Chapter 116: Aella’s Cage
Chapter 116
Aella’s heart ached as she watched Nereida storm out. Her wide, shapely rear was momentarily distracting, though she knew it would be days before her wife let her back into their bed after she had asked Nereida to leave it alone. Aella’s cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. She stood, intending to go after her wife, to sooth her.
“Sit,” the Dragon of the Stars barked at her. She did, looking at the floor and wishing she could sink into it. “Tell me, pet, is she right? Would forcing the eldest away cause civil war?”
“Probably,” she grumbled. “Not my people, not my lands.” He sighed dramatically, and then moved back to his chair to sit.
“You should convince her to push her niece towards marriage. A second, even bigger ceremony, something that could unite the people behind their new crown Princess.” He smiled at her over the rim of the teacup, his grin predatorial. She wanted very much to wipe it from his face, but could not without hurting Basiano. “Perhaps have it set a week after yours, so that you may attend, Countess D’Igna.” He stressed her soon-to-be-title, looking down his nose at her.
“She’s not going to listen to anything I say now,” Aella grumbled, looking up at the door and willing Nereida to come back into the room. She wished her wife could hear her thoughts. “Not after today.”
“Find a way, pet.” Her stomach clenched at the word. “The sooner I have a proper, loyal little Scion heir in place, the sooner I can move. I will end my brother’s suffering.” She risked a glance at him.
“Do you mean to kill him or save him?” She was startled by her words. She had not meant to ask the question out loud.
“That will depend,” he replied with a shrug. “If my brother can eat his pride, beg for my help, then I will save him. If he still wishes to fight, I will kill him… and either way, I plan to wipe out all that share his blood.” Aella’s breath quickened, and, very slowly, she looked away. She found her steel, and thought of her wife.
“Will you spare Egaz, your Grace?” It was the most polite thing she'd ever said to the dragon. He chortled, a deep, rumbling sound.
“So long as the boy never willingly drinks the blood of my brother, he may live,” the Dragon announced. “I tire of your presence. Get the Droplet to support the eldest girl getting married.” She scrambled to her feet, trying to avoid looking at him, and when he made a shooing motion, she fled.
She had only made it to one of the empty hallways before the pain and anger became too much. She ducked into a servant hall, leaned against the wall and pounded on the stone wall until her familiar, comforting pain throbbed in her hands, before she collapsed in a useless pile. She hated him.
Aella stayed hidden as long as she could, until her breathing slowed. Her hands still hurt, and she wondered if she’d broken something. She wanted her wife, wanted to tell her everything. But if she did… Nereida was angry at her now, she’d hate Aella if she learned the truth. With good reason. Without Nereida, without her ship, she had no reason to continue. She would dry up and fade away like a starfish left on the sand. Not wanting to give into her dark feelings, Aella forced herself to her feet.
There had to be a way to get through this storm. There had to be. She moved through the servants’ corridors, not wanting to risk being seen by any of the nobles. The servants who saw her pretended they didn’t, for which she was grateful. No one asked to help her, or to guide her. She found herself in the laundry room. The scent of soap was sharp, burning her nose. The washerwomen chatted merrily, full of rumours. One complained that the Soon-to-be King’s laundry was full of soot, while another advised her that was likely due to his grief. Another wished she could hold one of the royal babies, just to see if they smelled the same as other babies. It was mundane, and safe and reminded her of the crew enough that her heart ached anew.
Eventually, when she could stay no longer, she returned to the Cage. The wing was full of laughter when she arrived, as the boys were playing tag, running through the garden and screeching the way happy children did. The nursemaid had the baby, clearly having just fed her.
“I’ll take the sprout,” Aella offered. She took her daughter into her arms, took solace in the way the child turned toward her, sucking her thumb. She felt the little sprout tug on her magic, looking for a different kind of meal, and she let the child have what she wanted. “Is my wife in?” She’d need Nereida to heal her hand, and then, maybe, they could talk.
“No, Ma’am. She went to the market, said she wished to shop.” The nursemaid looked scandalized by this. “She took the Princess and no guard.”
“Nereida is a tough old bird,” she assured the nursemaid, who blinked at her. “She will be alright in the market.” But her heart ached with worry. Nereida did not have permission to be out and about alone, and if the Dragon caught wind of it, he would be cross. She sighed, and cuddled her daughter. She wished she had access to a sword, or her pistol, but she had been stripped of weapons when they first arrived. The urge to just find the Dragon and stab him was very high. However, she was fairly certain that even if she could kill Basiano, she couldn’t kill the Dragon, and he would just migrate to another human host. He’d be even more dangerous if he moved, and would have a grudge to boot… and maybe Nereida could forgive her for the Old Man’s death, but she would never forgive Aella if she killed Basiano.
She ate lunch with the boys, took over their lessons, and fed some of her magic to her daughter between her milk feedings. The little baby girl was a sweet reminder that not all was bad in the Cage. Egaz read to her, his pronunciation halting, but he grinned proudly as he sounded out each word. Alejo talked about his friend, his voice loud and boisterous. In the Cage, they were themselves. A knock sounded at the door, and a messenger dropped off a letter, inviting them to an official “Family Dinner”. She took the note, agreed to be there. The rules for mourning were still in play. She was not happy about that; with her hair down, even covered, she was vulnerable. She was glad, on some level, that none of the crew were here to see her in such a state.
Aella rounded up the boys and warned them of the upcoming dinner. Egaz’s face fell immediately, and he began to scuff his toes in the dirt.
“I don’t wanna go,” he muttered.
