Elemental Ascension, page 4
This is absurd, thought Kite, but he knew Reverie's heart may already have overruled her head. Her baby was unique from the moment of conception: a genuine, magical miracle. He couldn't blame her for wanting to protect their son or daughter from the Guards' slavery as the next and only Dragon rider.
It was slavery. There was no other word for it.
After a short silence, Reverie uttered, “The men of Dragonborn would never help Kite if they think we're there to commit treason. Their sole purpose is to protect the flame. If they see I am pregnant, they might lock me away and steal my child. If not, they might think we're here to put out the flame. Surely your presence will hinder our goal?”
Ash nodded. “Aye, maybe, but I guarantee you'll not get there without me. Though extinguishing that flame would remove Alchemy from the Land and therefore remove the Order's power, Dragonborn Guardsmen value Alchemy's continuance above all else, so if they think there's a chance you're carrying a ruler, they'll let us in. What they do with you then, I can't predict.” He continued, “Guardsmen will carefully assess all who take pilgrimage to the island before they reveal the flame's location. They will kill us if they suspect foul play. The Land is safe as it currently stands, but if we don't try, then we will never know.”
“Then we go only to redeem your sins and restore my husband's eyesight,” she announced. “I can hide my pregnancy beneath layered clothing, I am sure, and you can take us as far as you're able before you're recognised.”
Locals were gathering in the square. Lehana Hazel's charred remains had been found. Mixed with the men from the tavern, Ash knew her crew would be hunting her killer. He hoped his old wanted poster had gone up in flames, too.
“Do we have a deal, Ash the Elemental?”
He gestured they board the Cerulean Grace to find somewhere safe to hide. “We have to hurry.”
Reverie folded her arms. “I asked you a question.”
“Fine. Aye. We have a deal. Now, let's get a move on.” He led Reverie to the ship's ladder. “Ladies first.”
Chapter Three
The Cerulean Grace
The Cerulean Grace was an overwhelming thirty feet high and over one hundred and thirty feet long, with dark brown wooden panels and off-white sails. Reverie had to guide Kite safely up the rope ladder, and although Ash was supporting his weight from behind, he still had to act as their lookout. He incessantly glanced over his shoulder at the marketplace, where a large mob were scouting the upper end of Blackheart Dock for Lehana Hazel's murderer. Ash insisted they hurry, but Reverie said those moving black dots were not only too far away to see them, but they now had no way to immediately identify him. With Hazel's poster in pieces, Ash's only giveaway was his Salamander brand, so he tightened the cuff of his leather glove, and continued to climb.
One particularly noisy group of local traders was approaching the ship as Ash reached the last rung. Honest lower and middle-class working men like the tinker and cutler, barber, and blacksmith had volunteered to join the search party, and all were armed with a tool from their home or workplace. Ash had planned to sneak away and trade with the fletcher to re-stock Kite's arrows prior to sailing. Kite was a lethal weapon with such tools. But, the fletcher was among the mass of mercenaries.
At the head of the pack, of course, was the Constable and the Sheriff—both Astrals of the Order—whose scruffy black dog was following their scent. He felt guilty for being such an inconvenience to Deerbolt, who had granted Ash passage if he agreed to some uncomplicated terms. He had already promised not to break anything else onboard. She'd laughed, but he meant it.
Her first term: there would be a non-negotiable search for illegal cargo such as unregistered weaponry. Unless the law had changed, Ash knew these to be protoswords, halberds, scimitars and similar (basically, weapons not approved for personal use by the Order, or anything not in the company of its forger). They would not face quarrels with Kite's arrows or Ash's longsword.
Documentation would be checked and baggage for the transportation of substances such as ale or tobacco, and there would be a thorough search to check for less popular recreational drugs. Ash had neither on his person, so he'd agreed.
Finally, a physician would inspect new passengers for lice to prevent the spread of disease.
Deerbolt explained this was all to ensure she kept her overseas trade permit. The Order was quick to judge and punish Alchemists who they deemed beneath them, therefore merchant ships crewed and captained by lower and middle-class Alchemical folk were huge targets, often harshly penalised. Deerbolt was a Velocal, but members of her crew were not Human.
