by RJ Metcalf
Slate huffed a surprised laugh. “Thank you. I’ll have to head over to Mother’s after this to see when my … friend will be back in town.”
Finn shot him a speculative look as he held his hands over the two tins, muttering under his breath. He labeled them and slid those two tins to Slate before he pulled the other two closer to do the same thing. “Is this a lady friend of yours then?”
The heat Slate suddenly felt in his face told him his skin was likely the same color of his uniform piping. “Uh … maybe? I mean, yes, she’s a lady, and, uh …”
“Oh, yes, she’s a friend.” Zane leaned back on the counter where he sat, casually, green eyes gleaming with mirth. “She’s just a friend though. He only hangs around his mother’s shipping yards when he thinks Sam will be in town. And she’s been mentioned only once or twice in passing in every conversation.” He looked at Finn and mock whispered with wide eyes, “Every. Single. Day. She’s pretty, she’s a captain of her own airship, she’s got spunk.” He turned his cheeky grin to Slate. “Am I missing anything?”
Slate didn’t reply right away, glaring at a jar in the corner of the room. “She’s just a friend,” he clarified, shooting Zane a dirty look. That’s what he deserved for teasing Zane so much earlier.
“Right. Whatever, liar.” Zane grinned at him. “Even Zandra has noticed that your flirting at the Hawk has reduced. Somebody’s got it bad.”
“Really? Why, this is wonderful news!” Finn exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with undisguised humor and glee. “Connor will be thrilled to hear that Slate’s finally courting a lady friend.”
An undignified yelp escaped Slate. “What? No! She’s not—I’m not—No!” He flailed a hand at Finn and Zane as they broke into peals of laughter. “I’m not courting anyone.”
“Yet. You’d like to though.” Zane grinned slowly, an evil smirk matching the glint in his eyes. “Have you told your sisters about her?”
“No!” Horror glued Slate’s feet in place as he gaped at Zane. “Do you have any idea what they’d do? They’d ask weird, embarrassing questions, then they’d mention it to my mother, and she’d start telling them stories. Or even making up stories. And if my sisters actually met Samantha?” Slate could feel the blood drain from his face. “Please. No. I just want to get to know her better. Not scare her away permanently!” Even if we are kind of dating already.
Finn chuckled. “So he admits to liking her.”
Slate buried his burning face into his hands, groaning. “You’re both horrible friends. Horrible.”
“I won’t deny that,” Finn agreed easily. He tapped on Slate’s arm to get him to look up, then held out the bag with the tins of ointment. “But we’re good enough friends to watch your back for you. Take these and go woo your lady friend with your thoughtful consideration.”
Zane choked on a laugh.
“I’m not going to woo her, I’m just going to talk to her.” The mortification couldn’t get any worse, of that, Slate was confident. He hesitated. “She’s not the kind of woman you just woo. She’s the kind of woman that you want to befriend and possibly––” he clamped his mouth shut.
“Spend the rest of your life with?” Zane finished helpfully, wicked glee in his eyes.
Slate tucked the bag under his arm and marched to the door. “Whenever you figure out the details of when you’re leaving, let me know. Or leave a message at the Hawk. Have a good trip.” Slate glared at Zane. “And you. We’ll figure out the details later. Jerk.”
Zane laughed over Finn’s affirmative answer to Slate. “Tell her we said hi!” Zane called out, mirth ringing on every note.
Slate let the door slam behind him while he stepped out of the store. He shook his arms and stamped his feet, trying to release all the nervous jitters that he hadn’t had earlier. They’d had that dinner date last time, and she’d kissed him on the cheek, so that meant things were going favorably for him, right?
* * *
Slate gripped the thin fabric bag, apprehension growing as he neared the shipping yards. Samantha had told him, during his brief check-in last time she was here, that she’d be back anytime this week. It could be now, tomorrow, near the end of the week … he could’ve already missed her, if this was another one of her barely in port before leaving again trips.
