proper hydration might help mitigate any wooziness. I may have been safely on board, but I still needed to keep my wits about me. And hide. Now, I needed to hide.
Laknar found a glass tumbler and twirled his fingers, calling on his Fjord Fae magic and creating an orb of water. Using it like a pitcher, he poured it into the waiting glass. I marveled at his precision and the strength of his magic.
I took the proffered drink and gulped it down. The cool liquid was like a balm to my heated skin.
“Good, good,” he said. “You will survive, but please be more careful. A cut like that could cause serious problems without a healer nearby.”
“Understood. Thank you.”
He waved a hand and trundled across the room, returning with a clean blue shirt. “Here. To replace the ripped one.”
Accepting the new clothes, I hopped off the bench. “Thank you very much.”
“Now, you best be on your way. The ship will be leaving port soon and you don’t want to get stuck on here.”
“Oh no, I can’t have that.”
Laknar smiled. “I will help you back upstairs.”
“No need. I remember the way.”
“Very well, then. Stay safe, young lady, and don’t get lost.”
I smiled and slipped out of the room.
Little did he know, that was exactly what my plan was.
Standing at the back of a common space filled with crates, hammocks, and other ship accoutrement that wasn’t shiny in the slightest, I pulled off my shirt, not bothering to be modest—the bandeau across my breasts covered enough—and slung on the clean blue shirt that matched the other crew members’ attire.
Now, to enact the next part of my plan: find a hiding spot and perhaps some food.
I passed barrels and boxes as I made my way to the other end of the ship. Tapping my hands atop each as I went, I found one that was open and shoved my bloodied and ripped shirt in there. Someone would find it. Eventually. Or maybe they wouldn’t. Not my problem.
Adjusting the belt at my waist and the cloak around my shoulders, I followed my nose and the smell of fresh-baked bread, onions, and something salty. Were they salt-curing lamb? Please let that be the case. I’d love to be well fed on this journey.
A crew member bustled past with a quick glance at me. Shite. I needed to be stealthier.
His footsteps faltered behind me. “Are you lost?”
“No, no. New kitchen maid. First day.”
He grunted, brows furrowed, but spun and continued on his way.
That was a bit too close.
I scurried toward the sounds of clattering pots and pans and turned the corner right into the galley. A duo of cooks—man and woman—bustled about the steam-filled room. Neither paying any mind to me lurking in the doorway.
All I needed was a bit of food to tide me over for the trip.
Scanning the mounds of dishes and pots, I spotted the bread that had been making the rest of the ship smell divine. That would do.
With footsteps as light as a wood lemming’s, I slunk into the kitchen, plucked a loaf off the top of the basket, and was back in the hall before anyone was any the wiser.
The crunchy and fluffy morsel was in my mouth before I could make any more decisions, and I stifled a groan at the bliss.
They definitely knew how to make bread on this ship.
My loaf under my arm and a mouthful to chew on, I snuck along the side of the ship, then made my way to the rear, hoping for some semblance of privacy.
The silence and dust in this part of the vessel grew thicker, with stacks of crates barricading what appeared to be a closet. I scrambled past them, nudging a few aside, revealing the small door. Opening it, I found an unkempt collection of brooms, mops, buckets, and bags staring back at me.
Perfect—and much like my other favorite hiding spots where I could shield myself from harm and those who caused it. Those two… Ugh… I shuddered at the memory of my recent problems and refocused on the task at hand.
Scurrying inside, I latched the door shut and got myself settled.
It didn’t stretch far back, only enough for me to lie curled up.
This would be more than adequate for the journey, and being only one floor beneath the deck, I still got some fresh air through the small cracks between planks and random notches.
Voices sounded from above, and I nudged a wooden box across the room so I could get closer to the spot near the ceiling where the noise was coming from.
Hopping up, I stifled a gasp. There was a small crack where the wall and ceiling met, revealing the deck.
I was beneath the stairs to the helm and could just make out the crew returning from the alehouse.
“I’ll best you in a sword fight one day, boss.”
“Oh, I’d like to see you try, Dragin.” Henrik snickered as he came into view.
“Someone will come along and test your mettle,” Dragin added.
“Then you’ll all be in for a show.” Henrik’s lips curled up at one corner in a look that promised violence. “Now, get those ropes off, ladies and lads, and let’s get her underway!”
“Aye, Captain!”
“Aye, Captain,” I mimicked with a smarmy tone, then clamped my own hand over my mouth.
Ancestors, I couldn’t get caught without having even left the harbor.
Henrik sauntered across the deck, leaving his crew to ready the rigging and whatever else they needed to do with the absolute maze of ropes around the sails.
Boats were commonly second nature to us Fjord Fae—being one with the water and all that—but I’d only been good at relieving boats of their wares.
Henrik, on the other hand, was in full control of this vessel.
The suave captain strode up the stairs by my peephole, taking them two at a time, and leaving me with a view of the sailors.
The boat creaked and listed gently. We were underway. There was no turning back now.
I was officially a stowaway on the Valur.