“How long have you been sitting there?” Reven asked. Serai merely grinned, drawing a bare knee up to her chest so she could prop her chin on it.
“Here? Three days and some hours after breakfast,” she replied. Reven blinked at her. Three days? “Do you feel better now? You were very sick.”
He did not remember being sick, nor did he remember anything beyond the Hex Storm that struck their tiny ship along their crossing from Kalaegh to Avir.
“Are we…” he began, forcing himself upright. His head screamed at him for such a bold action. The bard groaned again and curled back up into a ball on his pillows.
“Avir,” Serai finished. “Liam told me to not move. I moved. I had to urinate, and I got hungry.”
Reven opened his eyes again, frowning at this gem of a creature who was so literal, so pure, so terrifyingly simple it made his head hurt. No, it was not Serai that made his head hurt; it was something else.
Something just out of reach. He sat up again, slower this time, and made sure to press in on his temples with the heels of his palms just in case. It helped, the headache not as hateful and the vertigo nearly imperceptible. He saw people moving back and forth through the window directly ahead of him, heard their steps falling on the wood planks that made up the walkways and bridges of the floating city. Over two hundred ships docked in Avir, all of them anchored to a shallow point created by a single, tiny mountain where the ruling guild built their fortress. Avir was not the only city of its kind but was, by far, the largest of the four that Reven knew of.
“When did I get sick?” Reven asked, still confused.
“You had the fever. After the storm. It hurt you. There was too much Power and you have no audeas.”
“I have no… what?” he asked. Not everything she said made sense. He could see the wheels turning in her mind. She wanted to explain but did not have the right words to do so. He waited, rubbing his eyes and re-acclimating to being upright. Liam claimed the bard would fall into fever fits from time to time though Reven never remembered them. Liam, the bard was still learning, liked to claim a lot of things.
“Oh, good, yer up,” the devil said as he walked into the room. “Pack up, we leavin’.”
“Didn’t we just get here?” Reven sighed. He felt drained, felt sick, and wanted nothing more than to crawl back into the soft feather mattress he’d been in and hide for another day or two.
“Yeah - three days gone, mate. Been sleepin’ it all away. Una’s given us a letter o‘commendation t‘the cartel lord in Mahala. We get in good wid 'em, we’ll be set f’life, mate.”
Reven did not have the capacity to sort out Liam’s lilting, drawling massacre of the spoken word.
“Girl, ‘ave we not had this discussion a’ready? Pants! They are a requirement among the general populace,” Liam barked, tossing things randomly into trunks and canvas bags. Ajana leaned against the door frame, shaking her head with a grin. Apparently, this had been a constant argument while Reven recovered from his malaise. He looked at the half-olven thief-taker and smiled. She smiled back, reminding him why he stuck around, why he put up with Liam’s absurdities.
“I am not outside,” Serai argued, yanking what few things she’d claimed as hers from Liam’s hand. The bickering continued until everything was packed and loaded onto a wagon bound for the Port Circle inside the Grand Fortress. Pack animals were not allowed in Avir, all wagons more like two-wheeled carts that were either hauled by hungry children looking to make fast coin, or by odd, salamander-like creatures that slithered along on four squat legs with webbed toes and slimy skin. They were rather large, easily the size of a gator without all the teeth.
“The jump from here to Mahala is too far,” Reven noted as they waited in the dank, dark corner of the fortress where the Port Circle was built. Reven did not care for this particular Circle. To be quite honest, he didn’t care for most things involving pirates. The construction of the Circle was not entirely stable, always in need of repair and recharging. Once, Reven was used for such a task at Liam’s offering, something Liam regretted when the bard was able to stand without spinning in place. In fact, Liam’s nose still bent to the right for that nonsense.
“We need t’make a stop first,” Liam whispered. Reven glanced at the thief-taker and sighed. Anywhere Liam had to be was anywhere Reven wanted to be far from.
***
Kaleo sagged as he stood before the Chateaus de Soie. Every window had a candle in it, the little flickers of light dancing against the pane of glass. All the guild houses in Grolly had a similar appearance, with scalloped eaves and swings on the porches. Kaleo often wondered if the rest of Damaskha was the same but never really had the opportunity to find out. The trip from Fromaige was done mostly on country roads or on the back of a wagon. He saw farms and small homes or the occasional water wheel. Most times, he saw his dragging feet. His travel experience, he was finding, was quite limited until recently. While he had traveled with his father, it was to allied nations; to large cities of wealth or to the outlying areas of their own nation.
Before The Fall, Grolly was a common visitation spot for him and his father. The Phoenix Empire did business with all the guild houses there from textiles and spices to laborers and personal escorts. In fact, Kaleo and his cousin would visit the very house he stood in front of thinking they were so grown and experienced. Ha! They were