Ash owned very little, so he had no concerns; everything he possessed was within regulation, including his dagger. As for the lice, Deerbolt said there had been an outbreak of disease over the past two months, hence the invasive examination of all bodily hair. Merchants had reported distinctive rashes and high fevers, so these extra measures were in place to avoid transporting what Deerbolt referred to as 'ship's fever' across the sea to Dragonborn.
Ash quickly located some old barrels, behind which Kite and Reverie could hide. If they had been filled with ale or oil, his biggest worry now wouldn't be so pressing, but they were all empty.
“I need to find something to mask my scent, then speak to Captain Deerbolt. Wait here,” Ash said, then hurried out of sight.
He ran along the quarterdeck, ignoring his fatigue. He stopped briefly, suddenly overcome by dizziness, then stumbled along to the Captain's cabin and hammered on the door. Footsteps approached, but they were too heavy to be Deerbolt's.
“You!” Sarronious filled the doorway.
Ash raised both hands. “She's expecting me. We have an arrangement.”
The beefy tradesman was still wearing his white cloth shirt, revealing tattoos, which Ash could now see were variations of anchors, sails, and although half-hidden beneath his sleeve, a shark's head. His size blocked the candlelight but not the warmth, nor the sweet scent of rose petals from escaping. It was exactly as Ash remembered: inviting, feminine, romantic.
“The Captain is running errands.”
Ash was feeling sick and would soon need something nourishing to eat, water, and plenty of sleep. But not before Deerbolt had safely stowed his friends—one she wasn't yet aware of. He bent, resting his elbows on his knees and took a sharp breath inward. His chest tightened. Pins and needles attacked his fingers. Sarronious clasped Ash's shoulder and led him inside to sit atop a cargo box containing the Captain's belongings. Ash wobbled and stumbled, but remained upright.
“Are you alright?” He crouched and checked Ash's arms and neck.
“Aye, it's not the sickness,” he said, panting. “No rash.”
“Should I quarantine you?”
“You can't catch what I have,” Ash assured him.
Sarronious scowled as he sniffed Ash's tunic with disgust. He passed him a clean white rag and directed him to an open crate filled with clean clothes and a basin of cold water. It turned out most of the men onboard were smaller across the chest than Ash, but, there was plenty of soap and a blanket to dry himself with.
“The Captain should be back within the hour,” Sarronious advised, gesturing at the provisions.
“There are two others with me,” he said. “Hiding on deck.”
“Alright, I'll find them and have someone check you all for lice.”
Once alone, Ash was pleased with the peace, and, of course, the floral-scented soap. If the dog came on board, seawater and the sweat in his pores would give his earlier escape away. For now, the Cerulean Grace was restful and unmanned. Ash stripped naked and scrubbed his skin with soapy water, splashed his face and dunked his hair, then soaked his clothing until he could no longer smell fish, smoke, or Hazel's flesh. After his brief freshen-up, he wrapped his lower half in the blanket and slung his undergarments out the window, overboard.
Sarronious found Kite and Reverie hiding where Ash left them. He ushered them quickly downstairs, then hammered until Ash opened the door, bare-chested.
“Is she back?”
Sarronious nodded. “Our legal checks will have to wait.”
He ushered everyone inside the cabin, leaving the door ajar. Ash was about to object when Deerbolt stepped in and closed it herself. Since their earlier meeting, she had changed into some casual clothing and plaited her dark hair. With or without a uniform, Ash thought she looked beautiful.
“Still misbehaving, Scoundrel?” she said, grinning at his stark legs.
The little hair on his chest which formed a line to his belly button was still wet and defined. Deerbolt swallowed hard and turned away.
“I had to wash my clothes.” Ash blushed and cleared his throat. “Captain Deerbolt, this is Reverie and her husband, Kite.”
Deerbolt shook their hands, welcomed them aboard, then walked to the window and peered through the curtains.
“Two others. One blind and one pregnant. You didn't think to tell me this before I agreed to help you?”
