She blinked to clear her eyes. The ocean was so vast and dark, the ship so foreign and cold. She didn’t even know if they were back on their usual course towards Cawstone yet. She blew out a shaky breath, scrambling for anything resembling safety. All she found was fear, fretful impatience, the hole in her heart from Elise’s absence, and… doubt. She was not built for rescue missions. She could not come up with plans, lead people, scheme, or even fight.
Am I leading these people to their deaths? All to find that Elise might already be dead? Have I already failed?
She wiped away more tears as she heard voices through an opening door. Soon, the flamboyantly dressed Hunter appeared.
“I really do not see why you are so grumpy, Anja. He was only flirting. The captain flirts with me, too, and despite not being interested in romance, I flirt back. To be polite.”
Anja growled as she followed him towards where Nessa stood. “If I wish to be polite, I’ll hand him the salt when he asks for it at dinner. I’ll not flirt back only to inflate that already oversized male ego. I have more important things to do.”
Hunter beamed. “Of course. You are busy being brilliant.”
Anja snorted. “I was more thinking like checking on Nessa, which is why we came out here to this freezing deck, remember?”
“True.” Hunter turned to Nessa. “Are you all right, heartling?”
Nessa winced at being called any term of endearment. That was only for Elise.
“I’m fine. I’d like to be alone.”
Anja sniffed. “Of course, you do, misery. You want to brood, grieve, and make your gloom that much deeper by burrowing further into it. That’s not healthy. We all know you’re anxious. But what you need is what I keep recommending – staying strong, mentally as well as physically.”
Annoyance prickled Nessa. “Well, that sounds easy when you say it, but I’m not quite sure how I’m meant to achieve it.”
Anja looked incredulous. “This from the woman who passed the glassblower’s test?”
“That was about knowing about glassblowing and moving heavy things. Not comparable.”
Hunter took a step closer. “Come inside with us? We are dancing and telling stories. The captain is treating us to samples of his personal collection of vodkas. One is ice-flavoured!”
Anja adjusted her hat with a look of disdain. “Ice-flavoured, my arse. It’s strong vodka with a bit of salt and pieces of watermint leaves. You have to come inside with me, Nessa. These people are all as stupid as hot water bottles in a desert.”
Nessa almost smiled.
Maybe they’re right. I’m no use to Elise out here.
“If I come in with you, will you promise not to squabble the whole time?”
Anja and Hunter looked at each other in shock. “We do not squabble! I agree with all she says because I adore her,” Hunter blurted.
“And I adore him back. He’s just like my beloved Svarte, vain, pretty, unpredictable, and usually useless.”
“What? Excuse me!” Hunter said with hands on hips.
Anja playfully tugged on his beard. Nessa noticed it had grown quite a bit, allowing Anja to pull on the strands which were the same wheat colour as his long hair.
“Don’t be like that, man-child. I said I adored you, be happy about that.”
He smirked and puffed out his chest. “Of course you do. People of great taste, like you, cannot hate Hunter Smith.”
Anja ignored him and linked arms with Nessa. “Come in to the warmth and lift your spirits. You will be more use in there than out here. If you befriend your team, they’ll serve you better when we get to the castle.”
“You reckon?” Nessa asked.
Anja rubbed her arm. “Without fail. Furthermore, they all feel sorry for you and that’s not a situation I think you like. Come show them what strong stuff a Ground Hollow woman is made of.”
“And demonstrate how much you can drink before you get inebriated. They are Northmen, they will be impressed by that and follow you into any battle,” Hunter added.
“It’s hardly battle we’re going into,” Nessa muttered.
Anja cackled. “Obviously you haven’t seen how I deal with those who cross my friends.”
She took Nessa by the arm and they all headed for the door.
