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Alicent
Where in the world was he?
Alicent paced the gazebo in a circular motion, moving methodically along the spiral pattern of the wooden structure. Were someone to watch her from the outside, she imagined she looked as if she were partaking in some ancient ritual. It had been nearly thirty minutes and she hadn’t heard as much as a peep from the boy or his family. He hadn’t even sent a messenger. How crude was this family?
How dare he.
She had to practically sew herself into her dress. The flower garland alone left her with little patience and one too many pinpricks from the rose’s thorn. Alicent prided herself on her patience, but even that had its limits. This was bordering on ridiculous.
The girl twirled a lock of her hair in her finger, twisting it in and out of a tight spiral. She just wanted this to end already. A quick proposal, a quicker wedding, and a coupling of their lands. This joining of families would make the Elin family the wealthiest shepherds in all of Laithlach. Sure, she’d have to take the Galland name, but, in all aspects but name, the wool empire would be hers. It’s not like Tir really cared, anyway. He’d be the trophy husband, the glorified pack mule, the one making the shipments while she raked in the gold.
Gold.
She’d calculated their weekly earnings once the shepherds joined forces. Over and over, she recited the numbers until she couldn’t get them out of her mind. Were they to partner with a clothier, they could even start shipping out tunics, dresses, and other cloth goods for the public. After all, when winter comes, and sailors need layers, what better wool than Gallandelin wool?
She’d come up with Gallendelin herself — a combination of their surnames. Merely mouthing the word made her gleeful.
Now, all that needed to happen was for that stupid oaf to propose to her already.
She didn’t even care if the wedding band was cheap. Once they took command of the shepherding, she could purchase any jewelry she wanted.
As long as he didn’t leave her waiting like he did Tressa, she’d be fine with it.
The sun had just begun to set over the horizon when Tir showed up. He was sweaty, as if he’d ran the entire way here. In all honesty, Alicent didn’t mind it. She saw it as proof of a hardworking man. But the closer Tir came into frame, the more she realized this wasn’t the sweat of a laborer. If anything, it looked more like fear and exhaustion. Confusion, almost.
“Endless apologies for my tardiness,” the boy said, bowing his head in shame.
Alicent pouted, crossing her arms.
“See to it that it doesn’t happen again.”
“Well,” he gulped in a heavy breath, “it probably won’t.”
This was it.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She could practically see the money piling up. She closed her eyes, holding out her hand, her mouth practically forming the phrase before it happened.
When she reopened them, nothing had changed. There the round lad stood, hands behind his back, gaze at his feet. Had he forgotten the ring? He must have, she thought. Maybe he lost it. The fool did have a habit of losing valuable things. She’d have to keep a close eye on anything he touched in the future.
“What is it?” She said, doing her best to sound as patient as she could.
“It’s…well, it’s complicated,” he said. “Can I be honest with you?”
Oh no.
“Of course you can, dear.”
Alicent cringed as soon as the word came out. Dear. It sounded disingenuous. Perhaps he knew it, too. At this point, it didn’t matter. They were quickly approaching the point of no return. She descended the stairs of the gazebo until she stood before him. He was a full head taller than her, but his slouching posture made him appear much shorter. Perhaps he was pulling her leg, hoping to coax her interest out of her. Okay. She liked games. Perhaps this marriage wouldn’t be as boring as she’d expected.
“Are you sure? You might not like it.”
“You can tell me anything.”
He gulped, inhaling in a deep breath of air. Then, the words spilled out like water breaking through a dam.
“I’m leaving tonight. This is probably the last time you’ll see me, actually — and I don’t know when I’ll return.”
Alicent wasn’t sure she heard him correctly.
“What?”
“It isn’t because of you, or your family — they’re wonderful,” Tir stammered, holding his hands out preemptively. “It’s a thing I need to do or I’ll never leave this island.”
Oh, thank goodness. Alicent had expected him to call off the engagement, or even tell her his parents had arranged a different marriage. She relaxed. It would be fine. She was worried he was going to leave her hanging like he had with Tressa. No, this was fine. He’s just leaving Laithlach.
