Chapter Eight
Things did get easier. Eventually. A little more than two weeks had passed and they were no longer falling asleep the moment they got home anymore. So… it was an improvement. Payton grunted as she lifted one of the crates up, positioning it atop the others. At least while working she did not have much time for dwelling on morose thoughts.
“That’s the last of it, Clark,” her partner announced as she hauled the final crate into the center of the hold.
She leaned back and wiped the sweat from her brow. Not even the cool sea air could keep her from feeling overheated while doing this work. “Alright, give me a sec,” she called back. Climbing around, she brought the netting up and hooked it to the rigging. Then paused, examining the rope attached to the hook. “Hey Joel, this rope seems a bit frayed.”
The dark-skinned man sighed and swung down in the hold, dropping onto the top box to examine her findings. “Bah. I told Yannis we should have replaced this rigging a month ago. Between the frosts and age, this thing is two hauls away from being garbage.” He gave the cord three sharp tugs and then hopped down next to her. “Seems secure enough. Take her up!” The rope and crates groaned as they were lifted into the air, moving slowly higher and higher. “Good eye, Clark.”
Payton shrugged. She went to double check what else they had to take out when an odd sound caused her to look up. But nothing seemed amiss. The netting holding the supplies was weaving back and forth like normal as it rose up. I’m getting paranoid. She thought shaking her head and turning back to the crates in front of her. That’s when she heard it again. A faint sound like a—
“Joel, look out!” she shouted just as the rope above the hold snapped.
Shoving the man out of the way, Payton tried to dive to the side. Crates and barrels dropped down, crashing into the hold. Rolling to the right, narrowly avoiding being crushed, Payton let out a string of curses as a crate smashed into her right arm instead, pinning her wrist beneath the weight.
A board broke from one of the crates, flying across the space and clipping Payton across the forehead. It was only by years of practice from being shoved to the ground while sparring with Isiah that stopped her head from snapping back against the floor. Even so, the pain was enough to make her see stars. She drew in a sharp breath when she realized the final crate was falling down, headed directly for her. Throwing her hand over her head in a poor attempt to protect it, Payton felt the crate hit her in the gut.
The world around her was spinning, air rushing in her ears. The very beat of her heart sent pulsing waves of agony. She could feel the pain spreading through her gut as she took each breath. Hot liquid was dripping down the side of her face and tickling her temple.
“Clark?”
Blinking slowly, Payton struggled to find her voice.
“Clark?” the voice shouted again. “Clark, Creators damn it! Answer me! Can I get some help in here!” There was the sound of something moving. “Payton. Are you alive?”
“No,” she groaned.
The person laughed. “Good. Good. Keep that stupid smart mouth, Clark.”
Other voices were joining his.
“Joel, status!” “You both alright?” “Joel, where is—shit!” “Someone send for the healer!” “I can’t get to her.” “What’s going—let me through, that’s my sister down there!” “Clark!” “Clark!” “PAYTON!”
“Shut up!” she moaned. “Too loud.”
Things were being shifted again. More noises. She wasn’t sure if at some point she had slipped out of consciousness because suddenly the pressure on her chest and arm were gone and she found herself staring at a pair of gray eyes. They were peculiar gray eyes, the sharp silver of tempered steel. She stared up, trying to place them.
“Well, hello there beautiful, I see that you’ve gotten yourself in a bit of a pickle,” the man attached to those eyes said.
“I hate pickles.”
This earned her a laugh. “I don’t blame you.”
“Is the girl alive?” a gruff demand came from above.
“No, I’m talking to the living dead. Now hush, let me work.” A brilliant smile was flashed in her direction. “Now, sweetheart, I’m going to touch you. No funny business, but you’re going to feel a little strange when I do. You ready?” He didn’t wait for her to answer because his hand brushed her cheek.
Light. White, pure and almost sparkly appeared and with it, a cool tingly sensation spread through her. She let out a gasp. It didn’t hurt. In fact… it was spreading to each area of pain and slowly taking it away. It took her a moment to comprehend and when she did it only made her focus her hazy gaze at the man all the harder.
“You’re a healer?” she gaped, struggling to move.
Quickly his other hand brushed along her bicep, apparently trying to soothe her. “Ah, I see you’re beginning to understand, pretty one. Now hold still a little longer, you’ve managed to do quite a lot of damage to yourself and I’m not sure how much I can mend.”
“I thought healing magic was a myth,” she said in answer.
“What can I say? I’m pretty mythical.” The glow faded and he moved his hand away from her. “Do you want to try sitting up now?”
She made a noncommittal noise but immediately attempted to move. Her head was still swimming and her entire body ached. She wasn’t certain she should feel so relieved when the man slid his arm behind her and helped her sit up. But she knew if he hadn’t she still would be lying on her back on the uncomfortable ground. She steadied herself and gave him a nod but his hands were glowing again, presumably finding something else on her to heal.
It was a few more minutes before he stopped, looking a bit tired but he hid it beneath a smile. “You’ll be sore for a few days. Maybe sport a few nasty bruises but I’ve mended all the broken bones.”
