I try my best to glare at him, but it only makes him laugh louder, the sound causing my head to split painfully and earning him a flimsy punch to the thigh.
“That was entirely uncalled for.” He smiles, rubbing the leg where I struck him. “I’ve brought you breakfast. You could at least sit up and thank me like a lady.”
“Kesh,” I groan, closing my eyes, willing him to disappear.
I want ten more hours of sleep, followed by a greasy meal and a hot bath, and I am in no mood for any of his cheeky sarcasm. My body pitches toward him as his weight settles on the edge of the bed beside me. His thumbs work magic, circling the tight muscles at the base of my neck.
“Kesh,” he purrs into my ear. “You haven’t called me that in years.”
I groan, my muscles becoming more pliant with each stroke.
“Why did you stop?” he asks, his hands turning to the muscles along my arms.
“Leanna,” I admit, my mind taking me back to painful moments I remember all too clearly.
“What a harpy,” he chuckles.
“She said that ‘Kesh’was far too familiar a name for the master of shadows,” I groan out as his fingers press into the tight muscle between my shoulders.
“If it was anyone else, I would agree with her, but you,” he says, rolling me onto my back, waggling my nose mockingly with his finger, “aremi’ajnaand you may call me whatever pleases you.”
“Incessant.” I smile. “Obnoxious.” I quirk an eyebrow. He clutches his heart feigning injury. “Obtuse.” I chuckle lightly, as he rolls his eyes, and I raise my hand to my forehead to comfort the pain.
“As I said, you may call me whatever you please, though I really would prefer you’d choose one nickname and stick with it. Or perhaps it would be easier if I simply respond to every insult you shout in my direction?” he pouts.
I can’t help but laugh, my head throbbing painfully as he swings himself off the bed, stretching his broad shoulders as he stands.
“I’ve brought you enough to last until dinner.” He gestures to the small basket of food he set on the table. I want to complain about his pending absence, but I won’t. It isn’t his job to entertain me for the duration of the crossing. Still, I will be bored out of my mind before midday and we both know it.
“We are at port today and I have work on shore,” he says, as if he already knows every question I leave unvoiced. “I’ll join you for dinner.”
He makes his way toward the door and my eyes fall on the obsidian daggers he left by my side. Stretching lazily, I pinch one of the blades between my fingers, letting the cool stone soothe my psyche. They are the same ones he gifted me years ago. I know the look and feel of every notch and groove from the leather wrapped hilt to the tip of the blade. Long after I’ve forgotten my name and the few fond memories I carry are ravaged by the thief of time, I will remember these.
“You said they are a crutch,” I say to his back as his hand reaches for the door.
“They are only a crutch if you need them, and I’m only leaving them for the day.”
He stops in the doorway and leans against the frame, picking at invisible dirt beneath his nails when he says, “Can I ask a favor of you?”
“You know you can.”
I push myself into a sitting position, my eyebrows drawn together as I ponder what possible task I can perform for him in the stifling room I am confined to. Whatever he asks, if it is within my power, I will grant it. After all we have been through together, even after the time we’ve spent apart, there is nothing that could persuade me to break the bargain of friendship we made years ago.
“Good. That’s good.” He nods solemnly, and I begin to worry. “In that case,” he sighs dramatically, “I’ll have the captain bring down a basin of warm water along with some soap, because Vari, my lady perfection, you smell like a cheap tavern on Sunday morning.”
My spine stiffens and my cheeks flush with the heat of my embarrassment. With one hand I clutch the thin sheet to my chest, with the other I hurl a dagger toward the door. It strikes its mark, embedding itself in the wood directly next to his jaw. He doesn’t so much as glance up from where his eyes are still firmly glued to his hand. He simply stands there, unflinching, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he turns to leave.
The dagger wobbles, clattering against the floor when he closes the door behind him. I’m sure my cheeks are still crimson when the captain delivers a steaming pot of water with a small sliver of jasmine soap not longafter.
Every layer of sweat disintegrates beneath the floral lather I work across the planes of my body. As I cleanse my skin of an entire jug of ale’s worth of sticky perspiration, I silently thank Vakesh for the kindness though they are words I will never voice aloud.
I let my hair dry into its natural spirals, and I’m surprised to find that I do not immediately miss my fighting leathers when I put on one of Leanna’s silk dresses. The thin fabric cocoons my body, caressing it with each step I take. If I am to be confined to my small room, bored out of my mind for the duration of the voyage, I can find no reason not to be exceedingly comfortable.
Smoothing the dress idly, I recall just how badly I balked when Leanna presented me with the first of the gowns she’d commissioned for my assignment. As Drakai, I am privileged to have the promise of three hot meals a day, a roof over my head, and fighting leathers. Drakai are not paid for their service to the crown, and the only other possessions I will ever own will be gifted to me or acquired by means of mission or challenge. Fea Dien often return from their missions with all manner of rich and handsome gifts they receive along the way, though I don’t personally know of any missions that began with the crown’s endowment.
I will not, under any circumstances, acquire a taste for silks.
It is a mantra I know I will have to repeat often if I intend to remain unspoiled by the fabric.
