An Ocean of Lies (AFOS II)

Chapter 4: Jo

Leaning on the balustrade, they watched as Laurentius flew into the fog, towards the diffuse lights of the City of Ontur. The lighthouse looked like a dying star, titillating in the distance, saying goodbye. Jo turned around, she didn't want to look at it anymore. Alaric hugged her waist. The night was cold and the mist made her skin sticky and clammy, she could taste the salty water in the air. She didn't like the sea, all the movement, the wetness. How could all that water make her feel disgusting? Water was supposed to make you feel clean. She'd have to get used to it.

"What are we going to do? I know what we agreed on, but I want to be extra sure, just, you know, I want to be sure we're actually doing this," Alaric whispered. She squeezed his arm. Flashes of the rampage they unleashed over the citizens of Ontur, monsters, blood. Jo closed her eyes, wishing the guilt away. But it was done, they could only look forward now. Abandoning ship at that stage wasn't really an option, not after all they'd done.

"You heard Laurentius, he's right. We'll look for your sister, even if she's a cannibal queen who performs monstrous blood rituals on kittens. Then we'll see, I guess. Maybe she'll kill us, spare us the pain of having to flee from assassins and all that," she joked. But it was a possibility, especially without Laurentius to save their asses. Maybe Alaric's sister was insane, maybe she was as evil as the stories said, if she lived and ruled among the skaldjaar chances were she was worse than any story they'd ever heard.

Maybe she was dead.

"Phew! The prospect of escaping assassins for the rest of our lives made me tired just by thinking of it. I'm glad it won't be the case," Alaric jested back. His voice trembled.

"Who knows, maybe she'll sell us into slavery, I hear they're into it too. She could hold a huge auction, invite every ruler from every kingdom, sell you to the highest bidder!" she sniggered.

"Again, maybe better than escaping assassins. Peeling grapes, dressing like a court jester—I'm a good singer too," he spun her around. She could feel her body relaxing, the fear diluting.

"Oh, I forgot to ask the ladies at the Onturian compound about it. I was a little busy at the moment," Jo smirked. Alaric blushed, still smiling.

"Maybe I'll serenade you someday, when we're not escaping death and all that. Stress interferes with my vocal chords, you know?"

"Of course," Jo chuckled. "And you owe me a dance in a dress: two birds with one stone, what do you think? And I get to choose the song."

"Only if I get to choose the dress, I look terrible in yellow. Maybe a nice teal? Or a red?"

Someone cleared their throat behind them. Jo nearly fell off the ship: sneaking behind people on ships had to be illegal somewhere. If Alaric ended up being king, she'd lobby to get that law approved.

"I see the two of you are in a good mood? I went by your room, but you weren't there: I don't usually do that, by the way. Don't get used to it. Dinner is served, come, or not, but keep in mind the kitchen will be closed afterward," Roisin spat on the floor. She sounded annoyed, but didn't look it.

"We need to discuss where we're going, we have a map—" Jo started. Roisin put her hand on her mouth. It smelled like orange peels.

"We don't discuss business at dinner, it's bad for digestion. We'll talk tomorrow, after breakfast," the smuggler shoved them from the shoulders. She was about Jo's height, she had to tiptoe to reach Alaric's.

The door at the left side of the common room opened, exposing a large dining room just as eclectic as the rest of that level of the ship. An enormous table, surrounded by mismatched elegant chairs and loud smugglers, sat at the center of it. The smugglers' lively chattering ended as soon as Jo and Alaric crossed the threshold: fifty, maybe more, pairs of eyes landed on them. Some squinted, others elbowed their neighbors on the ribs: all of them looked amused. Jo felt the urge to run and hide in their room, she wasn't that hungry anyway, that sweet-smelling stew, those perfectly roasted vegetables, that red wine... not appealing at all. She raised her chin, held her breath and moved to the nearest pair of empty chairs, conveniently placed at the farthest corner of the table, hoping she didn't look as unconfident as she felt. She spooned some stew into her bowl, took a piece of freshly-baked bread and grabbed a bottle of wine. Alaric followed her, hesitantly. Roisin sat at the head of the table, near the two of them. The chattering resumed as did Jo's oxygen influx—one more second and she would've fainted.