Ella's grip tightened on the rough rail that ran along the outer edge of the ship, the splintered wood grating against her hand. She closed her eyes and drew a slow breath in, filling her lungs with the salty morning air. The waves of the Antigan Ocean crashed off the ship's hull while the deckhands scuttled about, mopping the decks, checking the ropes, and carrying out whatever other tasks deckhands carried out. Ella had never been on a ship before, and the day-to-day activities of the vessel's crew were at the bottom of her current priorities.
She held her breath for a moment, allowing her chest to swell before exhaling slowly. As she inhaled again, the ship jerked forward, throwing her off balance and spraying a fine mist of sea water over her face. The cool touch of the misted water did little to help her current state. Her stomach lurched as it had done multiple times a day, every day, for the past five days.
"Gods dammit!" she muttered to herself as she bent at the waist, dipping her head down while her hands still clung to the banister. She inhaled slowly once more. I hate ships.
Ella heard the purposeful clip of footsteps against the wooden decking.
"Are you feeling unwell?"
She opened her eyes, turning her head to look at her new companion. She knew who it was already, of course. His words were as refined as every other passenger on this ship of ladies and lords – every passenger with the exception of her and Shirea; they stuck out like sore thumbs – but his voice had an added edge to it.
"I'm fine. I'm just not used to the sea is all." Ella drew herself to her full height, desperately trying not to let the discomfort in her stomach show on her face. She still wasn't sure how she felt about the man. He was the reason they had managed to even get on the ship in the first place, though they hadn't spoken since he had offered her and Shirea a place in his cabin. The last place Ella wanted to be was in the same cabin as a Lorian soldier. And if there was one thing Ella knew, it was that this man held absolutely no true concern for her wellbeing.
"I suppose your friend is feeling even worse. I don't think I have seen her above deck since we set sail." The cold didn't seem to bother him as he stood there in his shirtsleeves, his arms folded across the ship's rail, staring out over the crashing waves.
"She's been busy. We have a lot of planning to do before we get to Antiquar, and she likes to be prepared."
"I see," the man said, his bottom lip folding over his top one. "Farda Kyrana."
"Excuse me?"
"Farda Kyrana is my name. Typically, you would now respond with your own." Farda raised a curious eyebrow, holding Ella's gaze.
Suddenly, Ella's throat felt as dry as cotton. She couldn't use her own name, of that much she was certain. It wasn't safe. Farda was an empire soldier, and a high up one at that. Why else would the sailor's attitude have changed so quickly at the port in Gisa? She needed to be careful. The last time she told somebody her full name, her entire life changed. I still don't know why. I need to know why.
"Um… Ella Fjorn."
"Ella Fjorn. Are you sure?"
Ella's pulse quickened, and a sickly feeling set in her stomach. Did he know who she was? "I… of course I'm sure," she said, finding her composure. "What kind of question is that?"
To Ella's surprise, the man simply laughed and turned his head back out to the ocean. "I am only teasing you. You seemed as though you were uncertain. What business have you in Antiquar, Ella Fjorn?"
"I have family in Berona," she lied. "My uncle is in the city guard."
"Oh, he is? What is his name? Perhaps I know him."
Gods dammit. Why did I have to say that?
"Ta… Tanner." Ella stumbled over the words. Why had she given Tanner's real name?
Farda raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Tanner Fjorn?" The man's gaze lingered on her for a moment, as if he was going to challenge her. Finally, he shook his head, turning his eyes back out towards the ocean. "I wasn't aware Tanner had family in the South."
Ella froze. He knows Tanner.
An awkward silence descended between them as Ella pretended not to hear Farda, relief washing over her when she felt something nuzzling into her hip. Just in time. She reached down and ran her fingers through the coarse, greyish-white fur at the back of Faenir's neck, receiving a satisfied grumble in return. How such a massive wolfpine was able to sneak up on her, she would never know, but she was not going to complain.
