It was delivered with haste, and many a side-eye to the snoring lump in the hearth. I then had a message sent out to Hyla at The Skye Nest, bidding her to visit me soon. Using some vellum from the desk, I opened an ink pot, found a new sharp quill awaiting me in a cup filled with plumes, and sat down to pen some notes to my associates on the high seas. I had promised the queen I would do so, and so I would. A Cadere never went back on his word.
The tub was large enough for two trolls and a goat. Bits of dried lavender had been sprinkled atop the bathwater, so I chose a bar of soap with the same scent. Stripping off my clothes, I stepped into the tub, easing down into the hot water, amazed at how my shoulders loosened as I slid downward. With my chin resting on the surface of the aromatic water, my sight went to the open doors. The sky was thickening, heavy gray clouds creeping in to blot out the sun. A storm brewed on the horizon. I knew this to be fact. Sailors understood the weather. We lived by the upsets and pleasure of the sea.
Ducking under the water, I rose slowly, blinking to clear the bits of flower from my lashes, and lifted my left arm skyward. Water sluiced over it. The white cloth tied gently around my forearm was sodden now, so I removed it with care. The slice was clean, neat, and treated with an astringent but still puffy. Staring at the incision, I let my mind wander. What would I do if the results showed me to be this lost prince? Most sane peoplewould grab a crown and then live like a fattened hog. And while the hedonistic side of me liked the sound of that, the parts of me that had grown up in Quinn’s Quay rebelled. As a child, I’d seen orphans sleeping in alleys forced to work just to survive. I’d grown to my majority in a brothel. The women and men bound in poverty so heavy that the only way many of them could put food in their mouths was to sell themselves for a few copper. While I’d not gone without, many children I played with had. Some were carted off to parts unknown on ships with captains not as morally inclined as the Cloud’s Shame. And given that my father was a pirate who nightly fucked as many people as his cock would endure, Pontious Cadere’s mores were questionable at best. Yet he did have some lines he would not cross. One or two. Obviously, one was not lying or not sailing off to leave a fucking noblewoman with a bastard growing in her belly.
A chill wind blew into my room causing my wet skin to pimple. Shaking free from my issues with my father, I poked at the delicate scab forming on my arm. Yes, wealth. Power. Prestige. It might be within my grasp. What would I do with the bounty? Waste it on wine, men, and song, or do something of merit with it. Obviously Aelir would use his power to try to make Melowynn a better place for elven kind. But I was not pure elf. I had human blood. Shorter ears. Those things would bar me from society even if a circlet sat on my head. Or would it? Would the noble houses swallow their revulsion to kiss my ring? That could be amusing. If I lingered here in Celear, a lost prince found, I could watch the rich cockers fawn over me, mouths mewling as they swallowed down their disgust. Now that held real potential! Perhaps if I stayed here as a royal-blooded stiff, I could work with Aelir to bring real change to the world. To ease the suffering of those who the powerful trod on and over. Persuade the queen to lessen the port fees and allow those to enter those ports to sell their goods, papers or not.
What harm could come if I stayed—outcome being the good option and not the one where I was disposed of for crimes against the kingdom—and helped my brother?
A lashing of wind blew in a sheet of rain just as thunder cracked overhead. Prescott slumbered on as he was known to do. I sat in the tub, rubbing soap over my flesh and hair, as a storm raced in from the Silvura. Rising from the water as rain pelted the castle, I toweled off, inhaling the smell of brine, and padded to my trunk to open it. A valet had not been located yet, it seemed, which was not an issue. I could pick out my own clothes and pull them over my arse. Just as I could shave and brush my hair. As I stepped into a pair of black trousers with a slim silver threading, I heard a sharp knock on the door.
“Aye,” I called, stepping over a long gray-blue leg, just as a guard opened it and stuck his head through the crack.
“A woman by the name of Hyla asks to be presented,” the female elf said as her gaze flew to that thick, bare troll calf.
