Ever since the emissary from Absalomi departed in a hurry, the Daybright had been alive with preparations. All sails unfurled, the Art wind at its top speed drove us away. All works that must be done to keep the ropes taut and the guns ready were completed with haste. Every sign pointed to the coming of a hunt.
Of what our mark would be, as always none knew but the captain, save that great care had been put into the examination of our stock of timbers; that our army of engravers had been summoned to haunt the ribs and the masts, fixing glowing letters anew on the wood. Such a structural operation is seldom done at once but spread out over the course of a voyage, carefully scheduled by the hands of an army of boatswains and clerks. For it to be done on so short notice, one could only imagine what our mark would be.
All the same, come night we were granted our rest. And what anxiety that plagued the more paranoid minds died down to idle speculations and light-hearted jests.
After dinner, I found rest against a row of filled casks at the waist, exhausted all the more as the events earlier in the day came back to mind. By my side, seated on a cask, Thea studied the graver I had brought her.
“Lex really gave you this?” she asked.
I shrugged, “She never asked me to return it, or sent anyone to. I daresay she has those things aplenty.”
“A fine souvenir nonetheless. This could fetch a good price at the market, even without the creator’s name attached to it.”
“If someday your contract is done, take it and buy us both something nice.”
“Something nice, eh?” she said vaguely, then leaning over the cask, she begged me for what had transpired in the citadel with beaming eyes. Ever she had an ear for stories, moreso than for any material wealth.
“Absalomi,” lounging, she uttered afterwards with a hint of endeared nostalgia. “It is a well-known name, you know. So well-known that even that knight you spoke of should have heard of it in her village.”
Still, it was not strange that I was the only one ignorant of the knowledge. My entire waking life had been onboard the Daybright, and stories from land seldom concerned me. And too I daresay Thea exaggerated somewhat, for what seemed common knowledge to her oft not entirely be so for most.
“It’s a small princedom now, and little by way of influence, no more than an offshoot of the empire. And yet on their coronation day, the pagan empresses and emperors are still wont to visit that country, handing out symbolic gestures. For back in their heyday, the Absalomese ruled this part of the skies as far as the schism; even now ruins of their civilization dotted still these skies. Long, very long ago it was, yet still in taverns and books they tell of its glory, of heroes of old who championed her. And there’s a fashion, funnily enough, in novels and songs that never quite subsides, where a hero, be he born to a long line of kings now lost in time’s obscurity, or as a farmer with great courage and aspiration, would stumble upon Raiser Xango’s artifact, and with the aid of the God-king bring Abasalomi to her former glory. And, you know, the usual affairs of wedding a fine maiden of pureblood lineage.”
“A Raiser, eh?”
“Pagan tales, but of course. I do not reckon even their empress finds much value in such stories, however, or she would have subdued the Absalomese long before they could realize the notion of a champion to challenge her authority.”
“But it seems they have one now.”
“It seems they think they do. That Raiser artifact should be enough to glorify any hero of choice, and to stir their less willing lords to war. If you ask me, I think by chance they found that thing the captain sought, and right away looked for her to trade in a symbol of prophecy, a cause to gather banners. It is to inspire allies as much as to intimidate foes. As for a champion, they could but pick any young lad of bright enough features but a simple mind underneath.”
“Did that man lie then? Before the captain?”
“Who knows? Like as not, she knows the truth and gave them whatever blackened stone lying around. As far as their prince’s concerned, any rock obtained from Aurora is enough to convince his subject of divinity. Everyone gets what they want in the end.”
“So that was why she said theirs cost was the greater.”
Even so, I had doubts, for the first mate had been reluctant to hand over the stone. That could have been an act. But in suspecting so I was delving too far into the affairs of the powerful. So I stopped, and mused over the fact that my part was done. And from now there could only be peace for me. An azure’s peace, I thought somewhat bitterly. Still, even dullness is more than being involved in politics. I was glad my part did not go beyond providing a showy flare light.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
But of course, I was a fool to think that was all there was to it. In the end, there was still the matter of my unsettled debt. And in the coming days, I found myself under the watchful eyes of my usurer.
On a typical Lost Azure afternoon, I chanced upon Litzia and her pair on the quarter gallery, a weather deck behind the aftcastle. The oakum roll in my hands, I stooped quietly on the plank floor. The wind was strong there at the taffrail, yet Begonia, the wyverness Litzia’s pair, was sound asleep. Unending afternoon peace painted her closed face, and her head of short locks made rest upon the wyverness’ laps.
