“I doubt that,” Eira murmured under her breath. Alyss heard.
“None of us will and you know it,” she said firmly. “You’re just being difficult.” Eira looked at Alyss from the corners of her eyes. Somehow that only made Alyss even more amused. “I understand why you might want to—have to, even—let go of your past to move forward. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us will want to. Some of us might want to carry it with us.”
Eira sighed. The notion that not everyone was running seemed…impossible. But she knew it was true, logically. Her emotions just twisted in her gut and got the better of her logic.
“Now, you should go back and talk to him. I’m sure that he’s ready and he’ll want to hear from you, just like I’m sure he’ll have information you want to know.” As Alyss finished, Olivin emerged with Ducot in tow. The former held a large mug that Eira could see steaming from where she stood.
“You’re right.” Resigned, Eira crossed with a few quick steps to where Cullen was waiting beside the door. Alyss was behind her. “I doubt we’ll all fit,” Eira said skeptically when she realized none of them were leaving.
“I want to hear what he has to say.” Olivin’s tone was so firm it startled her. It left little room for debate.
“As do I,” Ducot added in much the same manner. The men were ready to fight if she resisted.
“Fine, but it’s going to be tight.” Eira took the mug from Olivin and knocked on the door. “Uncle?”
“I’m decent,” he called from within.
Eira allowed herself a single, bracing breath. She steadied herself on the inhale. She was Adela’s chosen heir. She had braved Carsovia, twice. She’d survived Ulvarth even more timesthan that. She’d learned magic that Fritz could only dream of, had dined with nobles, and had operated in the shadows on behalf of royals. Half of her sordid story he’d already learned about.
But would this be the breaking point, and, if it was, did she still care?
That was the question Eira didn’t know the answer to. Was her heart in her throat because she still cared what he thought about her, because she loved him and sought his approval? Or was this feeling leftover conditioning of a young girl who had been told, time and again, to respect and revere her uncles?
Only one way to find out…
Eira opened the door and braced herself.
22
“Iwasn’t sure what to do with my old clothes.” Fritz pointed at the pile on the floor. “Thank you for the fresh ones, by the way. Those were the last things I wanted to keep wearing.”
Eira knew all too well how ridding one’s self of the clothing from an ordeal could feel like shedding the whole ordeal itself.
“We’ll put them out on deck, for now.” Eira decided. Cullen took the indirect order and passed them to Ducot, who unceremoniouslyploppedthem outside the door. Some crew member would collect them and put them in the pile for someone to use who didn’t have so many memories tied to them. She held out the mug to him. “Here. This should help warm you up.”
“I’ll take just about anything; it’s been ages since I last had more than scraps.”
Eira remembered her time in the pit…and her initial days with the pirates. She knew how poorly someone in captivity ate. With that in mind, she saw how loosely the clothes hung off his frame. How gaunt his cheeks were. It’d been months since the fall of the coliseum and it looked like he’d been given just enough to stay alive during that time. How he’d managed to have thestrength to survive at all was a testament to his will. A curl of searing anger flashed in her gut as her hand fell on the dagger’s hilt at her thigh. There would never be peace for her until Ulvarth was dead.
“What happened after the coliseum?” Eira asked, positioning herself beside him on the bed. Alyss wedged herself behind Eira in the back corner, shifting the blankets to fit. The men crammed in—Ducot and Olivin against opposite walls, barely enough space to not be flush against each other. Cullen shut the door behind him and leaned against it.
“There was the explosion…” Fritz shifted his hands on the mug. It was then that she noticed raised and gnarled scars that completely covered one. The heat of her anger at the Pillars would be an inferno soon enough. “Then, chaos.”
“How did you survive?” Olivin asked.
“Barely.” Fritz took a long drink of the thick stew in the mug, chewing it for a stretch of silence. “I made it out of the coliseum, but I couldn’t find anyone.” His eyes drifted to her. “Not your parents.”
“They were in Qwint,” Eira said.
Fritz’s eyes widened. “Reona…”
“Your sister is alive.” Her smile, however slight, was genuine. Eira knew the pain of losing a sibling and wouldn’t wish it on anyone in the world. “As is Herron.”
“I’m so relieved they’re all right…and that you had a chance to speak with them.” Fritz covered his mouth as though he was exerting physical effort to contain his emotions.
Eira didn’t ruin the moment by elaborating on just how briskly their conversation had ended. She was certain they’d tell him when he returned anyway. “They went on a vessel back to Solaris. I’m sure they made it all right.”
“I’m sure.” Fritz lowered his hand to reveal that he was beaming from ear to ear.