Even Ella was surprised when Faenir's grumble turned to a deep growl as the wolfpine stepped between her and Farda. To Farda's credit, he didn't so much as flinch.
"I'm sorry," Ella said, pulling Faenir back. "He can be protective. It's probably time I feed him. Please, excuse me."
"Not at all," Farda replied, lifting his arms from the rail, standing up straight. He tilted his head, his eyes fixed on Faenir, which only made the wolfpine's growl grow deeper. "That is a trait to be admired."
Waiting until the girl had gone, Farda rested his hands against the rail of the ship. He winced as the glare from the morning sun reflected off the water's surface, right into his eyes. The girl was interesting. There was a steeliness in her he had not anticipated. And she knew Tanner; the High Captain of the Beronan guard. She was obviously not his family – which raised more questions – but she did not speak the name by chance. Tanner was a stubborn man, though Farda did have respect for him. He was a man who kept his word; those were few and far between.
At least the wolf explained what happened to the soldiers he had sent to watch over the merchant's road. Yet another thing he had not anticipated. If he had to kill the beast and take her captive, he would, but that was not his preferred way. He would get a lot more from her if he were able to court her trust. Besides, a prisoner was easier to transport when they walked into their prison of their own volition. The other girl, however… He would have to find a way to deal with her. She would only get in the way.
Farda's loose cotton shirt rippled in the breeze as he walked along the length of the main deck. Part of him felt naked without his armour and his cloak, but another part of him wished he would never have to wear them again.
He sighed as he looked out across the ship. It was enormous; over two hundred feet in length, with three massive masts that jutted upward into the sky. The vessel was an impressive piece of engineering. At the speed it was going, they would be in Antiquar by sunrise the next morning.
Ella pushed open the door to the cabin, recoiling as the smell of sweat and day-old sick hit the back of her throat. The sun at her back shone through the doorway, carving a wedge of light through the dimly lit room, illuminating the damp wooden floor and stained bedsheets of the dilapidated cabin. It had seemed the cost of the tickets from Gisa to Antiquar had more to do with the journey itself than it did any luxury or comfort that might be associated with it.
Faenir let out a whine, brushing up against Ella's hip as he stepped into the room. Closing the door behind her, Ella reached down and scratched the side of Faenir's jaw. "It's all right, boy."
"Ella?" Shirea's voice was rough, as if her throat had been rubbed with cotton. "Is that you?"
"It's me. How are you feeling?"
A sliver of light slipped through the closed curtain by Shirea's cot, highlighting the dark rings under the woman's sunken, bloodshot eyes. Shirea sat in the same place Ella had left her in earlier that morning: cross-legged in the bed, an iron braced wooden bucket in her lap. "I've been better."
Ella sat on the edge of the cot, snatching the waterskin that sat on the floor by Shirea's shoes. Unscrewing the lid, she pressed the nozzle to the woman's lips. "You need to keep drinking."
"It just keeps coming back up," Shirea said, waving the waterskin away.
"Which is precisely why you need to keep drinking."
Ella pushed the waterskin into Shirea's hands before lifting the wooden bucket from between the woman's legs and laying it on the ground. Vomit sloshed around in the bucket as she set it down, releasing the pungent aroma of half-digested food with renewed vigour. The combination of the sound and the smell turned Ella's stomach, and it was all she could do not to retch.
Shirea held the waterskin to her chest, but she didn't drink. Instead, she lifted her head and met Ella's gaze. Her voice was soft, barely a whisper. "How do you do it?"
"How do I do what?" Ella asked, pulling her eyes from Shirea's. Ella knew, of course, what the woman meant. But she wasn't sure her heart wouldn't shatter if she spoke about Rhett, if she said his name aloud. She would have taken a broken bone rather than feel the relentless pain that burned its way through her soul. As if sensing Ella's sorrow, Faenir sat down beside her, resting his head across her lap. Reaching down, Ella ran her hands through the fur on the back of the wolfpine's neck, receiving a low grumble in return. When Shirea did not answer, Ella let out a soft sigh. "I pull myself out of bed each day because it is the only thing I can do. Every breath hurts, but I take it anyway. Rhett…" Ella had to pause for a moment as Rhett's name lingered on her tongue. "Rhett is gone."
