The Search for Aveline

by Stephanie Rabig

  "Eh, planning," Harry said dismissively.

  "This is precisely why you're so bad at chess," Jo said blandly. "And why you should thank your stars, nightly, that you've got me to handle such things."

  "You're absolutely right, Jo, I'd be utterly lost without you. So, I plan to leave the planning to you, while I enjoy the rest of this lovely afternoon with my fancy man. Tell Wil she has her leave, tell Zora we'll head back to Bogo in a few days, and tell the others to plot a course for some distant shipwrecks. Now that we've got a merman on the crew, it shouldn't be too hard to find some wayward chests others may have missed in their sweeps. You're all bloody dismissed," Harry said firmly with a wave of her arm.

  "I am your fancy man, then?" Kai asked, curling an arm around her waist.

  "You bet your beard you are," Harry grinned. "C'mere..."

  First Love

  "Cherie, I simply do not understand this sudden attitude," Francoise Duveau said sharply, dropping another stack of plates into the steaming sink. "You have grown up with the Roberts sisters—you have always been friends!"

  "Aveline's not the same girl she used to be," Jo said stubbornly, plunging her arms into the scalding water and attacking the dishes with a coarse cloth. "Ever since she went to study with that tutor, she has airs and graces."

  "Why shouldn't she? Aveline is a remarkably pretty, talented girl," her mother persisted. "That voice will take her into fine society, and she should have the manners and training to match."

  "If she's so fine, then why is she singing here? Shouldn't she be gallivanting off to London to croon for royalty instead of wasting time here with sailors and drunks?"

  "Josephine Marguerite, envy can be a very ugly thing."

  Jo dropped a fork with a clatter and stared at her mother through the steam. Francoise would never be able to shake off her military bearing or commanding tone; she would always be a little too imperious to be a warm, maternal figure who encouraged shared confidences. "I'm not envious of her, mere."

  "You're not? You tell me you don't begrudge Aveline her new refinement and graceful manners? You don't wish you had pretty dresses like her? You're not jealous of her aspirations to travel to great cities and sing for exalted audiences?"

  "No," Jo said firmly, setting her shoulders and resuming her scullery work. "I just don't think she belongs here anymore, and I wish she would leave already, if she's so eager to go. I don't want to see her singing for coppers if she's so convinced she's worth gold."

  "What singularly odd pride you have, ma fille," Francoise sighed. "Three years ago, you wept bitterly when she left. Now that she's come home, you run out of the room as soon as she steps into it. I do not understand you."

  "I don't understand me, either," Jo muttered to herself as her mother left the kitchen to tend to a sudden outburst of shouting at the bar.

  When Aveline had left to study with Madame Rochelle, watching her go had made Jo's heart feel as if it was splitting in two. In the three years since her departure, she had felt like half a person, as if she was simply going through the motions and surviving on ill-formed hope. She had not tried to stop her, because she knew what singing meant to her. When Aveline wrote to say she was coming home, it had been like a window opening onto a sunny spring day after a long, dreary winter. She had counted down the days with anticipation.

  And then the cart had stopped in front of the pub and a tall, lissome girl crowned with a golden braid, dressed in red silk, and carrying a large traveling bag had hopped down. When Aveline had left at fourteen, she had been gawky and coltish. Now, at seventeen, she had the grace of a noble. The sweetness of her face had sharpened into solid beauty and the blue of her eyes had darkened to a sapphire tone.

  The girl had come home a queen, and Jo felt like a vulgar peasant with her work-roughened hands, muscular arms, and penchant for breeches. Aveline had gone out into the world, had seen what lay beyond their little harbor village, and now, when she looked at this place and its people, she must see how small and grubby they all were.

  How could Josephine Duveau ever compete with the glitter of London, Vienna, Prague, and Venice?

  It had been two weeks since Aveline had returned, and in those two weeks Jo had managed to spend only a handful of minutes with her each day. She used work as an excuse: claimed there were too many dishes to wash, trips to the market that had to be made, floors in need of sweeping. Anything to avoid a pitying or indifferent glance from the girl that had meant the world to her, and now had the world on a platter.

