Chapter 128: Aella’s Journey
The next few days managed to both fly by and drag on to a ridiculous degree. Aella awoke in her own body once again, stiff and sore. Nereida spent most of her time in a tub of water, the monks refreshing it every day, as she recovered from being far too close to the ritual of the Star dragon. Basiano and Caleb were being treated by the monks, using salves on their badly burned bodies. There were forever people milling about, in their business, bringing food, salves or apologies. The chaos and noise of it was constant. The only peaceful times Aella managed to carve out for herself was at night, when she would bundle up in robes far too big for her, and head outside to look up at the moon and feel her light. She did not dare sleep beneath her light, not in the cold midwinter mountain air. But even seeing Her made Aella feel better.
But the small room, meant for two occupants, not four, meant that they had no privacy, no time to speak. Her wife was still recovering, and so it was not as if Aella could take her for a stroll and actually speak to her. They still hadn’t talked about Aella’s revelation that she had killed the former king. She was not about to have that conversation with Basiano or the traitor -no, Caleb- about. The man had paid for his betrayal, with the loss of his hand. He was not dealing with the loss with as much grace as Basiano….
After a week of close-proximity to both Basiano and Caleb, and no time alone with her wife, Aella was ready to go mad. This was worse than cabin fever. She wanted to leave, to return to the children, but winter storms and the poor condition of the other three meant that they were locked in until such things passed. It was only toward the end of the week that she got any hope: the monk’s monthly food delivery would be delivered by the merchants the next morning. They brought sled-dogs, and would likely be able to get, at least, her and Nereida down to the sea-side village at the base of the mountain. From there, they could get a ship back to the capital. It was technically longer to do it that way, but much safer.
Nereida was still asleep, and so Aella approached Basiano.
“There was a way you could take a boat to get here,” she said, dropping into a chair without preamble, grace or manners. He looked up at her with confusion. “Why would your family, your mother, not get on a boat, and only have to climb the mountain at the last leg?” She picked up a slightly stale bun, and bit into it, staring at Basiano as if daring him to defend the stupidity of bringing a woman who could not walk up a mountain by the snow-cover, dragons-cursed road.
“They were pretending to do a holy walk,” Basiano replied. “There are things that must be done to maintain dignity.”
“Dragonshite,” she took another bite, chewing loudly on purpose to make Basiano uncomfortable, but the man’s ever patient expression did not change.
“I, if you recall, had no say in any of it.” He picked up a bun as well, but tore off a small piece to put in his mouth. He fully chewed and swallowed before he continued. “Perhaps, Countess, there is someone else you should be having this conversation with?”
“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
The soon-to-be King stared at her, blinking slowly, before he let out a long, low sigh.
“Have you tried?” He must have read something in her mulish expression, because he put his head in his hand. He muttered something about “impossible sisters” before he dragged his hand down his face, making a face that would be at home on an adolescent. “Talk to her. Before I exile you both!” She laughed at that, patting him on his uninjured shoulder, before she stood.
“Exile’s doing me a favour… but we both know you’d never do that to her.”
The rest of the day was spent preparing, meeting with the merchants, who were thrilled to be doing a favour for royalty. She could almost see them counting the gold they’d get from the royal coffers. They spoke too fast, were too eager, but then she did not read anything malicious about them. They were like children who had been promised a cookie for a job well done. She would have paid more attention to them, but they introduced her to their dogs. They were beautiful creatures, with thick white and grey fur that was long and well-cared for. They had floppy eats, big feet and were frolicing around in their pens like puppies. She’d had hunting dogs when she had been young, but they had been all business, fierce and serious. These dogs were exuberant and cheerful, and friendly when she approached them, licking her and barking happily. She made sure to visit with each dog, and by the end she was covered in fur.
She was far less happy once the actual travel began the next day. The dogs were fast, the wind was sharp, and each of them were in a separate sled, bundled and bound as if they were cargo, not people. She lay in the sled, feeling each bump and crevice as they sped along, keeping her eyes squeezed shut against the snow and nausea. The drivers of the sleds were standing, but they were forced to lie down so they would not fall. The wind was brutal and relentless, the snow was flying up around them, and it took nearly six hours like this to get to the village. She rolled into the snow when she was finally released, digging her fingers into the snow to feel something solid. That had been worse than any storm, the lack of control, the speed, the helplessness. She wondered if that was how Basiano had felt when they had ridden out the storm and crashed. Had he felt that helpless, that bound?