He walked past the tall buildings without a second glance as the final wall of Doldra loomed ahead, the shipping yards just within view to his left. The mast of a gleaming airship peeked over the wall, and Slate’s heart leaped into his throat. She was back. All concerns fading, he jogged past the three storage buildings and through the open gate, eager to see Samantha.
The Phoenix rested in her berth, wood slats on either side for the crew to work around her easily. Slate watched two men struggling with a large wooden box, swearing their way down the gangplank. He waited until they were safely past him before he strode over and walked up the gangplank himself, his long legs making the steep incline effortless.
Slate paused at the main deck before moving to the side to allow another crewmember to unload a small box. Rebecca appeared to his right, a door closing behind her. She glanced up from her notepad and smiled at him, the flaming red scars on her right cheek stretching with the movement. “Slate! If you’re looking for Samantha, she’s in her quarters, finishing up the last of the paperwork for this shipment.”
“Thanks. I’ll find her in a moment.” Slate dug into the bag he carried and lifted a tin for her to see. “I hope you don’t mind, but my friend is an excellent herbalist, and he mixed up some medicine for terror burns and wounds. I thought of you and Tanto, figured it may help if you’re still having issues with it all.” He dropped the tin back in and handed the bag to Rebecca.
Rebecca accepted the bag, reached in, and hefted one of the tins, her brown eyes almost glowing with gratitude. “Thank you. Is this the herbalist friend you’ve mentioned before? Everything we’ve tried thus far hasn’t helped, and whatever you’ve heard about terror burns and the healing process is nothing but fluffy dribble to make kids sleep well. It hurts worse than anything, even now.”
She cracked open the lid of one, dipped her fingers in, and lightly touched it to her cheek. Her eyes widened and she pulled more out, liberally applying the salve to the four angry lines on her face. She sighed in relief and tipped the tin toward Slate. “This, this is a gift straight from the Author. Thank you.”
Contented happiness bubbled in Slate’s chest. “I’m glad. I wasn’t confident that it would be helpful or not, but I hoped.”
“If what would be helpful?”
He could feel his back relax at just the sound of her voice behind him. Rebecca grinned and winked at him before continuing on her way, the paper bag clutched to her chest. He turned, eager to see the woman he’d been dreaming about.
Samantha was dressed for work still: leggings, tall boots, blue skirt chained up, and a fitted vest over her blouse. She stood there with her arms crossed, a small smile playing at her lips as Slate stared at her, drinking her in. “Hey there, handsome. When are you going to properly greet me?”
“A thousand apologies, Captain.” Slate bowed low before swooping in and wrapping his arms around her, relishing in her closeness, the fact that she initiated the flirting. He angled to kiss her cheek, but she tutted and shifted, letting him brush his lips against hers. A thrill ran from his mouth down to his toes and back as she pressed back in her kiss. She leaned into him and her arms wound around his neck, tugging him closer. She released him after another moment, her dark eyes bright.
Slate smirked at her swollen lips and flushed skin. “When will you be free for a little date together?”
Samantha grinned and turned, calling out, “Michael!”
A bearded crewmember poked his head over the top deck railing. “Yes, Captain?”
Samantha looked over her shoulder, her entire posture relaxing as she looked at Slate. “Tell Rebecca she can wrap up this transaction and start the rotation of land leave. I’m going out for
a bit.”
Though he’d just kissed her, Slate waited for her to indicate approval before he offered his arm, strolling through High Doldra together. By mid-afternoon, hunger struck, and they picked up a noon-day meal that they took for a picnic under the shade of a giant oak. The apple cores and chicken bones were only remnants of their lunch.
Slate leaned back on his elbows, relishing the afternoon breeze while he watched Samantha from the corner of his eye. She sat straight, her nimble fingers working through her long hair, releasing it from the tight braids she favored while actively traveling on the airship. She caught his stare and winked. “Like what you see?”
He was pleased that his face didn’t feel as hot as it did the first time she’d called him “handsome.” He grinned. “Definitely.”
