1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of Deception: Book #4, Chronicles of Marsdenfel

Year 253 of the Bynding - @ Skulls' Pointe - Harvestime, part I

I awaken in a room I recognize, and as my eyes adjust to the light of the oil lantern in the corner, I recall being carried here. That memory disconcerts me—not that I trust them, but…

Okay. I’m disconcerted that I trust them enough to let them carry me in my sleep.

I take in and let out a long, slow breath, then sit up. My room is the same as ever, though I told Cappie to reassign my room years ago, after I quit the crew. I can only assume he hopes I’ll come back one of these decades. I help him, every so often, but it’s like Owen—I’ll assist if I’m around, but I’m rarely in the area.

The mirror, brush, and chest of drawers are as I left them, eight years back. I let my hair down and brush it out, and I change out of my seawater-encrusted clothing. The cream-colored wrap dress is where I remember leaving it, in the top drawer, and good dark tunic and slacks are below. I wear the dress, grab the rest, and step out.

Aldrik leans against the wall outside my door, and refugees—rescued slaves—line the hall. If I didn’t already know that it’s safer for them than sharing a room with me, I’d likely feel guilty about my solitary quarters.

As it is, I pause and meet Aldrik’s concerned gaze straight-on. “You have a room yet?” He obviously hasn’t bathed or changed.

He glances aside, to some of the refugees.

I shake my head. “We’re a higher Bridge than they are.” 

He frowns.

Evidently I’ll have to educate him about the dangers of sharing rooms with strangers on lower Bridges, and he’ll probably even need me to explain about what’s been done to these poor people. I sigh and stride for the bathing room, jerking my head for him to follow.

Aldrik hesitates, but I hear him come down the hall in my wake. If his uneven heavy clod is any indicator, he hasn’t slept.

“Getting yourself clean will help you feel better,” I say briskly despite my churning stomach. “Seen Boots anywhere?” I ask, because I haven’t forgotten about Aldrik calling me his fiancée.

Silence answers me for a long moment. “All the boots I’ve seen have been on people’s feet.”

I shake my head. “Boots, the platypus. You haven’t seen him?” That would be odd, if not for all the recently rescued slaves. He plays at being an ornery old bloke, but he’s the sweetest thing if you’re upset. More like a puppy than a wild animal—but then, he’ll even curl up for a nap on Cappie’s back when he’s sunbathing in draken form.

I turn around and walk backward. Aldrik looks puzzled.

“Yes, a platypus is an actual critter, from the other side of the world. They’re as odd-looking as they sound.”

He raises his eyebrows at me.

I resume walking with my face forward and conveniently forget to mention that Boots, as a male platypus, has venomous spurs.

“Baths here are communal, just to warn you. People are usually pretty respectful of not staring at anything you’d rather they not.” The only one of the old crew who stares at me is Cappie—and even then, he seems to be concerned about what I’ve survived rather than interested in what I’d be like in bed.

And any rescued slaves won’t have a libido for a while.

The large swinging doors to the bathing room are clearly marked with ‘Communal Bathing’ in multiple languages—a new addition, probably due to Cappie getting fed up with the reactions of rescuees and new shipmates caught off guard. None of the languages are new to me, though the mother tongue of the undine takes me a long moment to parse. I haven’t used that one in nearly thirty years.

But I still have the doors all read before I step up to them, so I don’t pause before shoving both open at once and striding through.

Steam and a whistle welcome me to the room—which is promptly cut short by a growl.

“Aw, Cappie,” the whistler whines, comfortable enough that he’s been on the crew awhile, but new enough that I don’t know him. He can’t be more than a few years older than my grandson. “Just greeting the goose.”

If he mentions my ‘eggs’, I’ll have to slap him, just out of principle, even if Aldrik doesn’t understand enough of the drach to catch what’s being said. I hope he doesn’t understand drach.

Cappie, lounging in the corner of the pool with the best view of the door, meets my gaze straight-on, in silent inquiry. I’m not coming back as his storm mate, so he needs to handle it, not me. I mime pushing the responsibility back to him, but I politely refrain from undressing while the matter’s unresolved.

“Women are not fowl, Reginald.” A rumble underscores Cappie’s words. “They are not animals nor things, to be stared at for your pleasure. We have discussed this.”

Reginald rolls his eyes, shrugging nonchalantly as if to ask me if I can believe Cappie. “Aw, Caps. I was just playin’. She knows I don’t mean no harm by it—don’tchya, doll?”

Nausea picks that moment to spike, and I have to wait a long moment for it to roll over and settle. Cappie frowns at me.

I sign fine in Gassar as I answer Reginald in formal drach: “You seek challenge?”

He stares, blank-faced, for a long moment. Then he busts out laughing.

I feel a chill that’s more emotional than physical as Aldrik draws closer behind me. I step aside and glance up at him. His poise and expression are of a soldier, poised to strike.

He understands drach. I let out a soft sigh. He shoots me an intense look. I scowl back. I don’t need his help.

Reginald’s laughter has started to die down, but I still manage to hop in the bath and have him pressed to the wall behind him before he can recover. “Was that challenge, Reggie.” I smile warmly, ignoring that my soddened dress is giving everyone a bit of an eyeful. “Well?”

The man’s expression is frozen halfway between a laugh and a sneer. Such terrible recovery time. Has the crew gotten completely incompetent in my absence?

The doors slam open, and Aldrik’s magic snaps up at ready.

“Stormie!” Weevil slips on the wet stone and falls hard…but I taught him how to fall properly years back, so he doesn’t get hurt enough to warrant attention. “’elp!” he squeaks between breaths.

I don’t need him to catch his breath to know what’s wrong. We always lose some of the rescued slaves, no matter how hard we try to prevent it.

I shove Reginald against the wall, hard enough to make my muscles more obvious than my ability to lift him already does, and kick off the wall to spin myself around and reach Weevil as quickly as possible. “Where?”

Weevil’s babbling has enough sounds to let me piece together where to go…and this isn’t good. How did they get that far without anyone noticing?

Heedless of my bare feet and wet dress, I sprint through the doors. Aldrik predictably follows after, though Weevil manages to gasp, “Wait!”

“It’s fine!” I call back. Aldrik’s help is a risk I have to take—no time to explain why he shouldn’t, and I probably wouldn’t be able to convince him anyway, with how sick I am. I exit the warmth of the cave and enter the cool of night. The dirt and rocks dig into my feet, comforting me through my magic, as I follow the path that leads to the pointe. That’s the one spot on this boulder where the fence doesn’t keep a person from the sea, even when the docks are all locked up.

I don’t hear Cappie behind us, but I rarely do.

Despite the earth anchoring me, the world spins…but I keep running.

I have to keep running.

Power that be, Creator of Aleyi, don’t let us be too late.

And please, if I’ve ever done anything right in my life, don’t let Aldrik decide to join them.

• • • • •

A/N: So…what do you think she's freaking out about?