Ash rolled his eyes. “I didn't really know then.”
Her hazel eyes narrowed as she watched the rabble of local tradesmen frantically search for the harboured criminals.
“And you're a murderer now?” She waved Ash to the window. “Captain Lehana Hazel of the Order and two Astrals were set on fire and shot last night. Were you desperate?”
“I set the redhead on fire and Kite shot the others with an arrow. We had no choice.”
“Aye,” Kite admitted. “It was us or them.”
Deerbolt gave the mob a second glance. The Constable had organised them into smaller groups, sending them to probe the crew of each docked ship. The Cerulean Grace was next on their list, led by the Sheriff. Ash's pulse quickened at the thought of Deerbolt and her crew being wrongly imprisoned, but what else could he do? To protect her, he'd have to hand himself in; Kite and Reverie could deny knowledge and escape with Deerbolt to Dragonborn, but it would be the end of him for sure. Determined to reach the island alive and help the couple as the Oracle instructed, Ash would have to lie and beg for Deerbolt's cooperation instead.
He held his head high and squared his shoulders.
“You're going to turn us in?”
“I haven't decided,” she said without looking at him, but she cast a jealous and examining glance at Reverie.
“Deerbolt, you said it yourself, we're desperate. Kite was protecting Reverie and his baby.”
Deerbolt waved off his worry. “Just tell me what happened.”
Ash relaxed his frame. Exhaustion was overriding his limbs. His eyelids were heavy and his head cloudy. He'd felt dreadful so far today, but now wasn't the time to succumb to the curse's symptoms. Opening his palm and curling each finger from left to right, Ash stole the flame from the nearest candle and brightened it in his palm.
“It was supposed to be a distraction, but my plan went wrong. They had us cornered.”
Deerbolt rolled her eyes and blew out his palm, sending a pleasant shudder down his arm.
“Is that the truth?” she muttered.
Reverie assured her, “I saw the whole thing. They attacked us because of the Oracle's song.”
“I would imagine that was intended for you,” Deerbolt said, directing her question at the only Elemental onboard.
“Aren't I lucky?”
Sarronious hushed them and pressed a heavily pierced ear against the door. On deck, unfamiliar voices and romping footsteps were growing nearer. He drew his longsword and backed away.
“We have company. Captain, your orders?”
Kite and Reverie awaited her reply with bated breath. Ash perched on the end of Deerbolt's bed.
Never had he begged for his life. He would not start now.
She sighed. “This won't take long.”
Sarronious barred the door with his shoulder after Captain Deerbolt left. The cabin fell silent. For a dying outlaw she'd never wholly trusted and a poor couple from a nowhere hamlet in the Sleeping Reeds Valley, she was about to lie to the Order, birthing a debt they could never repay.
“Most of my men are on day leave,” she told the Constable as he politely questioned her. “Unforeseen repairs delayed our departure. My men are overworked. I needed them rested.”
“Where is this vessel to dock, Captain?”
“The abandoned First Watchtower,” she replied, “ultimately heading for Land's Edge. We are carrying food and permitted weaponry—please, check our manifest.”
“That will not be necessary. Anyone else currently here besides yourself?”
“Sarronious is a market tradesman returning to the Northern Trading Post.” She lowered her voice. “He's otherwise engaged with seasickness, though the ship is yet to move. I trust him—he's an old friend. Neither of us has seen anyone else today so far.”
“I see.” He looked past her as the dog sniffed the base of the cabin door. “Those with weak stomachs should not be sailors. Are you sure it is not the sickness?”
She continued, ignoring the dog. “Aye. Sarronious trusts I'll get him home safely.”
“Have you seen anyone suspicious?”
“We have not been aroused, Constable. If you wish to more thoroughly search my ship, I can ask Sarronious to assist once he returns.”
The dog, seemingly disinterested, moved away.
“Thank you, Captain, but I'm satisfied.”
After a few more minutes of small talk and well wishes, the search party left. The dog never made a sound. Deerbolt returned to the cabin and gestured for her guests to sit, leaving Sarronious to guard the door. Now comfortable, calmer, and less embarrassed about his nakedness, Ash explained everything. He began with his chase of the apple thief, shared the foretelling, recited the Oracle's song, and eventually detailed the fight outside the Lawful Hand Tavern.