Aella rose to her feet. It was dark already, though they had left with the morning sun. Winter days were so short. She picked her way unsteadily across the heavy, wet snow, wondering when she’d get “snow legs’. The last to get out of their death-trap sled was Nereida. Her merchant was helping her up, but it was clear to Aella that her wife’s lizardy leg was giving her trouble. The cold hit it differently, and Nereida was not able to put her weight on it as well. Aella got to the ricketty sled, and extended her hand to help her wife up. Nereida did not look at her, and pushed herself up, ignoring the hand. Aella’s chest tightened. She stepped back, not wanting to touch her wife if the touch wasn’t wanted.
Even if it killed her inside.
They were led into a charming seaside village. The houses were all little brick or stone one-room houses, except the inn made of wood near the docks. There were only two little docks, meant for little fishing boats and smaller craft. Nothing big enough for the Tooth or her ilk. Two boots were moored, bigger than the dozen or so tiny fishing boats that had been hauled out of the water for the winter. The sea was not forgiving in the winter, and she killed so quickly. Aella glanced at her wife with that thought, but Nereida was steadfastly looking anywhere but back at her. The scent of woodsmoke and stew caught her nose as they approached the inn, and Aella’s stomach rumbled. They’d not had a proper meal since morning, and even though the stew had the gamey smell of rabbit, it was meat, it was warm.
The small crew of them entered the inn one after another, each person taking time to knock snow from their boots at the doorway, and hang their cloaks on hooks. The hearthfire was burning merrily, and the smell of bread, stew and sweaty people was strangely comforting. Aella tried to take her wife’s cloak, but Nereida hung it up herself, limping to a nearby table as Basiano and the merchants went to the innkeeper to discuss their lodging. Aella heard them bickering over prices, and she turned away. This was not her problem. Her problem was that her wife hated her, and she had no idea how to fix it. Instead, she quietly requested mulled wine and stew for her and Nereida. She joined her wife, sitting across from her but not daring to look into her stormy eyes. She couldn’t take seeing hatred in them. She’d die of it.
They sat in awkward silence, across from each other at a scratched, dented, beaten up old table that had likely seen more violence than most people did in their entire lives. The stew and mulled wine were delivered promptly, and other people were starting to trickle in. Fishermen off the water, those who braved the sea in the cold months, with bushy beards coated in ice. A younger couple, holding hands as they sat near the fire, a thinner man singing a love song while his partner danced. It was noise, but it was familiar, almost soothing in the normalcy of it. She knew songs and stories and dances like the ones being told here, had seen them at countless ports. Nereida wolfed down her foot without grace, without seeming to taste it. She drank some of the wine, and then fled toward her brother. She muttered something to him, and he placed a bulky key in her hands. Aella watched her wife flee. What had set her wife off so?
And then the singer began to sing an old tune about a siren who lured men to their deaths with her beautiful form and enchanting voice. Aella looked up toward the soon-to-be-King and his brother-in-law, who stood next to each other as if they had become one, each shielding the other’s wounded side. The egg was on Basiano, in a carrier that Aella was certain Nereida had helped him fashion. Both men listened to the song, which became leud, talking about the various assets that the siren would use to entrap her victims. Aella saw both remaining hands curl into fists, each man looking positively murderous. She could feel the rising sensation on her arms, like a torch passing too close. They were going to lose themselves to their magic at this rate, and burn the place down in their anger.
The Grand Admiral donned her title like armour. Songs were just words, until they came out of a finger-wiggling dragon-blooded problem. But for now, they were only songs. And she walked boldly up two the two men who definitely outranked her on land.
“Enough.” Her tone was low, dangerous. “She doesn’t need their suffering, or their deaths. This accomplishes nothing. Go upstairs. Rest.” She left out “that’s an order” by sheer willpower, but Basiano heard it anyway. He nodded briskly, anger leaking out of his every movement. Caleb followed him like an angry, lost child. But they were out of harm’s way. She turned her back to the men and stormed toward the innkeeper. He squeaked in worry, spilling bear on his already stained, once-white apron. His hair was short, black as night, and he was pot-bellied. He had to be at least a head taller than her, but she intended to make him feel small.