  Jo had seen some of the letters addressed to Aveline—the postman often left everything meant for the street at the pub, where anyone could come and pick out their particular envelopes at their leisure—and had noticed the far-flung and exotic postmarks. Aveline had made a reputation in the public performances she had given just prior to coming home; tales of her angelic voice and equally angelic face had spread to the ends of the earth.

  A lot of the letters were embossed with gold or silver gilt, with the initials H.R.H.

  With a shoulder shaking sigh, Jo rinsed the last dish and set it on top of the towering stack. She scrubbed her hands dry on a towel, noting how odd her calluses looked now they were waterlogged and pruned, and ducked into the large pantry where the vegetables, dried meats, and preserves were kept. Her mother wanted to make five pies for the supper crowd, and she wasn't entirely sure they had enough canned peaches or cinnamon for that much filling—

  "So, this is where you're hiding today."

  "I'm not hiding," Jo said obstinately. "I'm working."

  "You never used to work this hard," Aveline said, leaning against the doorframe. She was wearing a long, cotton gown of a blue that matched her eyes, with an old-fashioned empire waist and a hem that brushed against the floorboards. Her hair had been curled and twisted up into an artful pile of gold. She looked like something out of a painting, or a dream, a beautiful lady whose sole purpose was to be decorative and alluring.

  Jo's hands itched to touch her, so she shoved the willful things into her pockets. "I grew up," she said shortly. "I have more responsibilities now, especially since Father's been under the weather."

  "Under the weather, my eye. Your father has the constitution of a bull, and a voice to match," came the blithe reply. "I just saw him pick up two men without a hint of strain."

  "Why did he pick them up?"

  "Because one had a death grip on the other's ear—with his teeth—and it was the only way to part them before he succeeded in chewing through it."

  "That'd be Nulty. He thinks he can solve every problem with a firm bite."

  "I'd forgotten how wild this place could be," Aveline laughed, a musical sound. Everything about her was musical. "The places Madame took me to were always sedate, quiet, and so very proper. It literally bored me to tears on more than one occasion."

  "Oh? Would've thought you'd welcome the change of pace. Must've been like a breath of fresh air after our pungent hole in the wall."

  "Jo, why are you being so negative? Everything I say, you either have to argue with me or say something spiteful. You never used to be this angry."

  "Three years is a long time, Ave. People can change a lot in three years. We were children three years ago. Besides, how much do you even really remember about me, huh?"

  "I remember the kiss," Aveline said quietly, so quietly she could almost tell herself she'd imagined it. But then her eyes flickered up from the floor and met hers, and she saw the way her pale cheeks had flushed rosy and warm. "I remember that last night before I left, how you climbed through my window and sat on my bed with me. The things we said in the dark. Your hair was shorter then, and you had a black eye from a fight with Lewis Johnston, and you kissed me right before you left."

  "Well, I don't remember any of that," Jo said, turning sharply and grabbing the nearest jar of fruit. "And I think you should go."

  "Why do you hate me now, Jo?" Aveline demanded, voice brittle with pain and confusion. "What did I do to make yo
u hate me so much? I came back because I've missed you so much that I can hardly breathe for the ache in my chest, let alone sing, because I haven't been able to sleep properly in weeks, because you stopped writing to me after I told you the Queen's cousin came to hear me—"

  "I stopped writing because I knew I would never be good enough for you, Aveline!" Jo shouted, slamming the jar back onto the shelf with a thump that rattled the wall. "I tried to make a clean break of it, for your sake, because you shouldn't feel an obligation to a nobody who works in a pub!"

  "How very kind of you!" Aveline shouted right back, eyes flashing. "Presuming to know what's best for me, to know what it's in my heart! You've always been so clever, Josephine, so wise beyond your years! It must be so nice knowing what everyone else deserves! You must take a great deal of comfort from being so self-sacrificing and noble! I hope it keeps you warm at night!"

  They stared at one another, chests heaving and faces flushed with anger. The noise of the bar beyond the kitchen seemed half a world away, a muffled echo drowned out by the thunderous heartbeats and twisting emotions in the tiny space.