Wait.
Leaving Laithlach?
“Hold on,” she said, opening and closing her mouth. “Leaving? What do you mean ‘leaving’?”
“I’m hitching a ride on the next ship to Anderthal,” he declared proudly. “I’ve already got it all figured out.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not.”
His eyes flickered in the orange hues of the skyline, reflecting the dim, fading light. He was telling the truth.
“Are you insane?” She asked. “What will you do? Where will you go? How will you make money?”
Tir shrugged.
“I haven’t really put a lot of thought into it,” he admitted. “But I’m sure there’s opportunity out there somewhere.”
Allicent was flush with secondhand anxiety. She wanted to tear the boy’s hair from his head.
“You just said you had it all figured out.”
“I have the stowaway part nailed down! The rest…well, it’ll figure itself out.”
“What skills do you have? What do you bring to the table that makes you unique?”
“I’m quite the talker,” he mused.
She rolled her eyes. “So I’ve learned.”
The more he spoke, the further her dream slipped away. Her woolen empire, the clothing…the money. Oh, Dark Depths, surely this had to be some sort of jest. Perhaps the Great Navigator was testing her, forcing her to stand up for herself. Very well, she thought. If that’s what they wish.
“No,” she said bluntly. “You’re not going anywhere. Our parents arranged for us to court one another. You were to propose to me tonight, weren’t you?”
“Well, it’s a lot more complicated than that, you see-“
“But it doesn’t have to be,” Allicent protested. “You’re shirking your duty. You’re the heir to your household! If you leave, you can’t ever take that role again. Is that what you want? Truly? Throwing it all away just to experience something different?”
“Yes,” he declared without hesitation.
The anxiety reached a boiling point, coalescing into frustration. If he left, so did her golden opportunity.
“Tir, this is silly!” She chuckled, her laugh as hollow as her tone. “You know as well as I do that you’ll be back in a month’s time begging for your family to take you back.”
“Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t,” he said. “But I want to try, first. See where the sea takes me.”
With that kind of attitude, she thought, the waves will claim him in a week’s time.
“I came here to say goodbye,” he paused, rifling through his pocket for a moment, “and to give you this.”
In his hand lay a gold band. The simple, plain design was so uniquely Tir. Not a single thought or consideration was put into its decision. It’s entirely possible the boy had just plucked the first wedding band he could find from a shelf and purchased it without a second thought. The small part of her that resented the carelessness was deafened by its implication.
“You’re…”
“You can sell this, if you’d like. I imagine it’d be worth a good amount of coin.”
She held it between her finger and thumb. To give something as small as this little bit of metal such power over a person was beyond her understanding. It was just another piece of jewelry. An accessory to be paired with an outfit. The world placed too much significance on such a small thing.
“You’re really going, aren’t you?” Alicent’s gaze remained transfixed on the ring. She turned it over the way an archeologist would a stone.
He nodded, a toothy grin filling his mouth.
“I mean, someone’s got to see what’s out there, right?”
Part of her was almost sad to see him go. There would be many suitors, of that much she was certain, but few provided the unbridled freedom that Tir had. Too many men on the island were wrapped up in tradition, rigidity. Tir didn’t care about any of that — and it didn’t bother Alicent one bit. She could see who she wanted, do what she liked, and Tir wouldn’t have had a care in the world.
“I forbid you from dying.”
He smirked.
“I’ll do my best.”
“When you get back — and you will be back — you’re going to apologize to my family, your family, and every person on this island.”
He turned his back to her, facing the setting sun. From the angle where she stood, he looked…different. Was he finally standing up straight? Or was she imagining things?
“Goodbye, Alicent,” he said over his shoulder. “And I’m sorry.”
He descended into the sunset, never once looking back.
——
Feile
To say Feile and Tir were very different people would be an understatement.
For starters, Feile hated a good many things.
Early mornings, long walks, bugs, tall grass, short pants, the summer, sweet foods, wine, the scent of copper, the color teal, and the cold howl of an evening wind were just a few things that came to mind.