Chapter 32
Night Vision
Elise shivered, not from cold as her luxurious bedding kept her warm enough, but from hunger and fatigue. She peered at the grandfather clock in the corner and tried to make out the time with only moonlight for illumination. Three in the morning. Had she slept at all? It didn’t feel like it. She’d managed the whole day with only a bite or two of her shroom-laced food, giving her hours of relative clarity where she took the chance to endear herself to the servants and surreptitiously make enquiries. Consequently, she’d managed to store up information she could use if the circumstances were right, but she was now suffering from hunger pangs and shroom withdrawal.
Everything appeared so bleak. How had she thought she could manage this all on her own? Where was Nessa? Was she coming for her? Had Joiners Square caught her, too? Perhaps the Queen had ordered her death.
No, no. Do not start this line of thinking. You will only deepen your despair. Sleep. Tomorrow you can have breakfast. Then, shrooms allowing, you can continue planning your escape and return to Nessa. Things will appear cheerier then.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Her stomach no longer growled or had hunger spasms. Instead it had a continuous, gnawing ache, as if it were trying to eat itself from the inside. Her head pounded, and her skin had developed a disconcerting crawling sensation. She curled herself into a foetal position and tried to count back from a hundred, like her father had always told her to do when she couldn’t sleep as a child.
She got to seventy before her eyes opened and squinted towards the cup on the dressing table. The tea. They always provided her with a small cup of herbal tea before bed. Undoubtedly the herbs in it were mainly shrooms. She always left it or poured it out the window in the morning. But now… its temptation was breaking her resolve. It wasn’t food, but it was something to fill her stomach, and the shrooms would make her feel a little better. Perhaps she could even sleep?
You do not need a clear head tonight. Stop being so obstinate. Drink it.
She stood up, far too quickly, and then stumbled towards the cup. She downed the tepid liquid in one go. Then she held on to the dressing table, waiting for the sensation of nails being pounded into her temples to ease enough so she could return to bed. To add to her discomfort, her stomach lurched at the sudden appearance of the tea.
When the queasiness and throbbing had abated, she dragged herself back into bed. She lay there, gently rocking back and forth. Using all her strength not to cry.
Not true. You are using it to make sure you do not give in. Oh, but it would be so simple. You still have desire for the Queen, even though that makes you a vile person. And being at her mercy was not all bad, was it? There were good times.
Elise growled at herself, but the propositions kept pecking away at her.
You could simply surrender. Get peace, untampered with and delicious food, the freedom to come and go. You could attend balls again and sit and gossip with the other courtiers. No more loneliness, pain, or fear.
Elise picked up a pillow and put it over her head, trying to drown out the thoughts.
Stop. No. I fought for my freedom. I am not to be owned and kept as a pet. I may not deserve better than what the Queen is offering me, but Nessa does. She wants to lead her life with me. She wants me to stay with her and love her and by all the gods – I shall.
“Yes. Still, you should not only keep fighting for Nessa’s sake. You deserve better than this golden cage the Queen is offering you.”
Elise lay absolutely still. There was no one in her room. There couldn’t be. And yet, she had heard a male voice.
She relaxed. It must be the gargoyle again. The shrooms had clearly taken effect. She removed the pillow
to find someone sitting at the end of her bed. It wasn’t the gargoyle.
Elisandrine perched herself on her elbows. “Papa?”
“Yes, my cherished girl. Or, well, at least your anaesthetised mind’s memory of me.”
She wet her dry lips. “Why… are you here?”
Even in the moonlit darkness, she could see him smile. “Perchance because this is not a conversation you could have with your gargoyle friend?”
“Of course,” she mumbled, looking down. “How silly of me.”
“No need to be ashamed. You are doing what you need to survive, keep sane, and find a way out. That is what I would want you to do, we both know that.”
“Yes, Papa.”
He sought her gaze and held it. “Hence my appearance to remind you to never give in. My cherished girl is the sort who, if she cannot swim to safety, keeps treading water until she finds a way to swim. Prove to me that this has not changed.”
Elise raised her chin. “I will, Papa. I shall eat only when I must, so that I can continue gathering information, and bonding with people who can assist me.”