  They moved as one, as if sensing an invisible cue, crashing together like a wave upon a rock. Jo buried her rough hands in the soft curls to the pinging accompaniment of falling hairpins as Aveline fisted handfuls of her damp shirt. Mouth met mouth with a bruising, hungry force: clumsy at first, yet growing confident and sure as they indulged long-denied passion.

  Jo pressed her back against the shelves, a hand sliding down her body to test the new curves and dips. Aveline sighed as her hands spanned Jo's hips, fingertips pressing into her buttocks. She rubbed against her, tentatively, the front of her dress bunching up with the motion.

  "I love you, I've always loved you," Jo whispered in her ear, cupping a breast.

  "I know it," Aveline moaned between feverish kisses. "I'll always love you."

  They settled against the flour sacks, heedless of the white powder that dotted their clothes and billowed into the air. Jo reached beneath the dress with sure, steady fingers and Aveline cried out softly at her touch. She plunged her own hands into Jo's unbuttoned shirt, kneading and pinching as Jo stroked and rubbed. As Aveline began to shudder, Jo covered her mouth with a silencing kiss, swallowing her release, suddenly mindful of how precarious their position was. At any moment, someone could open the pantry door, could find them in this compromised position—

  "Do you know how long I've dreamed of you doing that to me?" Aveline murmured, voice unsteady, but sated, her eyes heavy-lidded and the fans of dark lashes fluttering with her aftershocks. "For months."

  "We can't stay here," Jo said after the frisson of absolute delight had dissipated slightly. "It's too public."

  "Where?" Aveline demanded. "Where should we meet?"

  "The cave by the tide pools," she decided in an instant. "Do you remember it?"

  "Yes, where we used to look for periwinkles."

  Jo pulled down her skirt, helped her straighten her dress and mussed curls, quickly buttoned up her own shirt. "I'll tell my mother I have some errands to attend to. You go home and grab a few blankets. I'll meet you there as soon as I can."

  "Don't keep me waiting, Jo," Aveline said firmly, daring another kiss before darting out of the pantry.

  It was easy enough to slip away; there were other maids and wenches to serve the supper crowd that was trickling in, Aveline's own mother being one of them. Jo ducked her head when she saw her, suddenly sure that her thoughts were stamped across her face for all to see. She took up a basket as a prop for her story, slapped one of her father's old caps over her braids, and hurried down the sloping street towards the market and harbor. She stopped just long enough to pick up a bottle of sweet wine before running on, down to the beach.

  Aveline had made a comfortable little nest by the time she arrived and was already reclining on it, as naked as a newborn. She'd unpinned her hair, too, spreading the gold curls beneath her, and grinned triumphantly at the glazed, dumbfounded way Jo stared down at her. "You've seen me naked before," she said lightly. "We swam together often enough."

  "When we were children, before my thoughts turned in certain directions, before you grew so many curves," she said, dry-mouthed and dizzy. "You look like Aphrodite. All you need is a clamshell."

  "Clamshells make very poor beds," Aveline smiled. "Come here, Josephine, I'm getting cold."

  "I can see that," Jo said, eyes fixed on her pert, dark red nipples.

  "Come and warm me up."

  When she'd shucked off her shirt and trousers and boots, she gathered Aveline into her arms half in awe. This was something out of a dream—in fact, she'd had this exact dream only last week, except they had been on the beach, beneath the blazing sun, flagrantly exposed to any passing eye. This private, hidden spot was better: it had always been theirs, a sanctified fortress, and now they were consecrating it in a whole new way.

  Jo kissed Aveline's breast, pulling the hardened nipple into her mouth to graze it with the edges of her teeth in a way that made Aveline arch against her. Every gasp and moan was amplified as it echoed around them. When both breasts had been thoroughly kissed to the point of painful sensitivity Jo trailed her lips lower, across the flat stomach, over the soft navel, to the patch of wiry red-gold hair at the crux of her legs.

  "Wait, wait," Aveline cried, pushing herself up. "Lay down here. I don't want to be the only one being touched."