Kite entwined his fingers. “Without my sight, I'm a liability. I'll slow us down.”
“No more than I,” Ash whispered.
Deerbolt's eyes widened as she met his gaze. Not an hour into their journey and Ash's tongue had already slipped. They'd agreed several days prior that until the ship was well on its way to the First Watchtower, Ash's full history should remain a secret so as not to put her crew in danger. Revealing his past now, even if by accident, might tarnish the couple's trust in him too. Only a handful of the serving deckhands would remember him, anyway.
“No need to incite fear. No need to cause panic.” Those were his words.
Not that he deserves their trust yet, she thought. Not after what he did to me.
But they were both ten years more mature, and she hadn't thought of Ash romantically for at least nine of them.
Some men are not capable of change.
Kite leaned forward. “What do you mean, Ash?”
He shuffled and cleared his throat, unconsciously opposing Kite's inviting posture. “I'm a wanted man,” said Ash, “and because of malnourishment from living in Open Country, my Elemental magic has been unpredictable lately.”
“Are you... dangerous?”
There was a pause, during which Deerbolt held her breath and kept her gaze lowered.
“I made a mistake ten years ago.” He narrowed his fingers, pinching them together to suggest the mistake was minor. “It angered some important people in high places and they have been on my tail since. Many thought I was dead.”
“You didn't answer my question.”
Ash sighed. “As is any Salamander, I'm dangerous when I need to be.”
“I think your antics with Lehana Hazel proved that,” Sarronious grumbled.
“You knew her?” Ash asked him.
Sarronious shook his head. “I did not.”
“She deserved what she got.”
“You can still get Kite and I safely to Dragonborn?” asked Reverie.
Deerbolt leaned across the table and grasped Reverie's hand, cutting Ash short of a confident response.
“Sarronious and I will get you all to the First Watchtower as soon as possible. We owe Ash that much. What happens then is up to you.”
Ash stood abruptly, knocking over the table. Its contents crashed at their feet, prompting a gasp and silent stare from the others.
“Excuse me,” he said, “I think my clothes are dry.”
They were still damp to the touch, but he re-dressed, anyway. He had been too eager to escape the conversation.
After pulling on the first leg of his breeches, he lost his balance. A searing pain attacked the back of his eyes and he momentarily blacked out, collapsing against the wall and smashing a framed painting of the Cerulean Grace as he did so. Reverie ran to his side, kicking the table's contents out of her way. She took his temperature with the back of her hand.
“Don't touch him, Reverie. It could be the sickness,” Kite said urgently.
Deerbolt towered over them, stern-faced. She kicked an empty trunk along the wooden floor in time for Ash to empty his stomach.
“He's not sick,” she said, sighing and defeated, “he's cursed. By the people he angered.”
Ash looked up through narrow, tear-filled eyes, then across to Reverie.
So much for keeping a secret.
Deerbolt rummaged through her personal items for a clean cloth, which she dampened and passed to Reverie. She dabbed at Ash's face and neck, hushing his groans and grunts of discomfort. Drained of all colour, he was now a waxy, lifeless figure against Deerbolt's deep mahogany walls.
“What is it doing to you?” Reverie asked. “How long do you have?”
Ash writhed beneath his blanket, with his clean breeches and hope of regaining some dignity discarded.
“There's nothing else I can tell you. I'm fine, I'll be fine.”
“Cursed men tell no tales,” Deerbolt said. She folded her arms. “Nor do the dead.”
◆◆◆
As dusk settled upon the Cerulean Grace, so too did the events of the day on Ash's energy. Alone in the cabin, he allowed the muffled sounds of a cheerful fiddle intermingled with his friends' joyous laughter to soothe his fears that he didn't have long to live. Even as he rested, his limbs were shaking and tingly, his eyesight failing, and his guts rejecting most of what he consumed. It didn't stop him drowning his sorrows in a tankard given to him by Sarronious behind the Captain's watchful eye, though (most likely, Ash thought, out of pity). It numbed his pain enough to examine his flesh from head to toe.
