“Let’s go,” Ella said. She poured the second half of the ale down her throat and pushed herself up from the table.
The other woman looked at her with raised eyebrows. She had spent most of the afternoon thumbing the silver chain she had taken from around her partner’s neck. John. His name was John. Ella had taken nothing from Rhett. Nothing but memories and images, forever ingrained in her mind.
“Where?” Shirea asked, her meek voice barely raising above a whisper.
Ella took a moment to let her own decision sink in. “North. Let’s sail to Antiquar. Then onwards to Berona.”
Shirea had taken a bit of convincing. At first, she was all talk of returning to her home, a small village just south of Midhaven, called Folinwood. She told Ella how there was nothing for her in the North anymore, that her father would expect her home, she wouldn’t be able to survive on her own, and a variety of other excuses. In all fairness, each one of them were excuses that had rolled through Ella’s mind as well. Though, she had pushed them to the side.
They talked for nearly an hour, punishing themselves with more ale. Apparently, John had liked ale too, or so Shirea said. Around the half-hour mark, the woman began to sway.
“To go North, to honour the last decision we made together,” Ella said, her voice firm and more than a little slurred from the ale. “We will not be alone. We will have each other, and we will have Faenir.” She raised her glass, as did Shirea. They clinked them off each other before draining their contents. That received even more sideways glances than they had already been getting. Not that the two women cared. Not that it meant anything to them at all.
Faenir padded along beside them as they strode through the streets of Gisa, everything they could carry shoved into their backpacks. They did their best not to stumble or fall. The alcohol had given them liquid courage, but it also softened their senses and shook their knees.
“Not a chance,” the man scoffed, his long blue coat flowing around his ankles. He glared down at the two drunken young women and the grey wolfpine that could have masqueraded as a pony with incredibly sharp teeth. He had flat-out refused to allow Faenir onto the ship, even when Ella had stated that she had two tickets, one for her and one for Faenir. “Miss, I cannot, under any circumstances, allow that rabid dog onto our vessel. It is not possible. The guards in Antiquar would not even allow it onto the docks. Now please, move along.”
Ella was sure that Faenir understood exactly what the man said. The hackles on his back stuck straight up, and a deep growl emanated from his throat. Even the man, who seemed so prim and proper in his heavy blue cloth with white storks woven into its cuffs, took a few steps back. Drops of sweat moistened his brow.
Ella was furious. She wasn’t sure whether it was a genuine anger or one born of ale, but she was about ready to kick the man in a painful place and march past him.
Then the stranger arrived.
“What is the problem here?” He was a soldier, by the cut of him, and the thin scar that ran down over his eye was not one worn by a trader or a nobleman. Though, he wore a thick navy coat, with flicks of yellow at the edges, over a fine cream shirt. His shoulders were thick and broad. He was handsome in a way, even with the bottom half of his face concealed with that beard.
The sailor attempted to explain himself until the man produced a piece of parchment from his inside coat pocket. The sailor stiffened as he read whatever was written on the parchment. His back straightened as he knuckled his forehead. “Please, sir. Go right ahead.”
The man gave an amused grin before a serious tone entered his voice. “These two ladies are with me, as is their… wolf?”
Ella’s eyes opened wide.
The sailor looked as though he wanted to protest, but he didn’t. He swallowed loudly before nodding in acquiescence. His brow furrowed as he attempted to hide a glare at Ella.
“Are you coming?” the stranger asked flatly, already crossing the gangplank. The two women exchanged a brief glance before gathering their skirts and shuffling past the guard and up the plank.
“Thank you,” Ella said when they reached the deck of the ship. The man simply nodded in return.
“It might be best if you ride in my cabin, just in case anybody gives you any trouble with regard to your… companion.” The man nodded towards Faenir. “It is entirely up to you. I am in the cabin with the red door at the back of the ship. Number three. Just knock.”
With that, the man strode off towards the far end of the ship. He stopped only for a moment to pull a coin from his pocket, toss it up into the air, and slip it back into its place after checking the result of the toss. He seemed a strange man, but Ella was thankful he appeared when he did.
She was going north. Going to Berona.
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From the Author
From the bottom of my heart, thank you for dedicating your time to Of Blood and Fire. This is but