She laughed as she stretched and looked over the hill they were sitting atop. “I have to admit, as unusual a picnic spot as this is, it’s a beautiful view. But why here?” Below the small hill, flowers of various colors grew around tombstones, adding bursts of color to the lush green.
Not answering, Slate scooted closer, careful to not sit on her skirt. He pointed. “Over in that corner? My father is buried there. When he died my mom and sisters and I would come here to picnic and spend a bit of time with him. I love the peace and quiet, and the breeze is great.”
“How did he die? I think I remember hearing your mom or Garnet mentioning that he was the Crimson Hawk of Doldra?” Her forehead creased. “At least, that’s what I think I heard. No offense, but I don’t know Doldran history as well as my own.”
Slate nodded, not looking over at her. “You got it. He was the Crimson Hawk. He had red hair and was a great archer, hence the name. He was killed in combat during a border scuffle with Aerugo.” He shrugged and dropped his head back, enjoying the breeze that ruffled his hair. “That was years ago, but this is still my favorite spot to get away from the city.”
Samantha remained quiet. He glanced over to watch her dark brows draw together, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Samantha?”
“Sam,” she corrected.
“Fine,” he smiled. “Sam?”
She sighed and pulled her legs up to her chest. “Just thinking about Aerugo and everything. I feel like every time I go to any port over there, it’s the same rhetoric, the same rumors, the same miffed and entitled reactions toward Doldra.” Samantha rolled her eyes at Slate, a wry grin pulling at her lips. “Doldra isn’t even my country, but between Ellie and you, I’m definitely feeling a closeness to here that I hadn’t before.”
Pride wiggled its way into Slate’s heart, and he grinned broadly. “Nothing wrong with that.”
She shot him a sideways smile that dimmed after a moment. “How are things going at the palace?”
A groan escaped from Slate before he could hold it back. “It’s been … difficult. Richard is not inclined to arbitration. The longer this drags on, the more stressful it’s been at the palace.” He closed his eyes as he shook his head. “About a year ago, before the ambush that almost killed Brandon, Richard even admitted it himself—he’s not the best at diplomacy. Selvage is under his jurisdiction, but when they contacted the palace with the desire to negotiate, after Sapphire argued that we should attempt the peace-making, he then asked Brandon to go in his stead, because Brandon is better at it.”
He omitted that King Rupert had lamented to Queen Victoria in the dining hall, within earshot of far too many, if only Brandon had been firstborn. King Rupert had gone on to say that Brandon’s reasoning and temperament were better suited to the role of king than Richard’s, that even Sapphire’s natural intermediary ability would be a boon for a queen. Slate had been in the dining hall then, and had watched as Richard stopped in the doorway to listen before turning white, then red, then slipping back out without a word.
Richard just hadn’t been the same since then. Not with Brandon’s near death, and Richard losing Rose and their baby.
Slate shook himself out of the memory and looked over at the woman reclining on the grass next to him. She squinted at something in the distance while she shook her head. “As much as I hate to say it, if this is wedding is going to happen, Prince Richard needs to accept it and try to move on.”
“Agreed.”
Slate shifted to get his feet under him, then he stood and turned to offer a hand to Samantha before switching the subject. “What do you need to get done today? Any errands or shopping?”
Her slender hand grasped his, and he tugged her to her feet. “I do need to go shopping, actually.”
“Great. Let’s go shopping. I’ll carry your bags, and you can order me around.”
Samantha laughed as she rocked to her toes and brushed her lips against his with a wink. “Sounds like a plan.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Cole
“You’ll always be our captain, sir.”
Cole sighed and pushed away his drink as he slouched in the booth at the Crimson Hawk. He scrubbed his face with both hands, contemplated the deep blue mug before him, then sat up to pull it closer. It wasn’t as easy as Ozly had made it sound. He wasn’t captain anymore, and if Prince Richard held to his word, it would be a long time before Cole regained that title.
“Tough day?”
Cole didn’t look up to acknowledge Vincent. His friend slid into the booth seat across the table, distinctive white hat tilted rakishly, long legs brushing past Cole’s. Cole stared down at his hands and rubbed at the calluses on his right.
