Chapter 8
Maggie
Ishoved the barnacle-blasted soup into his hands and refused to feel anything as he moaned and slurped his way through it, declaring it was the best he ever had. Noth held Arthur’s fine porcelain bowl out to me when he finished, like I wouldn’t take it and shatter it against his thick skull. He blew his nose into his handkerchief again but it was mostly sound and dramatic fury.
His eyes shone softer with some emotion I refused to name and it made me uneasy. Rue would have called it gratitude. For a King, it didn’t seem like he had many people in his life that actually saw through his bluster and took care of him. I noticed his startle at loud noises and the frequent smiles that ended up too wide. Hadn’t anyone talked to him after we rescued him from Brad’s temple? Ward claimed to be his best friend. Did he sharethat burden with him? Then again, guys never communicated like that.
I shook my head. That couldn’t, wouldn’t be me. I should be murdering, not mothering him despite my impulsive addition to his soup of Rue’s favorite cold remedy.
“There. You’re fed. Get up. Aren’t you here for the Calix?” It came out weaker than I would have liked. His pain shouldn’t have softened his ridiculous behavior, but I saw too much of my bad choices in him.
“I can’t possibly fight that mermaid for the Calix today. I need a nap.”
His snarky reply snapped my short temper. Hehadfound it. I thought about stealing it for myself. Anything to thwart what he wanted, but discarded that plot. I didn’t want a bigger target on my back. Still, my body itched to take action. Especially after the theatrical declaration that I was a fuck-up and knew nothing about human affection. Noth clearly didn't understand what he was talking about. There was no better self-esteem boost than the feel of a body against yours. That was affection… of a sort. I was never cruel about it, at least.
These were the times I missed my sister the most. She gave me some outlet for my emotions, even if we mostly fought these days. Alone. In a strange town. On a mission where I feared I was out of my depth, panic set in. I wouldn't sit in this room another moment.
I stood. Noth’s coughing fit didn'tdeter me.
“Do whatever you want then,” I snapped.
He held out his arms as if I would fall into them.
“I'd rather run into a spiked mace.”
“I can’t sleep without a warm body next to me. I'm so cold.” He shivered for effect because he had not been frosty when he had smashed me to his chest earlier.
“Pumpkin!”
“Fuck this.” I stormed out.
“Maggie. Maggie!” Noth’s hoarse voice followed me.
If I was going to rev up the “bad decision chariot”, I would also test if Rat Faced Pickle Pants was the only one who sparked my power. I stomped downstairs, ripping the cap off my head, marching to the corner where I left my pack. The one dress I brought with me would have to do. I knew I was lucky that my hair always did exactly what I needed it to without much effort. At least one part of my life wasn't a mess.
As I descended the stairs, I got my first look at the strand of buildings by the water. It might barely be called a village. I bet ghosts refused to live here. Most of the structures sagged toward the sea but those that stood upright remained meticulously repaired. That included the pub–pretty much the only sign of life in the square. A trickle of men entered as the morning’s fishing ended. A connoisseur of bad choices, I knew just where to find others making them.
I stepped up into the shadowy building, right into a wall of muscle and purpose.
I ducked. He weaved into my path.
“Y’ell take yourself right outta here, girl.”
Girl?What sort of cock-a-doodle-doo preening thing was this? Peering around him, I couldn’t fail to note that no other women darkened the pub. Everything from the leather bar stools to the scuffed bar top screamed rough, working class. Dead fish hung on the walls as trophies and the smell of ego perfumed the air. Somewhere I would never see Noth in a million years.
Fine. I did great handling men.
“If you want to dance, just ask,” I said.
My hand couldn’t wrap around his arm, but I still tugged him along with me. I darted to the bar and snatched a lager the bartender had set aside for a hard-eyed local who looked like he ate storms for breakfast. A quick glance and I spotted the man of the hour, the person who brought their fiddle to the pub begging to have it played.
I set the lager down in front of him, still keeping hold of my date.
“What’s all this, Tuna?” the middle-aged man asked, squinting at the sailor in my grip.
Tuna?I guess it was a fishing village. Hopefully, he was as smart as one, not as aggressive as one. Luckily, he stood still–too dazed to reply. So that meant smart as one.
“Just a bit of fun.” I told the fiddler. “Play us your fastest rhythm and I’ll keep these coming!” I pointed to the pint before him.