“Thank you…” She realized she never got his name. In fact, she didn’t think she had ever seen him before.
“Atherly Reeves,” he supplied. “Just the friendly neighborhood healer.”
He said that as if it had explained everything. She had so many questions she wanted to ask but her mind felt tangled and sluggish. All she could do was gape at him and his impressively tapered jawline which had a scruff of blond hair accenting it. His long blond hair was swept into a ponytail which hung over his shoulder and had fly-away strands that seemed perfectly placed to compliment his slender face. Everything came down to even lines, balancing out as a whole, right down to the lips that lifted in a smirk as though he knew she was assessing him.
“Usually this is the part where you say your name,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Oh. Um, Payton. Clark,” she stammered, more because her mind still felt like it was trying to put the pieces of what happened in the last few minutes together than anything else.
“Well, Payton Clark…” He offered his hand which she accepted. With one surprisingly strong pull, she was on her feet, his other hand coming out to steady her. “Should you ever need me again, I am in Uptown, off the alchemy district. Only house with a green door. Though I do float around. Where I am needed.”
“A regular man of the people?” she asked dubiously.
“Something like that.”
“Is that bitch healed yet?” the growl came from above.
Looking up she could see it was the dock’s foreman. Her boss. Great. “Duty calls,” she muttered.
Atherly helped her up to the deck where only the boss – a sour-faced man with two scars on his left cheek – and her brothers lingered. She gave a halfhearted wave goodbye to the man who had likely just saved her life before focusing on the one who seemed like he was about to pop a blood vessel.
“What do you think you were doing?” Yannis was yelling in her face.
“Sir?” it took effort to call him this title.
“You just caused me half a shipment of supplies!” he shouted at her.
She blinked. Then blinked again. “What?!”
“You realiz
e this is going to be coming out of your pay, girl.”
“What?! Your shoddy equipment fell on me and you’re taking it out of my pay? That rope was garbage! You should have replaced it ages ago,” she exclaimed.
“Dragon shit.” He literally spat at her feet. She clenched her fists to keep from punching him. “You’re just trying to excuse your mistake. My gear is just fine.”
“Are you mad? Just ask any of the men here, they’ll tell you the same! All your equipment is close to breaking. If you don’t replace it more accidents like this might happen. I thought I was dead when those crates hit me! I thought you and your garbage rope had killed me but you lucked out that there is a healer in this city! And I think you’re taking advantage of it. How many injuries have you had here due to your negligence? How many times has the healer saved your ass because he mended injuries that would have been fatal?”
“Don’t push me, girl.”
“There has to be a record somewhere. I’m sure if I asked around, I’d find out. I’m also sure the guard would like to know what kind of operation you run—” she was cut off by him grabbing her arm, his fingers digging into it painfully. “Let me go.”
“Don’t threaten me,” he snapped, twisting her arm. “If you don’t stand down, shut up, and do as you’re told like a good little girl, you can forget about your job, missy. You and your brothers. Damned the favor I owe Simmons.”
Payton was seconds away from yanking her arm free and showing him exactly what she thought of his threat when someone came to either side of her and tugged her away from the man. One person stepped in front of her while the other covered her mouth.
“She’s sorry, sir,” her twin said firmly. “She was just traumatized by what happened. She never meant to accuse anyone. It was just the accident, that’s all.”
She bit Samuel’s hand whose glare just doubled as he jerked away. She started to object but the expression on Isiah’s face promised significant retribution if she did. Exhaling sharply through her nostrils, she pressed her lips together to hold herself back.
“Eh. Fine. Just watch yourself. All of you. That bitch is getting to be more trouble than she’s worth.” A sneer appeared. “And for the screw up you caused and your lip, I’m docking you a week’s pay.”
“A week’s pay?!” she gasped.
“You want to make it two?” he threatened.
She wanted to fight. Verbally, physically. She wanted so desperately to put the flea-bitten bastard in his place but she couldn’t afford to. Her family couldn’t afford to. Slowly she lowered her head, hating the cackle of triumph he made as he walked back to the harbormaster’s hut.
“Why can’t you ever just shut up?” Isiah rounded the moment the man was gone.
“That man is—” Payton started in a low hiss but her twin cut her off.
“Is our boss.”
“He nearly killed me with his irresponsibility!”
“You’re exaggerating,” Isiah said dismissively. “And I hardly think yelling at him will make him change.”
“It might,” she said stubbornly. At Isiah’s pointed look she huffed. “Fine. No, it won’t but it was better than punching his ugly face.”
“We can’t afford you to act like this!” Isiah struggled to keep from shouting. “You have to keep a job, Payton. No flitting around from place to place. No yelling at people you think are stupid. For Creators’ sake, can’t you be responsible for once in your life?” And with that, he stormed away.
Samuel hesitated, giving her a once overassessment to make certain she was alright before following him. Then she was alone again. Payton felt the frustration bubble in her but she couldn’t give into it now. She had work to do.