“Neither do I, little man, but we must. For your mother, eh?”
“Yes, Gradmiral.” He hugged her leg. “Can I sit next to you?”
“Of course, little one.”
“You only wanna sit next to Stepmother because you know she doesn’t like the cakes!” Alejo cried, shoving his brother. The two of them began to argue. Aella let it go on for a minute, before she put her hand on Alejo’s shoulder.
“No fighting,” she warned. “We have to be a united crew.” He nodded seriously, the joy gone from this little face, leaving a scared, angry boy.
“For mama.”
“Exactly, Alejo. Now, why don’t we go watch the soldiers train for a bit,” Aella suggested. The boys lit up; they loved watching the soldiers do drills. It was like watching a dance. It seemed silly to Aella, who knew real fights were never neat and orderly. Dedication and structure were both well and good, but useless without adaptability.
They all stood on a balcony, overlooking the training yard. Egaz stood on a chair so he could better see. The soldiers were not doing individual drills today, but instead had a tournament set up. The boys were ecstatic, placing little bets on which would win, using chores as currency. Aella grinned at their antics. Damara napped on her, secured with a wrap.
“Enjoying what you see?” asked a vaguely familiar voice. The boys immediately went quiet as Leevan and Caleb strolled up together, hand in hand. Caleb flinched when she looked his way. Leevan smiled at the boys, a sad, lost smile. “Any good fighters, lads?”
“The one in blue trousers,” Alejo said after a moment. “He isn’t… he isn’t flashy, but he’s better. Almost as good as Stepmother.” Aella grimaced at that. But the prince laughed.
“Do you fight often?” he asked her, genuinely interested. She did not take her eyes off the fights as she answered.
“Not since I’ve been here… but you learn to fight on the sea. We’re at war with the Demons, have been for decades, and it's fight or die.”
“Would you show us?” he asked. “A friendly little demonstration? For the soldiers to see how a true warrior fights?”
She knew she should say no. It was a bad plan. It could lead to her being hurt, to the boys seeing her be hurt. Her hands still ached, though the throbbing was gone, so a break seemed unlikely. She desperately needed to prove she wasn’t rusty and useless.
“Training batons only,” she said firmly. “And a ring that represents the deck of the ship. Step out and you are done.”
“I like it. Very well. Give me an hour and it will be ready.” Leevan smiled at her. In his smile she could see Basiano’s warmth. She missed the man, cantankerous as he had been. But with the dragon at the helm, it seemed like Basiano was disappearing.
“I’ll be ready.” She looked at the boys, knelt to their level. “Did you want to stay and watch?”
“Not with him,” Egaz hissed, glaring at Caleb. The traitor flushed.
“Egaz,” she spoke the boy’s name in warning. He skittered back from his uncles to hide behind her leg. “Your mother has made peace, and Caleb has offered to make amends. We should give him a chance.” She shook as she spoke, but she hoped no one noticed.
“Fine,” he huffed. “But I’ll show him what Sissy and Evander taught us if he touches me!” She laughed at that, caught off guard by the viciousness in the boy’s tone.
“What did they teach you, lad?” Leevan asked, clearly trying to regain control of the conversation. Egaz hid his face, and so his brother answered for him, his tone carefully neutral. He had been practicing, the good lad.
“How to fight people who were bigger and stronger than us long enough to get help.” The boy’s neutral face curled into a grin. “By hitting the family jewels as hard as possible.” Leevan burst into startled laughter.
“Your mothers have both given you spirit,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “I’m glad. Nerry was a spitfire growing up too.”
This won the boys over, as he offered to tell them stories of their mother. As he spoke about silly times he had shared with his young sister, Aella retreated, flagging down a servant to fetch the nursemaid. She could not, after all, win a fight with her daughter strapped to her chest!
Aella soon found herself in the ring opposite the young man in blue trousers that Alejo had picked as his favourite contestant. The young man could not have been older than twenty. He was lean and quick. She had watched some of his fights already, and knew that the young led with his right foot, that one of the other soldiers had scored a hit on his left arm, a hit that likely stung and made the arm weaker as a result. He was eager to please, but disinclined to showboat. He’d be hard to beat. She bowed her head slightly to her opponent. He returned the gesture, and they tapped their batons to each other, and began to fight.
She did not push at first, content to let the young man lead. He aggressed on her with sharp quick motions. His strategy seemed to be to force her out of the ring without doing her any actual harm. But she was used to fighting on the ship, to moving and flowing with the ship. She side-stepped, spun and parried until he was the one at the edge. So, sensing that he was in danger of being forced out, the youth changed his tactics. He tried to bait her, with obvious fakes and charming smiles, playing the fool. She had fought Matthias many, many times. That man knew how to play the fool. This was an amateur.
Instead of taking the bait, she offered bait of her own: she feinted, pretending to stumble, and when he went to capitalize on her apparent weakness, she slammed the baton into his shin. He howled, his composure lost. He swung for her head, mostly because it was the closest target, but she dodged that as well, landing a second blow to his stomach. He wheezed as the air was forced from his lungs, and stumbled back, tripping on his own feet and falling out of the circle. She stood up, grinning, and offered the youth her hand. He smiled shakily, as he let her help.
“Don’t be mad, lad,” she whispered to him. “I beat Princess Nereida in swordplay too, and she’s a knight.” He flushed at her comment and mumbled a quick thanks. She clapped the youth on the back like she would a crewman, and turned up to wave merrily to the boys. Standing with them was Basiano. And by his crossed arms and angry stance, the soon-to-be King was not pleased.