Ella's voice caught in her throat, and she pulled Faenir's head in tighter to her lap. "He is gone, but that does not mean I will not carry him with me for the rest of my life. When my brother, Haem, was taken from us, my mother told me and Calen that 'we honour the dead not by how we mourn their death, but by how we live on despite it.'"
"I like that," Shirea said, the weakest of smiles touching the edges of her mouth. A tear ran down the woman's cheek as she fidgeted with the nozzle of the waterskin. "Will it ever stop hurting, though?"
"I don't think so," Ella said, feeling a tear roll down her own cheek. There was no point in lying.
"Ella?"
"Yes?"
"Will you lie down with me? Just for a little while."
Ella might not have known Shirea for very long, but they were kin of a sort. Bonded by grief. "Of course."
Pale moonlight washed down over the ship as Farda stepped out onto the main deck. It was empty except for a few passengers who meandered about, minding their own business, enjoying the peace of the night. He preferred it that way. He had little to no inclination for small talk and particularly not with wealthy traders or nobles who spoke of nothing but peasants and coin.
The waters had calmed just before sunset, and now all he could hear was the swash of the waves as they rippled against the hull of the ship. It was a calming, if repetitive, sound.
Farda reached into his coat pocket, producing a small briar wood pipe and a circular tin of Greenhills tabbac. Opening the tin, he added three pinches into the chamber of the pipe, pushing each down with his index finger, adding a little more pressure each time. Once he was satisfied, he returned the tin. He had only taken a liking to tabbac in the last century, and particularly that grown in Greenhills; the dry heat so close to the Burnt Lands seemed to produce a stronger flavour.
Drawing in a thin thread of Fire, Farda created an ember in the chamber. Plumes of smoke drifted up and around his face, fading into the night as he took three long puffs of the pipe, pulling the air through to feed the burn. He watched as the incandescent, orange glow spread through the tabbac like the roots of a tree pushed through soil.
Without hesitation, Farda again pushed his finger into the smouldering tabbac. He felt a burning sensation as the orange embers touched his skin. He smelled the sharp scent of charred flesh as it hit the back of his throat. But he felt no pain. He sighed as he pulled his finger back, observing the charred black patches where the embers had burnt his skin.
Four hundred years had passed since he last felt pain. He could feel the irritation of steel as it dug into his skin, the pressure of a boot against his neck. But not pain. There was the ache in his bones that had never left him and no healer seemed capable of relieving. But true pain had been stripped from him when Shinyara was killed. Along with many other things.
When you blend something so completely, it is impossible for it to return to what it once was.
Pulling himself from his ponderings, Farda lit the pipe again. He took a large puff, releasing the cloud of smoke in a sigh.
As he approached the rail at the starboard side of the ship, the incessant swash of the waves was interrupted by a soft sobbing. In the dim light provided by the moon, he made out the vague features of a small woman standing against the exterior wall of one of the cabins. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed. He didn't have to see the person's face to know who it was. Despite what Ella had told him, he had lain awake listening to that noise the previous four nights as it echoed through the ship.
"Are you all right?" he said, approaching the woman. He took another puff of his pipe as the sobbing faded into a subdued sniffle.
"Oh," the woman said, rubbing the sleeves of her coat into her eyes, the occasional sniffle betraying her poor attempt at masking her current state. "I… I didn't see you there. You're the man who helped us onto the ship. What has you up at this hour?"
"Couldn't sleep. The pipe usually helps." Farda rested his elbows on the bannister and gazed out over the night-obscured water, the light of the moon adding a silvery glisten to the peaks of the undulating waves. He took another puff from the pipe, letting the smoke linger in his mouth for a moment before releasing. "Farda, is my name. Farda Kyrana."