“Yes, please send her in,” I replied. Hyla stormed into the suite, glowering at the guard as she made a beeline for me. She hugged me to her, planted a kiss on my brow in a manner not befitting a first mate, and then took hold of my damp shoulders as she stepped back to inspect me.
“You’re hale and whole?” Her sight fell to the cut on my arm, her brow furrowing.
“Aye, yes, I’m good. Have you eaten? How fares the crew? Have you spoken to the port master and the shipwright about—”
“Slow yourself, Captain. You always did batter a soul with questions when nervous.”
“I’m not nervous, just curious. I have had too much idle time already. My mind leads me to deep thoughts with no ready replies.” I sighed, easing from her grip to lift my hairbrush from my trunk and started dragging it through my knotted hair.
“If you know there are no replies forthcoming, then why ask?” She sat on the edge of the bed to ease a finger into the top of her wooden leg to rub her stump.
“Surely you have some answers,” I said, tugging a tangle free with such strength that my eyes watered. The rain soaking the balcony began to creep inside, so I closed the door. The sky lit up. Feet wet with rainwater, I stepped onto a thick rug to dry them.
“The crew are happy, drunk, well fed. A few are enjoying the company of whores. I have spoken to no one other than the owner of the inne who threatened me with a dagger if any of our crew stole so much as a dinner bun.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve not yet met with anyone aside from that shitful prig.”
“Sorry, I’m feeling a bit like a sow at a fancy gala,” I confessed, sitting down beside her. “My thoughts heave port to starboard so suddenly it makes even a seasoned sailor like me bilious.”
“To be expected, given what’s taking place.” She dug into her front pocket to remove a long-handled pipe and a pouch of tobacco. Without asking, she packed her pipe and reached over to pluck a candle from the table to light the dark, heady blend of leaves that had been soaked in molasses. The smoke was sweet, the aroma dense. She offered the pipe to me. I took a few puffs and passed it back, the familiar motions soothing. “Met the king yet?”
“Aye,” I said, staring at the sudden storm through a fog of smoke and rain-spattered glass. “He seems kind, intelligent, and eager for me to be his long-lost brother.”
“Hmm, well, the poor thing has lost every family member he had.” She sighed out a cloud of smoke that hung in the air before floating to the ceiling to swirl about. The circling of the smoke ring reminded me of the dark dream that I had. A tickle of unease made the fine hairs on my arms rise.
“True, but for a man who rules a country, his hunger for us to be proven brothers, given my human taint, is befuddling. Could he truly yearn for a sibling so badly that he’d be willing to take a carousing pirate?”
“Mayhap. Hard to say what goes on in the skulls of the nobility.” She handed me the pipe again.
“True.” I puffed a bit and gave it back. “I called you here for a few reasons. One is that Prescott is having one of his deep sleeps but will waken soon. Given the staff here in Avolire have fainted in fear in great numbers, I was hoping you would sit with him while I dine with the king and his family this evening?”
“I can do that. He’d come awake and not find you then start to wail.”
“Aye, and that will only upset the delicate constitutions of the staff so best to avoid wailing. He knows you. He’ll be happy to read or play cards.” She nodded, the pipe smoke curling around her head. “I also have messages that need to be sent. I’d like you to do that for me. I don’t want them to be intercepted here if I use the royal rookery. Find Beiro. He should be in the barracks with the other scouts. I think they may have a section to themselves. Have him instruct his crow—”
“Raven,” she corrected, snorting at my flat expression.
“Aye, his raven, to deliver them to Bally Pikeson in Quinn’s Quay. He’ll hand them out to the various captains who come to the tobacco warehouse.”
“Anything else?” She tucked the notes down into her hollow leg.
“Nay, not that I can think of right now.” Bells rang out. Six peals. “That’s the call to evening prayers.” I sat back, pulled a bottle of wine out from under the covers, tugged the cork free with my teeth, and offered the bottle to Hyla. “Thank the witches that we’re reprobates and heathens.”
“To heathens,” she stated before downing a long pull.
