Winds of Fate [Books I-III]

Chapter 119: What We Do For Love

March 5th 1720, Present Day
The Queen of Sparta
Tortuga

Eleanore rubs her knuckles over her eyes as she plods to the Captain's cabin. The next bell hasn't rung yet, and the crew are either amusing themselves or taking a nap wherever they could.

Thankfully, no one noticed her slip along. Aggy and Thibaud tried to drag her down to the mess deck for lunch, but despite her parched throat and hurting stomach, her soul doesn't allow her to rest until she has spoken, once and for all, with her spirit guardian again, especially since her former ebony hair plunged to the color of winter.

With a deep breath, Eleanore turns the knob and pushes her weight on the cabin doors. She closes her eyes, relishing the hardness of the wood and the strong scent of varnish, tethering her back to the present.

"Hey, Torkin," she absentmindedly greets with a smile. "I'm going to the spirit world, maybe you wanna come be my guard---"

"You're not going anywhere."

Her eyes fling open. She looks up and sees Torkin peeping behind his wing and crouched inside his basket...

Because Anton is by the desk, brows furled, with a fist on the open charts before him and even more confusion in his dark eyes as he finally notices her hair.

Eleanore stills. All her senses warn her to make a run for it and jump straight into the sea, hoping Luca would somehow get the hint and whisk her away for their meeting. Biting her lip, she eyes the drawer by the left where the God of the Night's summoning obsidian mirror is hidden... but her husband has gripped the edge of that side of the grand desk.

"Eleanore," Anton sternly calls, his handsome features twisting to nothing short of a scowl. Not Lenore. Not tesoro. Not even Captain. "What happened to your hair?"

"My--- oh, this old thing?" She nervously laughs, lifting a strand. "I..." The lie cannot get out, however, not with his furious gaze on her or how she utterly abhors deceiving him in turn.

Anton narrows his eyes, daring her to do it.

Well, goddamn it. "Anton, I can't talk right now." Eleanore sighs, rounding the cabin just to get to the desk and escape his eyes the best she could. "I need to go to the spirits. We got nothing from the Fortress---" Nothing aside from learning more about you... She swallows and silently pushes him away to open the drawer. He does budge, but his eyes still sear the top of her snowy white head, sending her heart sinking in her chest. It would be harder to talk about it. Run to him, and she'll not move any further at all.

Eleanore gently sifts through the papers inside the drawer, until her palms touch cold, smooth glass. She beams and retrieves the mirror - still the same abysmal black obsidian in its silver frame, hanging by a chain. Pleased it wasn't scratched or dirtied after having been stored in the corner of the drawer for so long, she opens the clasp and ties the chain around her neck, letting the cold mirror fall upon her bosom, scalding her with its icyness.

"I'd rather you come, Torkin," she says, making a show of cleaning the mirror just to avoid facing them. "So you can call for help if I ever---"

"Will you now?" Anton taunts beside her.

Now's the literally worst time to hate me. Maybe she does deserve it for being a horrible wife, friend, and captain. After all... just one task.

One task, to be a loving daughter, and she couldn't even do it properly.

She can say the same for her many roles. Eleanore bites her lip and takes a deep breath, determined to stuff it all back in the darkness. Ignore him, and he'll be busy soon with the noon watch anyway. "I'm not arguing with you," she breathlessly says, "because I have to go. Torkin!"