by Keith Walter
Charles pulled himself into a sitting position. Realizing he was just a handful of steps from her room instead of his own, he felt the need to explain. “I was just hanging out for a minute. The engines are…a good distraction,” he added honestly.
“Yes,” Grace breathed out. She ran a hand over the smooth metal plating covering the flurry of activity within. “I’ve always loved spending time here myself.”
“I should, uh, get going then,” Charles said suddenly, pulling himself up by the same metal plating.
Grace dropped down to sit opposite him. She leaned her head against the engine behind and caught his gaze. “You don’t have to go.”
Charles bit the inside of his lip as he asked, “Do you not want me to go?” He cursed himself, his nervousness making him sound like an idiot. He tried to keep his face impassive, not wanting to give away just how much the answer mattered to him.
Grace smiled at no one, staring passed Charles to the other engine. “The captain told me I have to relax. I feel most comfortable here.” She looked to Charles’s face and offered an unsure smile. “I would appreciate the company.”
An excited exhale found its way out Charles’s nostrils, and he dropped down to sit opposite the smiling woman. “I’d be happy to provide,” he replied quickly. As an aside, he added, “I just thought it might be awkward.”
“Why would it be awkward?” Grace asked sincerely.
Charles point vaguely upward. “The girls were being a bit crass on the bridge before. I don’t think they know you could hear.”
“Oh!” Grace cried, face reddening as she remembered the explicit questions and implications Serin and Leslie had made. She placed her hands over her cheeks in an attempt to hide the blush, and Charles looked away purposely. “I had forgotten about that,” she whispered.
“Sorry,” Charles replied, kicking himself mentally. “They were just teasing though, and again, I don’t think they know much about ships.”
“You seem to know a lot about my people,” Grace stated, a question clear between the lines.
“Yeah,” Charles breathed. “When I was a kid, because of what I am, my dad had to keep me hidden from the Ancients and the loyalists. He shipped me off, literally, with a fey ship like yourself. We sailed out to some little island off the coast where a bunch of unionists had started gathering, the beginning of the rebellion. Her name was Cliodhna.” Charles was surprised by the strange pull in his chest as he remembered. “She worked for my father, and she was the only ship allowed to and from the island, so we saw a lot of each other. I think over time the heads of the rebellion just sort of assumed she was responsible for me, they were all old fey who were engrossed in planning and spreading their influence. They didn’t have time for a kid.”
“You were raised by one of my kind?” Grace cut in inquisitively.
“Well, I guess, kind of. I didn’t really meet my dad until I was a teen, so she was the first one to teach me how to fight. She also made sure I was properly fed whenever she came to the island.” He shook his head. “But it was all so pragmatic, like I was livestock or something. And she didn’t hold back during training, even when I was a kid.”
Grace seemed to pick up on the words that weren’t quite said. “Did she hurt you?”
Charles sighed. “I’m not sure I’d call it that today. She was training me, and the rebels were getting antsy waiting for when I’d be ready to lead their armies. I suppose they didn’t really have the time to use kid gloves.” He smiled suddenly. “I was also a bit of a brat. Because my father told me how important I was, I got a pretty big head.”
“That doesn’t seem like you now,” Grace considered aloud.
“Oh, don’t let this charmingly self-deprecating facade fool you,” he noted, smirking. “Almost all my fine manners and humility have come from a lesson at her fists. When I was ten I got it in my head that, because she reported to my father, she should have to do what I say, as well. She broke my jaw before I could even finish giving an order.”
Grace sat up straighter, mouth open in shock. “That sounds…excessive.”
“Maybe.” Charles brushed off the sympathy in her voice. “But I learned an important lesson. It doesn’t matter who I know, or who my father is, only what I can do myself. I would have ended up a crappy general and person if I’d lived my life thinking my name alone gave me authority.”
“So, Cliodhna is how you learned about our…physical manifestations?” Grace’s face threatened to burst into flames with all the red present. “I mean, you…and she?”
“Not like that!” Charles cried, waving his hands in front of his face. “She told me is all. When I was fifteen or sixteen, I was kind of, um, hormonal.” At Grace’s questioning gaze, he explained, “I don’t think your kind go through that. It’s when…well, it’s when fey first start to consider ideas of bonding and, uh, procreating. There weren’t any other fey my age, and really almost no women to begin with. I started to misinterpret Cliodhna’s concern for my welfare, and like all her lessons it didn’t end well for me.”
“She hit you again?” Grace asked.