It was slavery. There was no other word for it.
After a short silence, Reverie uttered, “The men of Dragonborn would never help Kite if they think we're there to commit treason. Their sole purpose is to protect the flame. If they see I am pregnant, they might lock me away and steal my child. If not, they might think we're here to put out the flame. Surely your presence will hinder our goal?”
Ash nodded. “Aye, maybe, but I guarantee you'll not get there without me. Though extinguishing that flame would remove Alchemy from the Land and therefore remove the Order's power, Dragonborn Guardsmen value Alchemy's continuance above all else, so if they think there's a chance you're carrying a ruler, they'll let us in. What they do with you then, I can't predict.” He continued, “Guardsmen will carefully assess all who take pilgrimage to the island before they reveal the flame's location. They will kill us if they suspect foul play. The Land is safe as it currently stands, but if we don't try, then we will never know.”
“Then we go only to redeem your sins and restore my husband's eyesight,” she announced. “I can hide my pregnancy beneath layered clothing, I am sure, and you can take us as far as you're able before you're recognised.”
Locals were gathering in the square. Lehana Hazel's charred remains had been found. Mixed with the men from the tavern, Ash knew her crew would be hunting her killer. He hoped his old wanted poster had gone up in flames, too.
“Do we have a deal, Ash the Elemental?”
He gestured they board the Cerulean Grace to find somewhere safe to hide. “We have to hurry.”
Reverie folded her arms. “I asked you a question.”
“Fine. Aye. We have a deal. Now, let's get a move on.” He led Reverie to the ship's ladder. “Ladies first.”
Chapter Three
The Cerulean Grace
The Cerulean Grace was an overwhelming thirty feet high and over one hundred and thirty feet long, with dark brown wooden panels and off-white sails. Reverie had to guide Kite safely up the rope ladder, and although Ash was supporting his weight from behind, he still had to act as their lookout. He incessantly glanced over his shoulder at the marketplace, where a large mob were scouting the upper end of Blackheart Dock for Lehana Hazel's murderer. Ash insisted they hurry, but Reverie said those moving black dots were not only too far away to see them, but they now had no way to immediately identify him. With Hazel's poster in pieces, Ash's only giveaway was his Salamander brand, so he tightened the cuff of his leather glove, and continued to climb.
One particularly noisy group of local traders was approaching the ship as Ash reached the last rung. Honest lower and middle-class working men like the tinker and cutler, barber, and blacksmith had volunteered to join the search party, and all were armed with a tool from their home or workplace. Ash had planned to sneak away and trade with the fletcher to re-stock Kite's arrows prior to sailing. Kite was a lethal weapon with such tools. But, the fletcher was among the mass of mercenaries.
At the head of the pack, of course, was the Constable and the Sheriff—both Astrals of the Order—whose scruffy black dog was following their scent. He felt guilty for being such an inconvenience to Deerbolt, who had granted Ash passage if he agreed to some uncomplicated terms. He had already promised not to break anything else onboard. She'd laughed, but he meant it.
Her first term: there would be a non-negotiable search for illegal cargo such as unregistered weaponry. Unless the law had changed, Ash knew these to be protoswords, halberds, scimitars and similar (basically, weapons not approved for personal use by the Order, or anything not in the company of its forger). They would not face quarrels with Kite's arrows or Ash's longsword.
Documentation would be checked and baggage for the transportation of substances such as ale or tobacco, and there would be a thorough search to check for less popular recreational drugs. Ash had neither on his person, so he'd agreed.
Finally, a physician would inspect new passengers for lice to prevent the spread of disease.
Deerbolt explained this was all to ensure she kept her overseas trade permit. The Order was quick to judge and punish Alchemists who they deemed beneath them, therefore merchant ships crewed and captained by lower and middle-class Alchemical folk were huge targets, often harshly penalised. Deerbolt was a Velocal, but members of her crew were not Human.