“That is my brave fighter.”
Elise put her hand to her forehead. “I am suddenly lightheaded.”
“Understandable. You have had no food or sleep, and now the shrooms are doing their worst. You must close your eyes and rest.”
“Papa, will you leave if I sleep?”
“I fear so, my cherished. But I shall see you in your dreams. That is where I live now. In your dreams and in your memory.”
Elise blinked heavy eyelids. “I will start writing to you again. In my notebook.”
“If you wish. You do not need to, though. All you must do is think of me as you see things. Experience things. And learn things. Through your senses, you will share it all with me.
His voice was growing fainter. Elise strained to hear, fought to stay awake long enough to say farewell to him. As she had as a child when his eyes had closed for the last time.
“I see. Thank you. Good night, Papa.”
“Good night, my cherished. I shall see you in your dreams. We will again play in the gardens back in Silverton or read books by the fire in our house here in Highmere.”
His voice came from far away. Elise wanted to reply, but slumber was pulling her down into warm depths of oblivion. She let go and slept.
Chapter 33
Companions
For better or worse, Nessa was now inside with the others. The warmth and the smell of grog and bread welcomed her. Anja was leading her to a long table. Around it sat the four Sundes and three Viss from the underground, shoulder to shoulder with the Lindbergs and the senior staff of the ship.
Smaller tables lined the walls, filled with people she didn’t know. There were plenty of other passengers on board, many more than there’d been when Nessa took this journey the other way. Apparently, now that the worst of winter was passing, and the ocean was less ice-riddled, balmy Arclid tempted the Storsund people.
Nessa sat down, and one of the Viss, she really had to learn their names, handed her a shot glass filled with clear liquid. The white-haired woman said something in Viss, and Anja quickly translated. “Ten-year-old vodka. Made with water from the River Orla.”
Nessa noticed that the chatter at the table had died down and everyone was looking at her. She should’ve spent more time with them. They were two weeks into the journey and these people were getting to know each other, while she had foolishly kept to herself and her fears. She had to make up for lost time.
A good place to start seemed to be this shot. She downed it in one gulp and tried not to grimace as it burned its way down her throat. Everyone cheered, well, everyone except for Sonja, who was asleep in her mother’s arms.
A man whom Nessa thought might be the ship’s chief engineer took out a mandolin and began to play. Soon someone else found a flute of some kind and upbeat music filled the air. Eleonora snuck out, probably to put Sonja to bed. Albert and the ship’s officers gathered around the players to clap and holler along to the sea chanties. Nessa stopped the seven pretend-soldiers from joining them. With Anja translating for the two Sundes who didn’t speak Arclidian very well, Nessa first apologised for being distant and then for leading them into danger without an exact plan.
One of them, a heavily built man who looked well into his fifties, spoke up.
“Not to worry, lass. If someone had taken the person I love, I would’ve been without speech and plan too, yes? We can’t make much of a plan yet anyway. Not until we know what it’s like in the castle. We must get there, fit in, find out where your ladylove is. Then we can plan, yes?”
A red-haired woman sitting opposite added, “Don’t fret. We’ve all been fighting Joiners Square for years. Sabotaging and protesting any way we could, yes? This has made us all brave and ready to think on our legs.”
“The expression is ‘think on our feet’, actually,” Hunter corrected. Everyone looked at him. He grinned, adding, “Not that this is important in the middle of a rousing speech, of course.”
A younger man with a wiry beard leaned in closer and whispered, “I know we have the uniforms, but what about weapons? Joiners Square soldiers carry standard-issue knives and, if they’re guarding or attacking, flintlock pistols or even blunderbusses, yes? We have neither.”
Albert sat down with a thump, clumsy from the vodka. “Weeeeell, we have the knives,” he slurred.
Everyone’s gaze went to him. “We do?” Nessa asked.