More than anything, though, Feile hated her current lot in life.
It could’ve been much worse. Her job was an honor. Not every employee of the Triune got near-unfettered access to the Seven Isles, or full authority to act on behalf of the Triune’s best interests. She never had to want for a bed or a hot meal. As far as careers in Plumerian society went, this was about as good as it could get.
The problem was that she was stuck.
It was the perfect time of year in Plumeria. The weather was just cold enough for sweaters, but not cold enough to have to bring a coat along. The rain was mild this time of year. Sure, it rained all the time, but it always felt less rainy around the early autumn. Why did she have to leave now, of all times? Couldn’t they just wait a few days before shipping her off?
Calm down, she told herself. This is the big one. The one that’ll finally put an end to all those worries.
Focus.
The job was great, she told herself. It was good.
It was fine.
Alright, she thought. Enough negative thoughts. Work harder and it’ll all go away.
A wind-filled sail emblazoned in Triune colors hurried the boat into the murky depths of the evening. At the ship’s bow, the Spotlighter dangled his legs over the railing, his arms spread wide, alight with a white flame bursting from the tiny holes in his palms. Dozens of white dots sprinkled the sea. Trading ships, military vessels, and a few commercial galleys weaved at the whim of the waves. By all accounts, it was a slow night in the little corner of the Great Ocean she called home.
Once this was over, once they finally promoted her, she’d take a vacation. It’d been almost five years since she’d gone a week without working. Five long, grueling years. She couldn’t recall the last time something exciting had happened in her life, save for the occasional Vorthali raid. But even they were becoming predictable. Perhaps this task was simply meant to fill up her schedule. They often tended to do that in order to justify payroll and budgets. Things were slow. This task wasn’t a priority. Or, at least, it shouldn’t have been. If it were truly this important, they would’ve sent a full-timer, not a fifth-year apprentice Threadbearer.
Feile yawned like a cat, sprawling out on the ship’s deck. One of the sailors, a cat-eyed member of the Seafolk, stepped over her, scratching at the back of his head.
“Now, why’re you lyin’ down there of all places?”
“Not a lot of seating room out here,” she replied, putting her hands behind her head.
“What if I told ye we hadn’t swabbed the deck in a fortnight?”
Feile scrambled to her feet, stifling a gag, pressing her back against the ship’s mast. The sailor cackled, a bellowing, deep laugh that reminded her of the rumbling of the earth.
“’Tis nothin’ more than a jest,” he laughed. “You’ve a few days left till we arrive, so I s’pose it’s good that you’re gettin’ comfortable now.”
“Is there any way you can get us there faster?”
“Oh, I’ll make sure to put in a special word with the captain just for you.”
He annunciated every syllable as if to make a very obvious point. Feile didn’t pick up on his sarcasm.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, bowing her head. “If you do, let him know I appreciate it greatly.”
“Do you need anything else when I head over there? A hot meal, perhaps?”
“Actually, that would be rather nice.”
Feile finally picked up on what was going on when he curtsied, tipping his triangular hat and calling her “milady” through stilted chuckles. Pouting, she wandered to the other side of the ship, leaning over the stern’s balcony. Some of the other sailors watched her with some amusement, whispering and chuckling to one another with the one she’d spoken to earlier.
She decided she didn’t like sailors anymore.
Very well, she concluded. Seafolk aren’t known for their hospitality. They’re not like the Mainlanders. Even the country bumpkin Islanders have more grace to newcomers. No matter. She had more important things to worry about, anyway.
Her gaze moved to her shoes. Their split heels, fading soles, and gnarled appearance were all evident of travel. More than that, however, they served as a constant reminder for how far she had yet to go. Unfastening the broken buckle, she held the shoe by its tongue, hoping that, by some miracle, it would work this time.
Placing her other hand below it, she breathed out slowly, tracing her fingers along the broken seams of the soles. A faint green glimmer formed in her wake, weaving little lines of light across the seams. Her face brightened as she pushed onward. Don’t overthink it. Just keep at it. You don’t need your Catalyst. See? This is easy.