Ash owned very little, so he had no concerns; everything he possessed was within regulation, including his dagger. As for the lice, Deerbolt said there had been an outbreak of disease over the past two months, hence the invasive examination of all bodily hair. Merchants had reported distinctive rashes and high fevers, so these extra measures were in place to avoid transporting what Deerbolt referred to as 'ship's fever' across the sea to Dragonborn.
Ash quickly located some old barrels, behind which Kite and Reverie could hide. If they had been filled with ale or oil, his biggest worry now wouldn't be so pressing, but they were all empty.
“I need to find something to mask my scent, then speak to Captain Deerbolt. Wait here,” Ash said, then hurried out of sight.
He ran along the quarterdeck, ignoring his fatigue. He stopped briefly, suddenly overcome by dizziness, then stumbled along to the Captain's cabin and hammered on the door. Footsteps approached, but they were too heavy to be Deerbolt's.
“You!” Sarronious filled the doorway.
Ash raised both hands. “She's expecting me. We have an arrangement.”
The beefy tradesman was still wearing his white cloth shirt, revealing tattoos, which Ash could now see were variations of anchors, sails, and although half-hidden beneath his sleeve, a shark's head. His size blocked the candlelight but not the warmth, nor the sweet scent of rose petals from escaping. It was exactly as Ash remembered: inviting, feminine, romantic.
“The Captain is running errands.”
Ash was feeling sick and would soon need something nourishing to eat, water, and plenty of sleep. But not before Deerbolt had safely stowed his friends—one she wasn't yet aware of. He bent, resting his elbows on his knees and took a sharp breath inward. His chest tightened. Pins and needles attacked his fingers. Sarronious clasped Ash's shoulder and led him inside to sit atop a cargo box containing the Captain's belongings. Ash wobbled and stumbled, but remained upright.
“Are you alright?” He crouched and checked Ash's arms and neck.
“Aye, it's not the sickness,” he said, panting. “No rash.”
“Should I quarantine you?”
“You can't catch what I have,” Ash assured him.
Sarronious scowled as he sniffed Ash's tunic with disgust. He passed him a clean white rag and directed him to an open crate filled with clean clothes and a basin of cold water. It turned out most of the men onboard were smaller across the chest than Ash, but, there was plenty of soap and a blanket to dry himself with.
“The Captain should be back within the hour,” Sarronious advised, gesturing at the provisions.
“There are two others with me,” he said. “Hiding on deck.”
“Alright, I'll find them and have someone check you all for lice.”
Once alone, Ash was pleased with the peace, and, of course, the floral-scented soap. If the dog came on board, seawater and the sweat in his pores would give his earlier escape away. For now, the Cerulean Grace was restful and unmanned. Ash stripped naked and scrubbed his skin with soapy water, splashed his face and dunked his hair, then soaked his clothing until he could no longer smell fish, smoke, or Hazel's flesh. After his brief freshen-up, he wrapped his lower half in the blanket and slung his undergarments out the window, overboard.
Sarronious found Kite and Reverie hiding where Ash left them. He ushered them quickly downstairs, then hammered until Ash opened the door, bare-chested.
“Is she back?”
Sarronious nodded. “Our legal checks will have to wait.”
He ushered everyone inside the cabin, leaving the door ajar. Ash was about to object when Deerbolt stepped in and closed it herself. Since their earlier meeting, she had changed into some casual clothing and plaited her dark hair. With or without a uniform, Ash thought she looked beautiful.
“Still misbehaving, Scoundrel?” she said, grinning at his stark legs.
The little hair on his chest which formed a line to his belly button was still wet and defined. Deerbolt swallowed hard and turned away.
“I had to wash my clothes.” Ash blushed and cleared his throat. “Captain Deerbolt, this is Reverie and her husband, Kite.”
Deerbolt shook their hands, welcomed them aboard, then walked to the window and peered through the curtains.
“Two others. One blind and one pregnant. You didn't think to tell me this before I agreed to help you?”
Ash rolled his eyes. “I didn't really know then.”
Her hazel eyes narrowed as she watched the rabble of local tradesmen frantically search for the harboured criminals.
