O R E P H N I L
The fluids in his gut were swaying ominously with the motion just as the ocean beyond the vessel did. Waves whacked her from the sides, and the wind howled as the Palinurus thrust forward on the water. His chamber was in the belowdecks, puny with just enough freedom for him to lay down on the squeaking bed, and with two strides, he would find himself outside. There was a porthole, but whenever he peeped out, he saw gigantic, monstrous waves reaching towards him, and frightened, he would hurl back from it, feeling sick all over again.
The captain, sir Flinnien Foreswift, had said that they couldn't provide them with a chamber big enough to accommodate the lovers, so for the voyage, they would have to adjust in two separate ones. The prince was exceptionally glad about it. He couldn't imagine sleeping on the same bed as Neriath, not because something nefarious would incite between them but because he worried for his life. He would snore, and Nosdor knew she might kill him for it.
At dawn, he had awoken to urgent knocks on his cabin door and was greeted by a man, named Covier Synth.
"The captain's akin and first mate," he said.
The first mate did not have glossy black hair like Captain Flinn, nor did he have any beard or mustache, and he was not tall, but he had greying hair with receding hairline from his forehead and creases under his eyes. He stood on short legs—in contrast to the long legs of the captain—surprisingly unwavering and unmoving while Orephnil thought he had no sense of a poised stance and lolled side by side stupidly before him like a drunk pirate on loose bones. If Covier Synth was the opposite of the Captain in physicality, he was undeniably similar to him in personality, so much alike that the physical dissimilarities didn't seem like a valid reason to doubt their kinship.
"How may I help you?" Orephnil asked.
"In plenty of ways," he replied, grinning slyly.
The first mate had brought orders from the Captain for them to labor in the place of the two crewmen who had been removed to give them a compartment on the ship. Orephnil was flabbergasted when Covier told him that he had to cater food to the passengers of the Palinurus while Neriath was positioned as a hand on the riggings. He didn't understand this discrimination, and before he could put a voice to his doubt, the first mate was skittering away on his quick legs.
In actuality, Orephnil had no say in this matter. Captain Flinn said that they might as well be of some service while they were on board, and so with rising bile and tightened face, begrudgingly, he pushed open the fourth door since the morning.
"Here is your soup, miss..." he said as he seated down the tray on a table, ruminating the forgotten name, "...miss Ricley."
"You may call me Tonsa," replied the woman.
She was attired in an elegant, sky-blue Kurabi, her golden hair secured in a neat bun. A full-mooned spectacle before her tiny eyes was mounted on her tall nose as she reclined on the bed with a bulky book on her lap.
"You're untrained and new." Her brown eyes traced the trailing drops of the liquid on the wooden floor.
Orephnil cursed internally when he realized he'd have to get that cleaned up too. "I'm sorry for the mess."
She waved the apology away like a fly and asked with piqued curiosity. "How did you end up on this ship?"
He told her the same lie. Troubled lovers. Running away to save their skins. He said he was thankful to the captain for giving them accommodation, but he had not anticipated that he would have to work.
"Well, in Nulakin, favors come with a price."
He frowned. "Then it is not favor at all. A transactional deal would seem like a better word for it," he thought of his condition, of how the Captain took his royal ring for keeping his mouth shut and giving them a place on the ship and added, still frowning, "or bribe in certain cases."
"It has been known for centuries that men of Nulakin never give favors without demanding an equivalent price. Were you not aware of it?"
Something finally seemed perceptible in his foggy mind. He had read it in a book! How could he be so dumb? How could they be so dumb? It couldn't have been possible that she, of all people, didn't know about it at all. Fuck, Nosdor. She knew.
He apologized to Miss Tonsa Ricley and ran to look for Neriath on the open deck. She was at the riggings, pulling the mahogany masts along with her workmates. He yanked her at one corner, away from the prying eyes of men and the Captain.
"You knew!" he jerked her, slamming her back on the wooden rail cap. "You knew he'd place a price!"
Her eyebrows were wrinkled in perturbation.
"You knew that you could not board a ship without getting caught. You must have anticipated that by the time we would reach here, Viltarin would've sent a Nyct to Sraans City with the order to kill us! Tell me you didn't know any of this at all!"
Neriath's face morphed into stoic calmness as she replied, "I had known if that's what you want to hear."
Holy Great Nos. She was staring at him, unblinking and unapologetically truthful it infuriated him further.
"You didn't have much Qreude but you had me," he laughed without mirth, disgusted at the sight of her, "oh, you had the rich prince with a precious ring meandering behind you. And you used me. You wanted me as your companion because you needed the ring!"
"Precisely," she answered stiffly.