As soon as she pictured the object, the lights began to fade.
“No, no, NO!”
How did the others make it look so easy? Why was this of all things the hardest part? She frowned, dropping the shoe in defeat. Her feet practically ached just looking at the things. Apprentice or no, traveling in the tattered, torn-up remains of a pair of shoes was nothing short of torture. There had to be another way.
Maybe she just had to sleep. Yes, she was growing tired. Plucking the crumpled remnants of the shoes from the deck, she tied their laces together to make them easier to carry. Once they hit the shore, though, she’d have to don them again. The thought of the fabric wearing down on her heel again filled her with a distinct dread. Below deck, she encountered the sailor from earlier, though this time, he had nothing to offer but a frown.
“Still don’t understand why they make you apprentices do that.”
“It’s teaching discipline,” she replied. Not that he’d know anything about discipline. After all, it didn’t even look like he knew how to lace his boots, much less tuck a shirt properly.
“All that’s gonna give you is a short temper and a handful of blisters.”
“I’ll figure it out eventually.” The words rolled off her tongue as if they’d been repeated hundreds of times.
The sailor, without much else to say, offered her a shrug, then headed toward a game of cards. The sailors playing looked over at her, then erupted in a chorus of laughter. Oh, they’d laugh now, she thought, but they wouldn’t be laughing when she became a full-time Threadbearer. She’d be rich, and they’d still be here, doing the same thing till their bodies gave out. Then it wouldn’t be so funny, would it?
Just one final task and it’d all be over.
This was going to be quick and easy.
——
Tir
Prentice was right: the barrel was not an ideal method of travel.
To call it uncomfortable was, in Tir’s mind, the greatest and most heinous of understatements. Every muscle in his legs ached. He had to keep his knees bent and his arms crossed just to fit in the thing. The barrel was sealed too tightly to simply stand. Relax, Tir told himself. He’d arrive in Anderthal any minute.
Right?
Come to think of it, he hadn’t asked Prentice how long this would take. The more Tir thought about it, the more he realized that he didn’t really think this through.
His stomach growled as if to remind him of the second thing he hadn’t thought through today.
Tir had barely made it in time, as was often tradition with anything in his life. He’d called it fashionably tardy. Others referred to it as “rudely late”. Still, he made it — and that’s all that mattered. When he lay on his deathbed, would he look back and wish he’d been more punctual? He doubted it. He’d never met a dying person who wished they’d dressed nicer, or showed up to things earlier, or perfected the art of chores. No, in Tir’s world, none of those things made a complete person.
What made a person complete was whether they were brave enough to take a risk.
Perhaps the cramped barrel would be a funny story later, he thought. Maybe he’d start his grand adventure with the time he folded himself into the same containers they used to ship salted meat and fish.
This could also become his grave, he thought. Maybe, months from now, if Prentice forgot about him, they’d find him pickled and preserved. Would they eat him if they got too hungry? Or would they roll him into the water to feed to whatever lie below the depths?
When at last the knocks atop the barrel came, Tir was worried his body would collapse. Rather than leap to his feet, the boy spilled out of the barrel like a foamy beer, flailing his arms and spreading his legs. Prentice put a sweaty palm to his mouth before the first groan of relief could escape.
“Keep your voice down,” he whispered, reaching into the folds of his coat. A hock of salted lamb wrapped in a napkin. Tir began to drool.
“Here.” Prentice passed the boy the bundle. Tir wasted no time tearing into the slab of meat. Relief. It wasn’t one of his sheep. There was something stringy about it, though — something sour and rather cheap.
“Oh, Prentice, come now,” Tir remarked through mouthfuls of meat, his face twisting to a frown. “Surely you and your crew can afford better than this.”
“You aren’t paying for the food, so this is what you get. Now, eat up and do some stretches. You’ve a long night ahead of you.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s your first night on the water. Need to get your sea legs.”
“Sea legs?”
Prentice cleared his throat, grumbling something under his breath.
“Try walking around a little. Just a few steps; don’t get carried away.”
“I think you’re severely underestimating me.”