“Perhaps, friend, you haven’t heard,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “The soon-to-be-King’s sister is a siren. The Princess of your little lands. Perhaps a change is in order?” She smiled, keeping her eyes cold, her posture still and unwelcoming. “If I hear such songs again during our visit, I will become your very own personal problem, do you understand me?” He nodded, the colour rushing out of his ruddy face. She turned and stalked upstairs, spending no more thought on the small people who sang small songs about those they did not understand.
It was only once she was upstairs that the wind flew from her sails. She had no idea which room was hers. Basiano was no longer in the hall, and could not offer her the key to her room. There were four rooms up here, with four doors that were identical save for the number painted on them. The paint was chipping away, and so the four looked more like a cross. She stood in the hallway that was lit by torchlight, feeling stupid. One of the doors opened, and Aella felt her shoulders relax, until Nereida stepped out. Her wife looked as if she had been crying.
“I threatened the innkeeper,” Aella said lightly, trying to reach her wife. Nereida opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again, but no sound came out, so Aella continued. “He won’t let them sing any more songs about sirens.”
“They will, just not when he’s there.” Nereida sounded hollow, defeated. Aella took a step forward, then dropped her arm down, looking away before she could see the anger and betrayal that she feared. Aella started to apologize, but trailed off before she even began. She couldn’t just… have this conversation in the hall.
“Come to our room?” Nereida asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Aella looked up, relief flooding through her. Our room. Not just hers.
Once they were inside, Nereida suddenly threw herself into Aella’s arms. Surprised, but grateful, Aella held her wife tightly, never wanting to let go. The small room had a bed big enough for them both, a washbasin, and nothing more, not even a carpet. It was a sparse, almost cold room. At least the blankets looked heavy. Aella stared at the bed, wondering if she’d be welcome in it. She just wanted to hold her wife, for all of the distance between them to be closed.
“I love you,” Aella whispered, her tone raw with emotions that she was afraid to name. Nereida sniffled, clinging hard to Aella as if she were a lifeline.
“I love you too.”
“Then… why were you pushing me away?”
“We aren’t married, according to my father’s edict. My upcoming marriage has been announced, and is likely the talk of every bar. I don’t… I can’t sully your name by…”
“Dragonshite,” Aella pulled Nereida even tighter into her embrace. “Love, we are married. They can go hang themselves if they think I’m not going to hold my wife. Your father was a spiteful old barnacle.” She expected Nereida to pull away, but the siren did not, nor did she freeze.
“Did you really kill him, Aella?”
“I… I suspect so. And I’m certain I’m the reason his guards went mad.” The Admiral swallowed, her mouth dry, her heart pounded in her chest and her blood rushed through her ears. She would not flee now. She could not flee this conversation and still be worthy of her wife. “I never meant to keep it from you, but I was afraid… afraid you would hate me. I… I still am.” Nereida’s arms circled her and did not let go.
“Why?” Nereida’s voice was pained.
“Because, love, he called you a monster. He just kept hurting you and hurting you over and over and over. And I wished…. I wished that his hateful heart would stop. I don’t regret that wish, love. I regret everything that came after; the guards and their deaths, the lying, the hiding.” Aella’s throat closed, and she swallowed her fear, forcing herself to breathe slowly, steadily. She could not give into the moon madness. “I’m sorry, love.”
“Me too,” Nereida whispered. “I didn’t know how to… to say any of this when my brother was around, when Caleb was around. I just…” she trailed off, pressing her face into Aella’s neck. The siren took a deep breath, then another, the tension running off her shoulders after a few more breaths. “No more secrets,” she declared.
“I promise,” Aella kissed her wife’s cheek, a gentle, chaste little kiss. It was the most she’d touched her wife since the king died.
Nereida invited her to the bed, the exhaustion taking its toll on them both. Aella kicked off her borrowed, ill-fitting boots, and climbed beneath the heavy, itchy grey wool. She pulled Nereida into her arms, and closed her eyes, trying to memorize the feel of her wife pressed against her. She felt a few of Nereida’ flyaway soft hairs tickling her cheek. This was perfection, this moment. As her eyes grew heavy, the sound of Nereida’s slowing breathing filled her with a peace that she had long been missing. Tomorrow she’d take her wife for a walk on the beach. Tonight, things were finally healing.