"I wasn’t even able to enjoy the grass," I muttered, watching the town of Lacquer and its surrounding greenness shrink into the distance as the ship sailed back into open sea.
It was a sinking feeling to know we were heading toward days of nothing but blue on every side—blue waters, blue skies. I didn’t know I would co to hate the color one day.
Pink was the color I had always hated. It reminded of the pungent flowery perfu my mother wore. I also hated orange—though only when it was on clothes. For so reason, it was always an eyesore on people. Yet I had no problem with the orange of a setting sun or autumn leaves falling from the trees.
"Don’t be too downtrodden, Master Devon. We’ll have another stop-over in a month," Clifford assured .
I sighed even deeper at that. Even after just two weeks without land, I was already sick of it all. Now I’d have to endure twice that ti. And my last mory of green grass was already tainted with the sight and sll of blood, and the shouts and groans of the dying.
"The boredom... it’s going to kill ," I said, weakly leaning my chin and hands against the railing. I knew I was whining, but it was becoming unbearable.
"Do you read, Master Devon?" Clifford asked suddenly, his gaze drifting over the endless blue.
I perked up. "I do. Why? Do you happen to have brought books with you, Master Clifford?"
"I have books..." he chuckled. "But I’m not sure if they’ll be to your taste."
"I’m so bored I’d even read a genealogy book. Or a monk’s diary," I told him.
His face lit up. "A monk’s diary? I happen to have sothing similar. It’s a love story about a bishop and a female parishioner... who turns out to be a demon in disguise."
Well, that explained a lot about his weird accusations lately. "And what’s the na of this... uhmm... work?"
"It’s a little long." He knitted his brow, thinking. "The Pious Labors of His Grace, the Bishop of Windre—or Winderre rather—Being an Account of His Unshaken Devotion to Duty," he began reciting.
"That’s a little lo—"
"—And the Unusual Persistence of a Certain Female Parishioner and the Strange and Calamitous Consequences Which Did Therefrom Ensue."
"Ah, a summary."
He shook his head. "No, that’s the title."
"You have the summary for the title?" I asked, genuinely perplexed. In my personal opinion, titles should have so subtlety. Three, four words at most—not an entire sentence giving away the whole gist.
"It’s the norm, actually... and sort of clever," Clifford defended. "Books are expensive, and people want to know exactly what they’re getting into."
I nodded. It did make so sense. "Well, do you have other books?"
"Yes. I’ll bring out a few so you can choose," he said.
Without waiting for my answer, he hurried toward the hatch leading down to the cabins.
For once, I had a rare mont alone. Edmund and Elena hadn’t co to pester . I hadn’t even seen them all day. The young lady must still have been in shock. As if the battlefield wasn’t enough, last night’s dinner had been a nightmare with the adults’ bickering.
Clifford quickly returned, faster than I expected. He didn’t even have books in his hands. I doubted he’d even reached the hatch.
Edmund followed behind him.
"You’re wanted at the Captain’s Cabin," Clifford said.
"The baron wants to talk to you," Edmund added, and the way he said it didn’t sound like good news.
---
I had never been inside the Captain’s Cabin before. It was a place reserved for the expedition leader and the most important guests. To be called there was typically an honor. I guessed I was being summoned to be thanked, but Edmund’s strangely quiet deanor made doubt that.
Only when I stepped inside and was greeted with a smile by Sir Lawrence did I feel so relief.
"Ah... good to et you again, Master Devon. The unsung hero of yesterday," Sir Lawrence bead.
It caught completely off guard when he pulled into a bear hug. He slled of smoke, tobacco, and sweat. Still, it was oddly nice—warm and familiar.
He released and placed his hands firmly on my shoulders. "What an admirable job you did, guarding the young lady! I heard the rcenaries had stolen your horses, and yet you still managed to get her safely to the far bank!"
"I just did what I was told," I said, genuinely proud of myself but worried he would press for details. I’d have to start making things up, and the last ti I lied to the old man he read like an open book.
"The baron wants to thank you personally," the knight said, gesturing toward the window.
There, sitting on an upholstered armchair with a blanket around him, was a pale, weary figure. So pale I almost didn’t recognize him at first—it was the baron.
Yesterday’s battle had taken its toll. Mana exhaustion could be deadly, and he looked every bit the part of a man drained to the edge.
I bowed politely and forced a smile, even as his miserable state unsettled .
"How old are you, young sir?" he asked hoarsely. His lips were cracked, nearly the sa color as his skin.
"Sixteen, sir," I answered.
He smiled faintly and glanced down. "You’re the sa age as my little Elly then."
Only then did I notice the tangle of blonde hair resting against his chest. Elena, out cold and tucked under the sa blanket. She looked like she had cried herself to sleep.
"She made sure to tell it was you who brought her safely to the far bank," Lord Greylock continued. "More than two-thirds of the rearguard and the camp followers are either dead or missing... Without you, my Elena would have been among them."
His words were sincere, and so they struck more deeply than I expected. But I was rarely complinted in life, and I never knew how to properly react.
"I guess the gods were watching over her that day," I said at last. It sounded cheesy, but it was safe.
"Damn the gods," Lord Greylock muttered calmly. "It is thanks to you, young master."
"I’ve asked Sir Lawrence to give you unlimited access to everything we have in the hold, and a purse of fifty gold coins."
Reviews
All reviews (0)