Sebastian had to agree. After the sad strangeness of the ice plain and what happened there, the life of the township was a welcome sight. He watched as the somber mood fell off of Selena like an old coat, and she smiled. The cold still had her in its icy grasp and shook her now and then, but she bore it better than she had the day before. He thought he could guess why. Selena had stood where the Bazira had stood and perused the same books. She thought that a good omen or a sign of the god’s favor.
It’s a load of whale shit nonsense. The god doesn’t smile upon you, Selena, not so long as it makes you wear that wound.
Moreover, the information Byric had given them was so old as to be almost useless and had no bearing on her quest that he could see. It had bearing on his, however. He thought of what Zolin had told him, that Accora espoused views that displeased the Bazira.
Byric was right about her questioning her faith. She’s enough of an apostate for Zolin to issue a death sentence.
He sighed with irritation. That would make his task all the harder as he was certain Selena wouldn’t dispatch the woman if she were no longer an enemy. She was conflicted enough about killing the old witch in cold blood.
I’ll have to do both jobs myself. He glanced down at Selena trudging beside him. Her pale hair shone in the lamp light.
Eight hundred gold doubloons will shine even brighter…
But there was no answering thrill at the thought. Only the deepest blackness, like the tunnel under the canyon.
At the White Sail, the common room was full to bursting. Raucous laughter and singing spilled from the open door and into the street. Warm light emanated from the windows and the scent in the air wasn’t boiling blubber, but delicious food and mulled wine. They stepped inside with Niven and Captain Tunney following behind. The heat was near stifling, packed as it was with patrons and with a fire in the immense hearth roaring away. Selena sagged with relief.
“Thar she be!” Boris shoved his way through the crowd, his lone eyebrow giving his face a lopsided appearance. His skin was red but Sebastian thought that was from drink now, not from the burning oil that had splattered him only half a day before. Selena’s healing skill was incredible. Miraculous even.
But she can do nothing for herself, Sebastian thought. What a crock.
“Shove aside, now!” Boris stood before Selena and raised his mug. “To my lady! As beauteous and sweet as you are kind fer what you did fer a scallywag like me. I won’t e’er be as perty as I once was—”
“That’s the god’s bloody truth!” someone called.
“—but I be alive an’ hale an’ I have you to thank fer it.” He laid his lips to her hand and then hoisted his mug, sloshing white foam down the front of his jerkin. “To Lady Selena!”
The men and women in the tavern hoisted their mugs again, echoing the toast, then Boris was guiding her through the room, bellowing at the other patrons to get out of his bloody way. Sebastian followed behind.
“I knows you like to stay close to the fire, so I saved you a seat,” Boris said, indicating a chair beside Ilior. It was nearest the hearth and close to a small stage that had been set aside for a bard to play.
Hilka came around with mugs and wine glasses. “Mead,” Sebastian told her. “The Gold.”
The innkeeper bent close, her lips brushed his ear. “Of course. Anything ye ask, young cap’n. I’ll be quick to fetch it.” Her hand lingered on his shoulders. “Anything at all.”
He muttered a word of thanks and sat with Selena and Ilior. The dragonman’s skin was its usual gray color as opposed to the sickly pale white it had been these last days of the voyage. He scrutinized Selena from under heavy, scaled brow ridges, then nodded at Sebastian, curtly, in approval. His crew was gathered together at a nearby table and greeted Selena with their silent smiles and raised mugs.
“Did you find anything of use?” Ilior asked. The dragonman had to raise his voice above the tumult.
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “There was one thing…”
“What is it?”
Selena smiled and patted his hand. “Nothing. Today was a good day.”
Sebastian hid his scowl in the warm, wet cloths Hilka had brought for them to wipe the windpaint from their faces and wondered at his foul mood. Eat and then drink yourself stupid, he told himself, but stop wasting your thoughts and energies on Selena. She is nothing to you but a pile of gold and a channel to freedom. Your last job…
After their faces were clear of paint, Hilka stuffed them to brimming with plate after plate of food: boiled lobster and steamed crab on beds of greens and drizzled with a sweet pink sauce. Fish stews and whale kabobs, scallops, clams and eel, and a lobscouse stew that Sebastian’s crew devoured bowl by bowl. Sebastian saw Whistle, his chin running with brown juice, grinning at Selena and waving at her with a biscuit in his hand.
Sebastian ate everything that was set before him. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been, and after his plate was clean and a mug of gold mead washed it all down, his stormy mood abated. Boris descended upon Selena now and then to make sure his promise that she want for nothing was kept. Hilka hovered as well, and her visits always included some reason to touch Sebastian. Despite a having a small army of barmaids and serving boys, she always cleared away mugs and plates on their table herself, necessitating that she bend over so that Sebastian had a clear view of her breasts that strained at her white blouse.
“She is very…attentive, isn’t she?” Selena said, biting back a smile.
“Like a pox,” Sebastian agreed.
Selena laughed but then shook her head. “I shouldn’t laugh. She’s been nothing but gracious to me and I like her.”
“I’ll tell her that,” Sebastian said. “Maybe next time she passes ‘round she’ll rest her rack on your shoulder.”
This made Selena laugh again. Her sky blue eyes seemed even more striking when she smiled. Sebastian quaffed the rest of his mead and hailed a barmaid—not Hilka—for another.
Soon after, Sebastian realized that Niven was turned away, intent in conversation with a young man at the next table, and that Ilior was talking with several locals about the Zak’reth war. He and Selena were alone, or as alone as was possible in a noisy, crowded room. Dozens of conversations; loud, booming laughter; a bard singing and strumming a lute…the tavern was full of sound, but the silence between them grew thick.
“Your men are a good, loyal crew. How long have they been with you?” Selena piped up, and he guessed she had felt the silence as well.
Sebastian hesitated over how much to tell her. He’d had jobs in the past where he’d had to befriend the mark, but never had he taken one aboard his ship. That was akin to inviting her into his life and he didn’t like it.
“I’ve had other crewmen come and go but these have been with me pretty steady. Grunt the longest,” Sebastian replied. “We picked up Cur about four years ago and it’s taken about that long to calm him down.” He gestured to the man of middle years and unkempt beard who was drinking rum as if it were water. “I almost thought he was too much of a madman, but then I found Whistle on a tiny little shit-hole on Isle Sabacor. Cur was protective of the boy, and still is. Whistle seems to have straightened him out.”