Albert hiccupped. “Yes. Knives of the onic… unique white steel of Storsund. With the correct, little symbols on them. As the man says, they’re part of the uniform, yes?” Another hiccup. “And I was asked to get full uniforms. In that supply box are the uniforms, hats, and knives. No pistols, I’m afraid. You need… what is word… special access to get them.”
“Right, that’s a start. But what if things go wrong and they start shooting at us, yes?” the redhead asked.
Knots twisted Nessa’s stomach. “Um, well, we’re meant to use stealth. Not violence.”
The man with the wiry beard ran his hand through it. “Sure. But we were brought along partly to make up the ten of a squadron, but also to be muscle in case of conflict, yes?”
Anja slammed her glass down, loud enough to break through the noise of the instruments. “Well then. You should’ve brought weapons. You knew you were coming on a mission with inexperienced people who had to set this up with a moment’s notice. Luckily for all of you, I picked up a few things at the Storsund Trading Office. There’s always shady merchants there, swigging bad coffee and making new connections.”
Something dawned on Nessa. “Oh, so that was the bag you had over your shoulder when you came back? I thought it was empty but for whatever coin you managed to pick up.”
“No, full of firepower. Sadly, I had to part with most of the coin I’d collected from the Trading Company. The bugger even charged me for the bag,” Anja said with a frown.
“You said ‘a few things’. What things exactly?” asked Hunter.
“Four flintlock pistols and a blunderbuss, which has been upgraded with a sight and a mechanism for easier reloading.”
“We will not all be armed, then,” Hunter said with a sigh.
“You didn’t expect to go in there with anything other than your pecker to point at them a moment ago! Now you’ll have a knife and know that good marksmen from your group can protect you. Don’t complain,” Anja growled at him.
Instead of looking cowed he beamed at her. Nessa wasn’t sure what their strange friendship was all about, but as long as they were happy, she was happy.
Albert hiccupped again and started poking at a tattoo peeking up at the top of the shoulder of the heavily built man who had first spoken. He closed his eyes and put up with it. When Nessa stared at them, the man who looked and sounded like a Sund explained. “When he gets drunk, he loves everyone’s tattoo, yes?”
Albert looked at Nessa with exaggerated gravity. “Joine
rs Square personnel aren’t allowed talt… tattoos. The higher ranks say it looks messy. But now I can say bugger that, yes? When we get back, I’m getting Sonja's face tattooed on my back.”
“I… see. Well, if you’re certain that’s what you want,” Nessa replied with concern.
“Don’t worry about mine, yes? The uniform is high-collared and will hide it when we sneak into the castle,” the big man said.
Albert dragged a vodka bottle across the table and poured some into every glass he could see. “Now, we drink vodka and discuss tattoos, yes?”
“Define we,” Anja said with a snort.
“Oh, come now, allow the man some fun now that he is about to escape the strict restraints of Joiners Square,” Hunter said.
Albert appeared to shiver. “Yes. Strict. Very tight. I regret working for them, yes? But it was a desired and well-paid job. I got it to impress Eleonora. Everything I do is to impress her. She’s too good for me. Too smart. Too sweet. Too pretty.” He quaffed his vodka. “I needed good job to deserve her. Then I started seeing problems, yes? Much many problems. Coin going missing and things being swept under floors. Dark whispers and…” He paused to hiccup. “And things that did not make sense. Eleonora said that Joiners Square was bad. She told me to be careful and to look for other jobs, yes? How right she was. Always right. Always right and… and… and pretty. Yes, pretty. Long, slender arms and legs. Skin as smooth and dark as Wayfarers’ hats.”
“Wayfarers’ hats?” Nessa whispered to Anja.
Anja leaned closer. “My ancestors wore broad-brimmed hats which were made of chestnut-brown velvet.”
Nessa patted her arm. “Ah, thanks.”
Albert was about to hiccup but burped instead, taking himself by surprise and distracting him from his rambling. “Oh. Oh my. Pardon that. Where was me? I mean, where was I?”
“Your wife being pretty?” the redhead suggested.
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