“And you're a murderer now?” She waved Ash to the window. “Captain Lehana Hazel of the Order and two Astrals were set on fire and shot last night. Were you desperate?”
“I set the redhead on fire and Kite shot the others with an arrow. We had no choice.”
“Aye,” Kite admitted. “It was us or them.”
Deerbolt gave the mob a second glance. The Constable had organised them into smaller groups, sending them to probe the crew of each docked ship. The Cerulean Grace was next on their list, led by the Sheriff. Ash's pulse quickened at the thought of Deerbolt and her crew being wrongly imprisoned, but what else could he do? To protect her, he'd have to hand himself in; Kite and Reverie could deny knowledge and escape with Deerbolt to Dragonborn, but it would be the end of him for sure. Determined to reach the island alive and help the couple as the Oracle instructed, Ash would have to lie and beg for Deerbolt's cooperation instead.
He held his head high and squared his shoulders.
“You're going to turn us in?”
“I haven't decided,” she said without looking at him, but she cast a jealous and examining glance at Reverie.
“Deerbolt, you said it yourself, we're desperate. Kite was protecting Reverie and his baby.”
Deerbolt waved off his worry. “Just tell me what happened.”
Ash relaxed his frame. Exhaustion was overriding his limbs. His eyelids were heavy and his head cloudy. He'd felt dreadful so far today, but now wasn't the time to succumb to the curse's symptoms. Opening his palm and curling each finger from left to right, Ash stole the flame from the nearest candle and brightened it in his palm.
“It was supposed to be a distraction, but my plan went wrong. They had us cornered.”
Deerbolt rolled her eyes and blew out his palm, sending a pleasant shudder down his arm.
“Is that the truth?” she muttered.
Reverie assured her, “I saw the whole thing. They attacked us because of the Oracle's song.”
“I would imagine that was intended for you,” Deerbolt said, directing her question at the only Elemental onboard.
“Aren't I lucky?”
Sarronious hushed them and pressed a heavily pierced ear against the door. On deck, unfamiliar voices and romping footsteps were growing nearer. He drew his longsword and backed away.
“We have company. Captain, your orders?”
Kite and Reverie awaited her reply with bated breath. Ash perched on the end of Deerbolt's bed.
Never had he begged for his life. He would not start now.
She sighed. “This won't take long.”
Sarronious barred the door with his shoulder after Captain Deerbolt left. The cabin fell silent. For a dying outlaw she'd never wholly trusted and a poor couple from a nowhere hamlet in the Sleeping Reeds Valley, she was about to lie to the Order, birthing a debt they could never repay.
“Most of my men are on day leave,” she told the Constable as he politely questioned her. “Unforeseen repairs delayed our departure. My men are overworked. I needed them rested.”
“Where is this vessel to dock, Captain?”
“The abandoned First Watchtower,” she replied, “ultimately heading for Land's Edge. We are carrying food and permitted weaponry—please, check our manifest.”
“That will not be necessary. Anyone else currently here besides yourself?”
“Sarronious is a market tradesman returning to the Northern Trading Post.” She lowered her voice. “He's otherwise engaged with seasickness, though the ship is yet to move. I trust him—he's an old friend. Neither of us has seen anyone else today so far.”
“I see.” He looked past her as the dog sniffed the base of the cabin door. “Those with weak stomachs should not be sailors. Are you sure it is not the sickness?”
She continued, ignoring the dog. “Aye. Sarronious trusts I'll get him home safely.”
“Have you seen anyone suspicious?”
“We have not been aroused, Constable. If you wish to more thoroughly search my ship, I can ask Sarronious to assist once he returns.”
The dog, seemingly disinterested, moved away.
“Thank you, Captain, but I'm satisfied.”
After a few more minutes of small talk and well wishes, the search party left. The dog never made a sound. Deerbolt returned to the cabin and gestured for her guests to sit, leaving Sarronious to guard the door. Now comfortable, calmer, and less embarrassed about his nakedness, Ash explained everything. He began with his chase of the apple thief, shared the foretelling, recited the Oracle's song, and eventually detailed the fight outside the Lawful Hand Tavern.