Litzia gave me a vague nod for greeting, then curled her lips. Upon which she pressed a delicate finger. Thinking to finish my task ere I disturb their peace past a tolerable point, I turned my back to her and started picking the oakum roll, filling the gaps between planks with each thin strip. A sailor’s unending task. And for a while, we did not speak. My back bent low.
For some time, and then, between the even Art breeze, I heard a soft sigh. Like a song, an idyllic hum. It grew into words, “Look here,” tenderly, softly, easily lost into thin air, “see how soundly she sleeps.”
I turned. So soft was the voice that I scarce think it could come from the inscrutable wyverness. But Begonia did not stir, her breaths drawn soundlessly. As though all else were muted, Litzia’s voice merged almost into this silence. Far off, sailor howlers could not quite invade our space, this isolated peace where the couple rested, and I their sole intruder. Once more I told myself to hasten my task so I may soon leave them to their solitude. But, again, she spoke, her eyes glinted, wishing it seemed for conversation.
“The girl is not yet used to flying and scouting. She must not ruin her body and mind, I told her. And still, she attempted to the point of exhaustion – such a child. Do you not think it a wonderful thing to try very hard?”
“It is often that one works hard for a desire of something, or avoidance of something unpleasant.”
“Which one are you?”
I paused. She mocked, obviously. The gap was packed full, but I thought to drive some strips in just a little more, a tiny bit more, so that it would be even more filled. I drilled and drilled with my fingers, but the gap did not give.
“You can’t think of a thing to suit the word desire,” she said, “Unless it is offered… Have you ever fancied being an alaris?”
“Certainly not,” I answered, though my mind absent, “I do not think of flight, or desires, Miss Litzia. I think of this oakum roll. I think of the tar jar, the timber to be shaved and sawed. Also the tugging of the cable, the heaving of the windlass, or the patches to be sewn upon my tunics, if time for idleness is allowed me. I do not think or fancy much else.”
“And if you are made to?” she asked.
“Made to enjoy a privileged place?” I raised a brow, “But what I am ordered to, I do.”
“Is that so? How very nice a slave you are.”
When I looked up again, she was stroking Begonia’s hair. Not unlike caressing a newborn, I thought. And I thought further that even the cruelest woman may have a motherly side. Mayhap that was the reason for her softness then. All along, she did not look my way anymore, instead those golden eyes fixated on her partner’s soft breaths.
“Yet you avoid me wherever I go, even when bidden to stay. Is that not rebellion?” she accused with a soft tone. The woman frightened me, though the curled lips lent her words a sarcastic effect.
She was not wrong. Ever since the day at the citadel, I had made a point to steer clear of her. Taking the long way down the gun deck, or making haste in my duty if ever I must go near the spot she had deliberately chosen to rest. And during my shifts upon the mast, I could at times feel her gaze. I had not felt the need to satisfy her curiosity in an azure. Am I a slave or an exotic creature caged for curious eyes?
“What is it that you want of me, ma’am? How do you demand me to repay the debt. Simply utter the word and I shall render it to the best of my abilities, but I can ill afford idle chatter when the planks are still gaping.”
“Company perhaps?” she smirked, “’Tis a lonely thing to be one enslaved among pampered alares. But before you ask, no, they do not know of my mark.”
Of course, they would not. None would expect a slave in a wyvern, much less one in our captain’s service. Not if they are not shown the mark, which she carelessly hid just beneath the loose toga’s neckline.
“Perhaps you should find better company in your knight, and less in the likes of me,” I ventured.
“Oh,” a slyness came over her bright eyes, darkening them a little, “are you jealous? Do you not know? She’s just like me, and like you, a cheap thing fettered and enslaved, much too dumb and powerless to escape.”
I turned away and rose. What could have compelled her to go so far as to reveal the shameful truth of her partner? No one would know if not told, for Begonia belonged to the Anemones, and so long as she hid her mark, she would not suffer aught suspicion.
“I am done here,” I said, “If you’d excuse me, I must go, or the officers will yell at me. Enjoy your time with your partner, Miss.”
All the while, Begonia never stirred. It was my sincere wish that she had not been roused by Litzia’s spiteful words at her expense. I would never know, only that when I bowed before taking my leave, it seemed as though Begonia’s breaths were not as even as they had been.
Be that as it may, after that meaningless conversation, somewhat I had been granted my wish, for the wyverness would bother me no more. And for a time, I had my false respite until the day of the hunt.