"It's… it's nice to meet you, Farda. I'm Shirea." The woman moved away from the wall of the cabin as she spoke, joining Farda by the banister. She looked as though she were a wretch on the street in Al'Nasla. Her eyes were raw red, ringed with deep purple hollows, and small droplets of semi-dried blood were caked into the lines where her lips had dried and cracked. The woman had spent the entire trip emptying her stomach and crying herself to sleep. Farda wished he could hold sympathy for her. But that ability had been stripped from him, too. One who is broken.
"Do you smoke, Shirea?"
"I… I never have. But John did. He loved smoking tabbac. He said it always calmed him down, too." Shirea bit her top lip, moving her teeth side to side as though contemplating. Then she muttered to herself just loud enough for Farda to catch a few words. "How we live on despite it…"
"Excuse me?"
"Oh," Shirea said, shaking her head as though she had been lost in a dream. "Nothing. May I… May I try?"
Farda held the pipe out for Shirea to take, smoke streaming from his nostrils.
Shirea took the pipe in her hands, holding it by the stummel. She gave a slight sniffle before bringing the stem to her mouth and taking an ambitious puff. Within seconds, smoke billowed from her nose and mouth as she coughed and spluttered, bending over double.
"My apologies. I should have said not to inhale. Try again," Farda said, placing a hand on her back.
Shirea coughed again, smoke still wisping from her nostrils. "I'll try," she choked out.
Farda gave her a short nod, trying his best to form his lips into a smile. Her second attempt was better; she still coughed, but she did not choke and splutter like before.
"No, thank you," Farda said when she offered the pipe back to him. "You keep going. It will help calm you."
Shirea's eyes softened at Farda's words, a tentative smile creeping across her face. "Thank you."
As Shirea took another short puff of the pipe, Farda reached into his coat pocket, producing a thick gold coin. On one side was a roaring lion, the symbol of Loria. On the other, a crown. He knew it well. It was as much a piece of him as his eyes and ears. Even without looking, he knew every nick and every dent that marred its surface. He rolled the coin back and forth across his fingers, his gaze fixed on it.
"I've seen you toss that coin before. Why?"
Farda had been lost in his own thoughts. He hadn't noticed Shirea staring. She held the stummel of the pipe in both hands, cupping it, her teeth chattering as the wind rolled over the deck.
"Fate," Farda said as he rested the coin on his thumb and index finger. "Fate is fluid. It changes with every decision that is made. It is utterly out of our hands, and completely within our control at the same time."
Farda flicked the coin into the air.
Shirea looked confused. "I'm not sure what you mean."
Farda watched as her eyes followed the flight of the coin. It produced a metallic ringing noise as it flipped through the air, then gave a light thump as it settled into Farda's outstretched palm. He turned his gaze toward the coin. It landed with the image of a roaring lion staring back at him. So be it.
Farda moved quickly. He drew on threads of Air, pulling them through him. He closed them around Shirea's throat; that way she couldn't scream. She stumbled against the banister, gasping for air. The pipe dropped to the deck with a crack as Shirea grasped at her throat, desperately trying to pull air into her lungs.
Again, Farda wanted to feel sympathy. He yearned for it. But he felt nothing. He tightened the threads of Air around Shirea's neck, pulling them harder and harder until he heard a crack. Her body went limp. Farda reached out, catching her just before she hit the deck. He lifted her in one motion and tossed her lifeless body over the side of the ship. A splash signalled that she belonged to the ocean.
I do what must be done.
Farda reached down and picked up the pipe from the deck where Shirea had dropped it. He held it in one hand, his fingers cupped around the stummel. With thin threads of Fire, he reignited the tabbac, and took a deep puff. Smoke billowed into the night air as he walked back along the main deck towards his cabin.