“Ever wonder if you’re on the right track?” Cole spoke, not lifting his eyes. “Like, you knew what you wanted all your life, and then, once you’re there, it’s ripped away, and you’re left wondering if that was really what you wanted and needed in the first place? And you don’t know how to get where you want to be?”
“I’ve been there before.” Vincent’s smooth voice sounded even softer than usual, more retrospective. Cole finally flicked his eyes up. Vincent continued, gaze distant and fingers steepled on the smooth table. “And when that happened to me, I realized I needed to fight with everything I have to regain what I’d lost.” He leaned back and pinned Cole with his burning glare. “Nothing will get between me and my goal.”
Disquieted, Cole shifted in his seat. “So. What happened?”
“Yeah, what happened?” Roney echoed the question, his shadow falling across the table from where he stood next to it. He scowled down at Cole with his arms crossed. “Don’t tell me that something else came up, and now your probation got stretched.”
Cole slid further in the booth to allow Roney a chance to sit down. He tapped a finger against his mug and swallowed the bile burning the back of his throat, forcing himself to shrug as if it weren’t a big deal. “You guessed it.”
“What?” Roney turned to face him fully. “Why?” He tossed a quick smile and a thanks to Katrina over his shoulder as she slid a drink for him and for Vincent on the table. “Is this because you petitioned for the Bodrik case to be reopened?”
Vincent pushed back from the table and shook his head, sending his dark ponytail swaying. “For all of your prince’s talk against kingdom enemies, he doesn’t seem to know how to care for those under his rule—let alone those within his own house.”
“Yeah, well, it isn’t technically his rule yet,” Roney pointed out. Katrina slipped a plate of steaming potato wedges on the table, the trio of sauce cups rattling quietly. Roney snatched a wedge off the plate and waved it at Cole. “He doesn’t find it odd and convenient that the accused wannabe murderer is missing, and there are only a few small strands of evidence to link him to Lady Sapphire’s close call?”
Cole raised a hand and counted off on his fingers. “We were ambushed; there’s new tech out that could decimate our troops; Lady Sapphire was nearly murdered; his Highness demoted me—and just extended my probation time by another month. Take your pick of what doesn’t make sense to drink against tonight.”
He shook his head, trying not to let the bitter
ness spew out of him. The entire year had gone from good to bad to worse, and it felt like there was no way off the rampaging horse.
He grabbed a wedge from the stack, dipped it into a creamy red sauce, and popped it into his mouth. Heat seared his tongue, and he hastily took a swig from his mug, his eyes watering. “Those are fresh from the oven,” he croaked.
A flash of amusement crossed Vincent’s face before he cocked his head and raised a black eyebrow. “The servant that’s missing, could he be the traitor who sold out your plans and got you ambushed?”
Cole shrugged with a half nod. He saw Roney nod in his peripheral. “It’s a possibility.”
“Has anyone investigated that idea?” Vincent pressed. “Wouldn’t that theory be important for the palace to look into?”
Roney let out a deep sigh and looked at Cole as he twirled a wedge in his fingers. “I’m not aware of any royal investigations in that regard. Have you heard anything?”
Cole snorted. “I’m no longer a captain, remember? I get told nothing. The only time I hear from our illustrious prince is when he has a bone to pick with me.” He shook his head and focused on the back wall of the Hawk where spare mugs lined a shelf. “But no, I haven’t heard anything. That’s part of why I want them to reopen the case on Bodrik.”
“Do you think he was a Reformer, like the rumors say?”
“Reformers stand against the crown, correct?” Vincent queried before Cole could reply.
Roney nodded. “Yes, Reformers are behind most riots, acts of terrorism, and anything that is a threat to the royal family.”
“The royal family.” Vincent echoed Roney with a thoughtful tone as he ran a finger along the rim of his mug, eyebrows pulled together. He looked up sharply. “Do you think Prince Richard is the right crown for Doldra?”