Kite entwined his fingers. “Without my sight, I'm a liability. I'll slow us down.”
“No more than I,” Ash whispered.
Deerbolt's eyes widened as she met his gaze. Not an hour into their journey and Ash's tongue had already slipped. They'd agreed several days prior that until the ship was well on its way to the First Watchtower, Ash's full history should remain a secret so as not to put her crew in danger. Revealing his past now, even if by accident, might tarnish the couple's trust in him too. Only a handful of the serving deckhands would remember him, anyway.
“No need to incite fear. No need to cause panic.” Those were his words.
Not that he deserves their trust yet, she thought. Not after what he did to me.
But they were both ten years more mature, and she hadn't thought of Ash romantically for at least nine of them.
Some men are not capable of change.
Kite leaned forward. “What do you mean, Ash?”
He shuffled and cleared his throat, unconsciously opposing Kite's inviting posture. “I'm a wanted man,” said Ash, “and because of malnourishment from living in Open Country, my Elemental magic has been unpredictable lately.”
“Are you... dangerous?”
There was a pause, during which Deerbolt held her breath and kept her gaze lowered.
“I made a mistake ten years ago.” He narrowed his fingers, pinching them together to suggest the mistake was minor. “It angered some important people in high places and they have been on my tail since. Many thought I was dead.”
“You didn't answer my question.”
Ash sighed. “As is any Salamander, I'm dangerous when I need to be.”
“I think your antics with Lehana Hazel proved that,” Sarronious grumbled.
“You knew her?” Ash asked him.
Sarronious shook his head. “I did not.”
“She deserved what she got.”
“You can still get Kite and I safely to Dragonborn?” asked Reverie.
Deerbolt leaned across the table and grasped Reverie's hand, cutting Ash short of a confident response.
“Sarronious and I will get you all to the First Watchtower as soon as possible. We owe Ash that much. What happens then is up to you.”
Ash stood abruptly, knocking over the table. Its contents crashed at their feet, prompting a gasp and silent stare from the others.
“Excuse me,” he said, “I think my clothes are dry.”
They were still damp to the touch, but he re-dressed, anyway. He had been too eager to escape the conversation.
After pulling on the first leg of his breeches, he lost his balance. A searing pain attacked the back of his eyes and he momentarily blacked out, collapsing against the wall and smashing a framed painting of the Cerulean Grace as he did so. Reverie ran to his side, kicking the table's contents out of her way. She took his temperature with the back of her hand.
“Don't touch him, Reverie. It could be the sickness,” Kite said urgently.
Deerbolt towered over them, stern-faced. She kicked an empty trunk along the wooden floor in time for Ash to empty his stomach.
“He's not sick,” she said, sighing and defeated, “he's cursed. By the people he angered.”
Ash looked up through narrow, tear-filled eyes, then across to Reverie.
So much for keeping a secret.
Deerbolt rummaged through her personal items for a clean cloth, which she dampened and passed to Reverie. She dabbed at Ash's face and neck, hushing his groans and grunts of discomfort. Drained of all colour, he was now a waxy, lifeless figure against Deerbolt's deep mahogany walls.
“What is it doing to you?” Reverie asked. “How long do you have?”
Ash writhed beneath his blanket, with his clean breeches and hope of regaining some dignity discarded.
“There's nothing else I can tell you. I'm fine, I'll be fine.”
“Cursed men tell no tales,” Deerbolt said. She folded her arms. “Nor do the dead.”
◆◆◆
As dusk settled upon the Cerulean Grace, so too did the events of the day on Ash's energy. Alone in the cabin, he allowed the muffled sounds of a cheerful fiddle intermingled with his friends' joyous laughter to soothe his fears that he didn't have long to live. Even as he rested, his limbs were shaking and tingly, his eyesight failing, and his guts rejecting most of what he consumed. It didn't stop him drowning his sorrows in a tankard given to him by Sarronious behind the Captain's watchful eye, though (most likely, Ash thought, out of pity). It numbed his pain enough to examine his flesh from head to toe.