Chapter Nine
That evening things did not get better. Isiah continued to make snide comments, needling her about losing a week’s pay over something that wasn’t her fault. Samuel was staying out of it. And their father… when their father heard about it he was angry. Upset she had lost money they so desperately needed. Upset she had been reckless and could have lost all of them their jobs. Upset at everything but that she had gotten hurt and almost lost her life.
By the time dinner was over, Payton had had enough. She could not take it anymore. Taking to the streets, she wandered. She had never truly walked the city before. There had not been time after arriving because they had gone to work immediately. And the one day they had off since the streets had been packed with people celebrating the Equinox.
The city was large and densely packed. Houses and shops built close together, apartments atop shops, more than one slum popping up about the city as it had continued to grow. She knew there were at least two main markets if not more. There were three parks she knew of – little patches of dirt and trees where people encouraged plants to grow in honor of the Mother.
She aimlessly walked about, watching buildings shift in architecture from bad to poor, to decent, to well made, to grand and then back again. Round and round it went. A couple of times she was certain she would never find the way back and she would be lost in the city forever but the main paths were well lit with iron lamps and eventually, she found familiarity.
Well after dark and on her third or possibly fourth trip around, she spotted a tavern she had not noticed before. It was a standalone building, which in itself was odd but there it was, just off the lower market district. She had to wonder who named it and whether it had been on a dare because surely no sane person would name a tavern: The Pissed Pegasus.
With no better option besides go home and face her family, Payton headed inside. It was a rowdy bar. Crowded and reeking of ale and whiskey. To her surprise, there was a group of drunks singing and providing… interesting music. A few people were dancing, two to a completely different beat than what was playing, and one waltzing with herself. She arched her brow, uncertain of this place. But lack of better options led her to the bar.
“What’ll you have?” the woman behind the counter asked before shouting at a few of the men in the far corner to “Knock it off or I’ll string you up by your toes!”
Payton stared at her. The woman was five foot three and there was not a single thing that looked imitating about her. Not even the fact she had multiple piercings – one through her nose, another through her brow, and then several through her ears – gave her an air of toughness. Her entire body seemed to be built of curves rather than muscle. That added with the sleeve of geometric but floral tattoos that were inked in pitch black against her tanned skin, she did not seem much of a threat.
“What do you recommend?”
“House brew, if you’re asking.” The woman flashed her a grin and wagged her brows, the gold hoop through her right brow glinting in the light. “Seventy copper for a mug.”
“Erm… alright?” Payton fumbled for coin and pulled out the meager amount she had. Just enough for one. Lovely. Can’t even get plastered.
The woman swept the coins away and then disappeared. She came back with a frothing mug and plopped it down. “You look like you’ve been through the wringer. Want to talk about it?”
“Feel more like punching idiots but apparently it’s not allowed,” Payton muttered. She took a swig and was pleasantly surprised. It was malty with a bit of a bite to it but quite good.
“Aw. Who told you that?”
No harm in answering, she reasoned. “Family.”
“Ooh, that will get you every time.” The woman leaned down, her long dreadlocked red hair fell off her shoulder. “You could always do it anyway. Punch an idiot here and there. Who’s to say your family has to find out?”
“I like that idea. But I’m not sure that’s advice I should be following.” She tilted her head to the side after taking another drink. “Payton.”
“Nyla. Owner of this establishment of loveliness and lover of punching idiots. Like the sweet ball of moron sauntering up right now,” she introduced before rolling her eyes and straightening.
“Ouch. Is that any way to greet a frie
nd?” a familiar voice cooed.
“You better turn that smile somewhere else. You know you won’t sweet talk any more free drinks out of me,” the bartender retorted.
Payton was mildly surprised to see the healer from earlier plop down on the seat next to her. Now that her head was clearer she could better take in the sheer… pomp and flare of his stature. He carried himself with confidence, a faint smirk on his lips as though he knew exactly what sort of attention he was able to draw with his long blond hair that he let fall loose over his shoulders and his sharp face that was intrinsically handsome.
Cocky. That was the word Payton was searching for. Everything about him from his swagger to the spark in his almond-shaped silver eyes displayed that overt cockiness.
He expressed a similar amount of surprise to see her only to have it replaced with a dazzling, albeit flirtatious, smile. “Fancy seeing you here. What brings you to this part?”
Wordlessly she raised the mug which caused both of them to snicker.
“Nyla does make the best homebrew in the country.”
Nyla whipped a towel at him, hitting his arm with a slight cracking noise. He jumped and rubbed his bicep. “How would you know? You’ve never made it farther inland than Lake Mynionne, lazy bum.”
“That doesn’t make it less true!” At her look, he held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, the best brew in Malvathar. See, my other one made more sense!”
“I take it you’re from Malvathar?” Payton ventured a guess.
“Born and raised,” he admitted.
“Is that where you learned to heal?” she asked curiously.
The red-haired woman let out a barking laugh. “Here it comes. It’s his grand tale. He tells it to all the ladies to woo them. Don’t let him fool you with it. He’s no dashing prince. Just a flirt with a freaky gift.”
“Nyla!” moaned Atherly. She was chuckling as she walked away, heading to serve someone else who had come in. “She’s exaggerating.”
Shattered Page 6