Was it so hard for her to ask? So hard for her to not lie to him and be completely truthful? This was the second time she betrayed him. His hands burnt to slap her but he was not taught to behave this way. But she was a pathetic, remorseless, unashamed woman. Behind the blinding rage, something ached in his chest, a painful misshaping.
"It was the last thing that reminded me of home." It was the last thing that reminded me of my mother. His words became a bare whisper as he looked over the vast ocean surrounding him. The anger subsiding as pain took over the reins.
I'm stuck. The realization hit him hard and fast. I'm stuck with this cunning woman on this stupid ship. Water and smell everywhere. A knot formed in his stomach, and Orephnil could not hold back anymore as he darted to the starboard side of the ship and heaved out the undigested contents of his stomach.
***
The water lapped, crystal under the moonlight, liquid silver like the tears of Dore. Gentle and small waves moved everywhere on the sides of the Palinurus as it lolled on the Farim Ocean, advancing now with a slow speed—north with the silent wind.
What is her goal? What concerning matters she has in Tohan?
Thoughts repeatedly stirred in his mind and homesickness washed over him, overbearing. He wanted to go over to the helm and throw the helmsman in the ocean below only so he could stir the handle back towards home. This voyage was pointless for him but truth be told, he was unmistakably stuck on this ship.
What if I drop down a longboat and take enough food with me to row back to Filhayal?
But he could get caught. Viltarin would hang him by the neck if he was found. He looked below once again, evaluating the bottomless ocean. The Farim Ocean would be impossibly tumultuous to cross except on large sea vessels. Would it have sea monsters? Immense, colossus sea creatures? The introspection disturbed him and his spirits lulled down as he wandered back to his cabin, to rest his mind and exhausted body. Perhaps, at first dawn, tomorrow, he might come up with a plan to get away. To where, he didn't know but he had to get away from Neriath.
At midnight, he awoke to a persistent tiny noise beyond his wooden wall. The noise was coming from the cabin adjacent to his, which was Neriath's. Perplexed, he got up and out of his bed, annoyed, and raptly knocked on her door.
She opened the door ajar, so much that he could only see her dark, suspicion-filled eyes, narrowing towards him.
"What the hell are you doing in the middle of the night? I can't sleep."
She pushed her weight on her other foot as though impatient. "I was just fixing something."
"In the middle of the night?" he reiterated, impossibly annoyed.
She didn't answer and proceeded to shut the door when a bang from behind resounded, alerting them both. There was someone inside her cabin. He was sure of it.
"Who's there with you?" Is there a man in her cabin? But she looks kempt and well-groomed!
"No one."
"Don't lie. I heard the noise."
"Well, keep your nose out of it," she grunted.
"I will tell the Captain if you won't tell me. Perhaps you'd like it if he inspected on his own."
He hated that he had to threaten her to make her speak. After all, she had used him to get on the ship and he was now running away from her. He was at a disadvantage from all sides, this was his only chance. Reluctant and although unyielding, she let him in. He was bewildered as he looked at what was before him with incredulity.
Two big, brown eyes were warily staring at him. The lass' little fingers clutched a hammer tightly to her chest as though Orephnil was her enemy as if he was going to pull her soft, curly brown hair and drag her out onto the deck.
"A stowaway? Who is she? Why is she here?" he asked all at once.
"She says her name is Eril Brightdoom." Eril, the girl child, backpedaled, hiding behind the bed. "Come out, dear. He won't hurt you."
"Swear you will not tell the Captain," the girl told him, the trace of the accented Res-Dos like all the Nulakins was evident in her thin voice, a defiant look on her face. "Swear it by the God of Fire."
This was his chance. Neriath was hiding a stowaway in her cabin. He could simply whisper the words to the captain who would throw her off the ship along with this girl and when he would ask him why uncover the secrets of his lover, he would tell him the truth that they were never lovers and he had no choice than to board the Palinurus. Who'd know, Captain Flinn might take pity on him and let him continue the journey to Tethoris? He would make a fresh start when they would moor at the Glorgan Port, Revyren.
But when he looked back at the little girl, hammer before her in defense, he could barely sense the fear behind her solid, unfaltering eyes. Her clothes were worn and ragged and a couple of swathed wounds covered her hands and feet—which Neriath must have nursed—and yet, Eril Brightdoom, a small girl was willing to stand till the end. What did it make him look like? A weakling, searching for an easy way out of this mess.
"Please," Neriath beside him uttered—her tone almost begging.
She nursed a child. She had been looking after the girl for Nosdor knew how long. Orephnil was dumbstruck by the idea of Neriath, the stone-cold Manslayer, capable of feeling any emotions other than vengeance, capable of risking her goal for a child. It was this act particularly that made him forgive her and gave him new hope to know her more.
"I swear, by Nosdor, I swear I won't say a word."