Tir wasn’t sure what the man meant. It’s just like the ground, he thought, how hard could it be? His first step quickly taught him the error of his ways. Despite his best attempts to stay balanced, he stumbled, scrambling down the edge of the storeroom. Before he could collide with a large crate, a jerking motion from the back of his collar pulled him taut like a sail caught in the wind. Prentice laughed quietly, letting him go and patting him on the back.
“What was that about walking just fine?” A deep cough broke up his haughty laughter.
Tir was convinced he’d been bruised from hours of sitting in the barrel; now, his pride shared matching wounds.
“Oh, don’t look so dour,” Prentice said. “It happens to all of us. Why, when I embarked on my maiden voyage, I turned so green my captain thought I’d eaten a bushel of pipe-weed!”
Tir smiled. The man always had a way of putting things into perspective.
“Can we go up yet?” Tir asked. “I want to see what it looks like.”
Prentice chuckled again, shaking his head and crossing his arms.
“Absolutely not!”
“Why not?!”
“Because if anyone here catches wind of a stowaway, they’ll either tie you to the mast or throw you overboard. You’d be shark meat in no time. Not the most ideal situation for a green sailor such as yourself, is it?”
“But what if I offer to help in exchange for passage?”
Prentice thought on this for a moment, scratching at his beard. Several crumbs leapt from the hairs, scattering to the ground.
“And just what do you bring to the table that a seasoned sailor can’t already do?”
Tir hadn’t considered this. In fact, he’d just hoped that this boat ride would be over by now. Prentice had told him a list of things he’d need to know before boarding a ship, but he’d already forgotten them. Whenever the man brought it up, Tir began to imagine the crystal pillars of Skyrskall, the volcanos of Vorthal, Dindernyll’s boundless savannah, the eternal rainstorms of Elderbach…
“Are you listening?”
Prentice waved his hand before the boy’s head, breaking him from his trance.
“What?” Tir stammered. “Oh. Yes. Um, I could, maybe, clean? Swab the decks, throw the waste overboard? You know, the jobs the others would rather not do?”
The sailor pursed his lips, picturing how the scenario would play out. At best, he’d risk the ire of a crew member; at worst, the last thing he’d see is the maw of a sea monster. Then again, Prentice thought, it was the boy’s life. A naive fool he was, but the sailor admired his gumption. It’s not every day a person decides to gamble their life on uncertainty.
No matter what happened, at least it’d keep the crew entertained.
“So, how do I do it?” Tir asked, leaning on a wayward crate for balance. “Do I just go up there and start declaring how I’ll help?”
“You’re certain you want to do this?”
Tir nodded.
“I’d rather risk it all than sit another hour in that barrel.”
Prentice sighed, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. The boy would have to deal with difficult people sooner than later. Why not throw him feet-first into the fire, see what he can do?
“We’ll slip you up top, get you to the captain’s quarters. Maybe you can make a case for yourself there.”
“How do we do that?”
The gnarled old sailor lifted his thick sharkskin coat from his back, enveloping the boy in an ocean of grey. It was much larger than him and stank of tobacco and body odor.
“Keep your head low and the coat tight until we get up there. We can slip past the night crew without much fuss. Once we’re in there, though, you’re on your own.”
“Fine by me.”
Using the railing to keep himself upright, Tir followed Prentice up the staircase. The galley itself was a masterwork of wood and metal, far higher in quality than any fishing dinghy he’d ever set foot upon. The creaking steps led to a passageway where a sharp, salty wind took the breath from Tir’s lungs. Cold. He didn’t expect sailing to be so chilly.
The stars above caressed the swirling stardust that danced to the whim of the twin moons. It was like watching a flowing river dotted with diamonds that poked their way through the glimmering depths. A few sailors worked in silence, climbing the mast, steering the wheel, and calling out signals as needed. It was hard to spot the Seafolk at night. They moved like shadows, little voids in clothing that hovered from job to job. The only thing that separated them from the shadows were their bright yellow eyes and the loosely-fitted clothing that hung like strips of fabric along their body.
When Tir saw the Spotlighter, he had to contain his awe.
