Glorious. He now had a new song. I fell back onto my bed, my eyes locking onto the mural of an elven knight pledging his fealty to a king with long golden locks. Aelir perhaps or one of the other kings before him. Cupping the back of my head with my hands, I lay there as the sounds of the sea washed in on salty winds. I grew drowsy, as the sea had always been my lullaby, but a knock on the door broke into my sleepy state. Muttering to myself I went to answer the door.
Two lean footmen, both very pleasant to look at, struggled into the suite with a cauldron large enough for me to bathe in filled with plum pudding. They placed it on the floor, backed out, and raced away. I peeked out into the hall. Four guardsstood within reach of my door. I had to smile. The royals were very edgy about the pirate in their midst.
“Pudding!!” The lid to the cauldron could be heard thudding into the wall of my suite. The four guards jumped and spun to face me, eyes round, hands reaching for swords.
“He likes pudding.” I grinned and eased back into my room, closing the door with a soft click.
Prescott had carried his meal to his cubby and was sucking the thick dessert from a tankard. I took him a spoon, but he was happy to dip and slurp, so I left him to it so I could eat my own meal. The food was delicious, perfectly seasoned, and the wine was chilled just right. When I spread myself out on the bed after finishing the first bottle of ice wine, I let the sound of the sea and the soft snores of a contented Prescott carry me into a nap, a highly unusual occurrence as there was always work to be done either on the sea or on land. Only the rich cockers slept during the day, according to Pontious Cadere, yet here I was sailing off to dream as if I had no cares in the world.
“Now, son, what constellation is that just to the right of the moon sisters?”
“Papa, that is Renilla, the eye of the squid. And the stars that spread out from her eye are her tentacles.”
I was so proud. I’d studied the star logs so hard to please Papa. Time with him alone was one of my favorite things. The sweet, candied rolls Pith baked for us are my second favorite thing.
He patted my head, turning the stationary viewing glass to port side.
“Such a smart lad.” I could have floated away on sheer joy. “And that grouping to the right of Renilla, what is that cluster?”
I climbed back onto the small wooden box to place my eye to the well-worn eyepiece. The old looking glass was unable to dip down far enough for a child, so I stood tiptoe on the box to view the night skies. I stared and stared but couldn’t recall the fat cluster of stars. Had they even been on the star logs my father kept in the captain’s quarters aboard the Cloud’s Shame? I was bright, clever, everyone on board said so, yet I couldn’t recall that group of stars.
“I don’t remember, Papa,” I shamefully confessed. His hand slid down the back of my head to grip my neck. Tightly. I winced. He leaned down, his bearded chin rough on my ear.
“That’s because you’ve never seen them before, son. Look well. Get to know that cluster, for it is the crown of silver mold. Those who wear it will wither and rot, their souls claimed by the need for power. Landlocked, unable to sing the songs of the seaborne sisters, any who succumb to the call of wealth, power, and greed will be forever cursed.”
“Papa, my neck…you’re hurting my neck,” I whimpered as his fingers dug into the flesh of my shoulder, pulling at my neck, gouging into my skin to draw blood. I tried to yank his hands from my body, but he was too strong. His voice shifted, subtly, from a baritone I knew as well as my own to a watery chorus that loosened the tears that had been threatening. “Papa, my neck. I’m sorry. I’ll study harder!”
“Remember well the blessings of the sea, Coelum, for those who drift off course will feed the Iceveil Kraken.”
I began to wail loudly, blood soaking my shirt as the stars congealed into a swirling mass of foam and bile set to suck our ship into the monster’s gaping maw.
“Papa, save me! Papa! Papa!”
“Papa!” My scream woke me. Bolting out of bed, lungs huffing, I stood in the center of a room I did not recognize as the fingerlings of a nightmare released me from its icy hold.
“Fukkate,” I gasped, flipping my hair from my face, trying to suck in as much air as I could while my thoughts sharpened and the fear melted away. “This is Castle Avolire,” I whispered to myself, Prescott still sleeping in the fireplace, one large foot protruding from his nest of bedding. “I’ll have to avoid turnips before going to sleep and drink more wine.”
With shaky legs, I went to the balcony. The sun was not much lower than it had been when I fell asleep. Turning from the sea and the clinging memory of the ocean opening up to swallow me, I found my boots. A walk. I needed to do something. Anything. Idle hands led to anxious minds, as the old sailors liked to say. Pulling on my boots, I left my hair down because I was a shitter that way and slipped out into the corridor. Four sets of eyes locked on me. I had no real direct course, so I glanced down the hall to spy the Stillcloud gallery doors.
“I’m merely stretching my legs,” I explained, walking off. Two followed, two stayed outside the door to my room. So be it. I was to have an escort, it seemed. I glanced back at the two keeping a respectful distance. Still within reach if they had need to strike. I carried no weapon. My cutlass was in my room. Perhaps that was foolish of me. Hyla would certainly say so, but one pirate with a blade would do little good against a platoon of royal guards. The gallery beckoned me, so I entered, leaving the door open so the guards could see me.
Her portrait called to me the loudest, so I went to stand before Lady Stillcloud. She was still just as beautiful as she had been a few hours ago. There was a demure expression on her face as she sat in a chair before a window, her hands primly in her lap, but under that modest look there was a spine of pure elven hardwood. You could see it in the tilt of her head, thebrilliance of her blue eyes, the set of her slim shoulders. I leaned closer, the fog of my chilling dream fading. Tipping my head up, I studied the shape of her nose, the delicate bow shape of her lips. Golden hair puddled on the floor around her. Tiny bare toes peeked out from under a gown of burgundy. Seeing those toes made me smile softly. The lady possessed the spirit to pose for a portrait without slippers.
“They say she possessed great whimsy,” a male voice said from the doorway. I glanced from the portrait of a woman who might possibly be my mother to find the king of Melowynn standing in the portal. The first thing I noted was that his hair was like spun flaxen just as his mother’s had been. He took a tentative step into the gallery, lifting a hand just slightly to quell the guards from entering. “She posed for that when she was just sixteen seasons. Before she was wed to my father.”
“Your Majesty,” I mumbled, bowing deeply, my sight dropping from bright blue eyes that were at once wary and curious. Deeply curious.
“Please, that is not necessary,” he said, walking forward, a creamy white set of trousers worn with a silky shirt, kid boots, and a sash of umber around his lean waist. I straightened and thumbed back some hair from my face. He noted that but said nothing. “I am sorry I was not available to welcome you to Avolire. I had plans to do so, but an emergency audience with several noble houses could not be delayed.”
“It’s fine, Your Majesty. I had some food, drank some of your fine wine, and took a nap,” I tossed out glibly as he extended his hand to me. A slim hand with only a gold signet ring. A few hoops in his ears were all the adornment he wore. No crown or diadem.
“We do have some fine wine. I hope Widow Poppy sent up some of her honey cakes. They’re the best in Melowynn.” I stared at that royal hand for several long seconds beforeclasping it. His skin was soft. Mine calloused. His fingers thin. Mine thicker. His grip was stronger than I would have imagined. “I wish I had…” He paused, his lips flattening. “I wish I had been able to find the words to put down to vellum for this meeting, but I could not. It is not every day one meets his brother.”
“That has not been verified yet, Your Majesty.”
He held my hand a moment longer and then released it. “Please, call me Aelir. And no, it has not been verified by the blood ritual, but any elf with eyes that function can see our mother in both of us.”
“Aye, there are…” I looked from him to Lady Stillcloud and then back to the king. “There are striking similarities.”