  Aveline's curls trailed over Jo's skin, the contrast between the gold and the black startling, as she drew down the length of Jo's body. She seemed determined to note every freckle, every birthmark and pale scar Jo had accumulated in her rough-and-tumble childhood. And as she did, she stroked and caressed with fingertips and palms and tongue, finding all the places where Jo was responsive. Jo never would have guessed that a wet kiss pressed to the inner crook of her elbow would have such a galvanizing effect.

  "Spread your legs," Aveline said firmly, as imperious as a royal, and when Jo complied she was already breathless. "Oh, Josephine, do you even know what you do to me? The fantasies I've had about you over the years..." She slipped two fingers inside, reaching for that hidden spot, and Jo's breath hitched loudly in her throat.

  Aveline caressed, rubbed, thrust in and out, sliding deeper... Jo was so close, just a little more to the right. And as if Aveline could read her mind—and how many times had she suspected her of such a thing when they were girls?—her fingers shifted and there, just there, she was pressing right against the tiny spot that would unhinge her completely.

  Aveline's smile was slow and a little feral; she could feel the way Jo was shaking around her hand, could see the tension in the line of her jaw and the thick lust in her eyes. She pressed hard, stroked firmly, in and out and in and out, and Josephine screamed as the muscles convulsed around Aveline's fingers, as her body spasmed and dark breasts quivered.

  "You said I looked like Aphrodite," Aveline whispered, kissing her slowly as she panted for breath. "You look like Cleopatra. You should wear bands of gold and nothing else. You should be stretched out on an ivory couch, imperious to everyone but me."

  "You really think I'm like a queen?" Jo said, unable to keep the edge of wonderment from her words.

  Aveline's brow furrowed. "You're the most regal woman I know, Josephine," she said as if that should be obvious.

  Jo laughed weakly. "And here I was thinking you were the royal one, too beautiful and refined and noble for the rough likes of me."

  "You walk like you're wearing a crown, so steel-backed and straight shouldered. I always envied your impressive way of carrying yourself. It's the sort of posture that demands respect and admiration."

  "Suppose that's the benefit of being taught deportment by an ex-military mother," Jo said. She pulled Aveline into her. "Ave, I'm sorry for my behavior. I'm sorry I pushed you away and treated you so abominably."

  "I understand now why you did," she replied. "You always have enjoyed playing the martyr, Jo. The way you used to throw yours
elf on your own sword to get me and Harriet out of trouble, taking all the blame and punishment, so we could escape whippings and eat nice warm dinners while you went to bed hungry. I just wish you could expect the best now and then. I wish you could try to be optimistic rather than realistic. And if you ever act so mulish with me again, I will slap you good and hard. Understood?"

  "Understood," she said wryly. "God, I've missed you."

  "I've missed you, too, darling," Aveline said quietly, resting her head on her shoulder.

  In the Firelight

  Kai grinned as Isabelle slid down the beach towards him, shrieking with laughter as she tested out the runners on the new wheelchair that had been built for her.

  "Izzy!" Wil shouted, lowering her half-full bottle of rum from her mouth. "It doesn't work in the water, remember?"

  Isabelle made an exceptionally rude gesture at her, but she made it too wildly and overbalanced, upending herself into the sand with a whoop of laughter. She rolled to a stop a few feet away from Kai, pushing her now sand-caked hair out of her face as Agnessa and Katherine strolled over to upright the wheelchair again.

  They were two of a very small number on the beach who could still walk a reliably straight line. The weather had been much calmer than the last time they'd pulled into port here, but it had still been a tense journey, and between that and the map they'd just gotten hold of, by the time they reached the shore, everyone was more than ready to relax and celebrate.

  Harry and her crew had built up an enormous fire on the beach, which warmed him even at the distance he sat from it. Isabelle squinted as she looked to the flames, and then she scooted down into the shallow water beside him, grinning as she watched the crew busy themselves with drinking and telling wild stories. Then her eyes widened as Miss Euphemia picked up a fiddle and began to play with such vigor and speed that Kai was half-certain that her bow would set the fiddle aflame.

  "She never mentioned she could play the fiddle!" Isabelle said.