Adorned in a thick woolen robe, the woman stood tall at the tip of the ship’s bow, both sets of arms extended at either side. Between her hands and chest burned a bright white flame, exposing the shadowy shapes of waves before the ship. She hummed a quiet little tune, swaying her head to the left and right along with the rhythm of the song.
Tir hadn’t realized it, but he’d begun to walk towards her out of pure fascination. The only thing that put a stop to him was a cold steel hand on his shoulder. Prentice’s prosthetic. He tapped the boy on the shoulders, pointing toward the captain’s quarters, a segregated part of the ship behind the wheel. Nodding, he followed the man, careful to avoid the prying eye of a crew member that watched Prentice with some curiosity. A faint lamplight could be seen through the glass windows of the captain’s quarters. Prentice placed his hand on the door handle, knocking twice.
“Yup,” a muffled voice replied.
Prentice entered first; Tir did his best to hide behind the man, but his tangled, tattered hair and broad shoulders made it hard for him to do so. The captain was somehow even more wizened-looking than Prentice. The man’s thick, bushy beard had been segmented off into at least five parts, each adorned with a different colored ribbon. Like the rest of the Seafolk, his skin was as black as shadows. A series of white scars broke up the darkness, helping to form the shape that made up the rest of his body.
Without a second of hesitation, the man leapt from his desk, pulling a curved sword from his belt and rearing back to strike. Tir yelped, holding his hands high, a shriek piercing the silence.
“I’m unarmed!”
The captain cocked his head to the side, looking at Prentice with a bug-eyed glare. His teeth were so rotted that Tir expected them to fall from his mouth at their earliest opportunity. His rugged coat, the bandanna around his scalp, and the thick leather boots that pounded the floor with authority gave the impression of a man that curated his appearance. Above all else, the captain must have enjoyed the aesthetic of seafaring, showcasing its lifestyle in any way he could.
“Prentice,” he hissed through his teeth. “What manner of devilry is this?”
“This boy — this stowaway — wants to turn himself in. He wishes to work for safe passage.”
He said the word stowaway with venom, as if he were barking out a curse. The captain kept his sword trained on Tir’s neck.
“You. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t open your throat and throw you overboard right now.”
So Tir did.
“Have you ever stepped into a palace?”
“Can’t say I have,” the captain said plainly.
“I haven’t either, but I’ve read enough books to understand their quality. Pristine, they call it. Took me nearly an entire day to learn the word. Anyway, the thing about palaces is-”
“Get to the point.”
Tir paused, clearing his throat.
“Sorry, it’s a little hard to not be nervous, what with a sword on my throat and all.”
He emitted a nervous chuckle, his voice cracking in the process.
“If you don’t quit wasting my time, I’ll put it to use.”
Tir gulped. Then, he took a breath in, and exhaled. Prentice couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Something changed in the boy’s stance. The nervousness in his eyes and the sheer anxiety in his legs seemed to melt away.
“Stables and palaces have the same thing in common that ships do. They don’t thrive unless you have someone to do the dirty work. I can’t imagine that the rest of your crew is thrilled to swab the decks and clean out the chamber pots every night. In fact, I’d even wager to say the quality is somewhat…lacking at times.”
The captain rose his brow.
“Go on.”
“If your crew didn’t have to worry about those jobs, they’d probably work faster — and harder — at the rest of their tasks. I propose this: allow me to handle the dirty work. Free of charge, of course! Then, your crew can help turn this ship into the finest in the Seven Isles.”
He paused, then, once he felt his audience was convinced, Tir delivered his closing statement.
“Pristine. Like a palace. I’ll be out by Anderthal — that I can guarantee.”
This boy had to have been the stupidest man the captain had ever met. He was bold enough to break into a shipping galley, but foolish enough to leave his fate in the hands of an overworked, underpaid sea captain. Prentice was even more foolish for having trusted the boy. Still, there was nothing more valuable on the sea than cheap labor.
Well, besides booze, of course.
“Pristine,” he repeated, holding out his hand.
“Pristine.”