“At first, yeah.” Charles chuckled and rubbed the side of head where she’d punched him halfway across the training field. “But she wasn’t completely unsympathetic. Once I woke up, she let me down easy and even stuck around to answer all of my ridiculous questions. Now that I think about it, I sounded a lot like Serin and Leslie did before.”
“We are…different from the other fey,” Grace admitted. “When I was young, I had little interaction with others. My mother took my development very personally. It wasn’t until the war started, when she joined the Union forces, that I had the freedom to meet fey like yourself for the first time.” She leaned back, staring up at the ceiling in thought. “They were all so different, and I was probably as curious as you were.”
Charles processed her words, glad at least she still felt comfortable enough to be open with him. All those memories of Cliodhna, and now a new swell of emotions he wasn’t completely ready to deal with caused a nagging question to take root. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” she replied, eyes now locking on his.
“Why did you take this form?” he asked, gesturing to her human shape.
She looked away quickly, letting out a long breath before she answered. “My mother took a similar form, and when I was young I copied that. I had asked her why this shape—why any shape at all, really. She ensured me this was the most practical form we could take. She said I looked sweet, attractive, and non-threatening.”
“No offense, but from the way you talk about your mother, those don’t sound like things she would be interested in,” Charles offered.
Grace clenched her fists, balling up the edges of her silky dress. “It makes people lower their guard,” she admitted. “Enemies underestimate a pretty face, she said. Allies never suspect a sweet, young girl might have her own agenda. She said this form made it easier to manipulate the rabble, to avoid an unnecessary waste of power.”
Charles raised his eyebrows, almost impressed by the cunning simplicity. “Your mom is a real piece of work.” He gave a small half smile as he added, “She’s right, though. You could have driven us straight to a Union jail and we probably would have never questioned you.”
“I’m not like that,” Grace cried, eyes widening.
“I know,” Charles soothed, “I’m just saying. Your mom may have had ulterior motives, but she’s smart. Maybe one good thing you got from her.” He held in a chuckle as he saw her eyes widen even more as she suddenly stared at her hands in thought. He waited for her to calm before he continued. “So if that’s why your mom liked this form, why keep it now?”
Grace looked into his eyes again and smiled. “Despite my appearance and limited worldly experience, I am not a young ship anymore. When my mother locked me away, I didn’t have access to the power needed to change. Now, after decades, it just feels…comfortable.” She winked, adding, “And thoug
h I don’t have a nefarious agenda, it does still have its perks. Most everyone was so very warm to me when we first met.”
“Yeah, most,” he agreed, looking away in mild embarrassment. She laughed, and he tried to ignore the sweet feeling the sound caused in his stomach. “Can I ask you one more thing?” he found himself saying.
“Sure, as long as I can ask you something in return.” He was surprised to notice that she seemed to be enjoying the conversation more than he’d expected.
“Deal. So you, Cliodhna, your mother, and even the Entregon: they are always referred to as she or her. Do all ships consider themselves female?”
Grace tapped her chin in consideration. “I probably could not say all ships, but female does seem to feel more natural.” She offered a knowing smile. “In sexually reproducing species like fey, the female is often defined by the ability to grow and nourish offspring with their bodies. In some cases, species can reproduce sexually or asexually, but it is most often just the female that can reproduce on their own. My kind can feel the emotions associated with love and bonding, but we require no input and we create offspring within ourselves. I guess from there we tend to associate ourselves more closely along the female spectrum.”
“So you can love,” Charles spoke softly, not realize he had spoken out loud.
“Of course,” Grace replied absentmindedly. “Now my turn. You spoke of your father and your…guardian. Where was your mother during this time? You do have a mother, right?”
“Yeah, I had a mom, but I honestly can’t tell you much about her,” he answered quickly. It wasn’t a touchy subject, at least he tried to tell himself it wasn’t, but he just didn’t have much to say about her. “My father had been trying to create powerful children for a long time before I came around. He got the idea to combine the moon-charging ability of the converts with his own noble blood. As I found out near the end of the war, he’d taken hundreds of convert brides over the years to try to make it happen. My mom was just one of his experiments. I never had a chance to meet her, and he barely remembered her but for the success he was so proud of.”
“Oh! That’s…horrible.” She couldn’t disguise the disgust in her voice.
“My dad was a real bastard. I met him a few times during the war, and each time I had hoped it would be the last. He didn’t care about anything but taking down the Ancients—not about his wives, his kids, not even the other nobles he allied with. He told me once that he’d tried to do it again, create more like me with my mom, but she didn’t survive the next pregnancy.” Charles suddenly slammed a fist to the floor, the force leaving a small dent in the metal. He eyed Grace sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Grace added.
“Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong. Besides, he got what was coming to him.” Grace tilted her head, sending a questioning look. “After the war, the rest of the nobles felt someone like me posed too much of a threat. They banned each other from experimenting with converts again and decided to get rid of the only noble that had ever succeeded in such experiments in the first place.”
“Oh,” Grace replied numbly. She let her eyes drift to the ceiling again, and the conversation drifted.
Uncomfortable with the stretching silence, Charles began, “So you said before that you feel love. Um, have you been in love before?”
Grace pondered the question. “I’m not sure, honestly. There was a woman, many years ago, named Aileen, who helped me get away from the war and my mother. We sailed together for several years, and I think maybe I loved her.”
“But you’re not sure?” Charles asked a little too eagerly.
“She taught me what family was supposed to mean, that loyalty and compassion were not taboos that would get one killed. I admired her, and wished to sail with her forever.” She eyed the man across the floor, adding nervously, “Is that love?”
“It is a type of love, definitely,” Charles replied firmly. “I’ve felt that love, too, for my comrade Alastair. There were many times I wished I could be more like him, and I tried to appreciate every moment we had together.” He fidgeted under her intense eyes, still reminding him so much of the one person in the world who understood his existence. “I guess I’m asking if you’ve ever been in love romantically, like with someone you might have considered bonding with.”
“Oh!” Grace flushed, realizing her mistake. “No, then, I cannot say I have.” She let the heat in her cheeks subside before asking, “Have you?”
“Uh, not really,” he admitted. Whatever he felt now, he couldn’t say for sure, and he certainly hadn’t felt this way for anyone else. “In the war, everyone was either intimidated by me or throwing themselves at my feet because of my position. It’s not a great way to get to know people.”
Grace tapped her chin in thought, and Charles couldn’t help but smile at what he recognized was a quirk of her character. “So, does that mean you’ve never loved anyone physically?” she asked after a moment.
“Ah, what?” Charles had understood the question, but could scarcely believe she had been so forthright. She didn’t respond, just stared at him with honest curiosity. He shook his head, answering, “Loving someone, really loving them, and sex don’t always go together. I…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “I have…been intimate…with a few women in the past.”
“I thought as much,” Grace said, mostly to herself. Addressing the flustered man, she added, “When I was sailing with Aileen, one of the crew told me that a virile young man can’t help but take a women home if she is willing.”
“Jeez,” Charles said and sighed. “That makes it sound so meaningless.”
“Didn’t you just say you did not really love those women?” The candor was honest, but there was a mischievous glint in her eye.
Charles rubbed his face to push away a growing blush. “They were comrades. We knew each other enough to know that it was to…unwind. It wasn’t like I couldn’t say no, or that they were just anyone on the street.”
Grace paused, mulling over the word used. “Unwind?” She blushed suddenly, remembering someone else using that same word. “Oh!”
“What?” Charles asked, confused.
“N-nothing, don’t worry about it,” she replied quickly. She hadn’t really considered it before. When last she sailed, the crew was mostly strangers that lasted a few months at a time. She knew some engaged in intimate interactions when they would go ashore, but nothing had ever occurred onboard. If Serin and Leslie decided to…unwind, she would have no choice but to know about it.
“For someone who’s never had to wonder about sex, you sure get flustered easily,” Charles muttered.
“You think I’ve never wondered about intimacy?” Grace asked curiously.
“Have you?” Charles responded, perplexed. “I mean, you don’t even… You just said that’s not part of how you create offspring.”
“Didn’t you just demonstrate that fey do not engage in intimate behavior only for procreation? Don’t we have at least two fey onboard who are bonded and fully in love but who will never procreate?” Grace’s blushing faded into a smirk. Charles gaped like a fish, unable to respond to the logic he was presented with. She seemed to take pity on the breathless man, adding, “I know I come off as naive at times, but outside of my exile, I haven’t lived a sheltered life. It’s impossible to live in a world filled with beings like the fey and the humans without wondering about the things they do.”
Charles stared at the floor and took a deep breath. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I know you aren’t some little kid just learning about the birds and bees.”
Grace waited several seconds, letting the silence calm any remaining tensions. “Such a strange expression,” she commented. “Birds do not mate with bees.”
A chuckle escaped Charles lips. “Yeah, it’s pretty silly when you think about it.”
“In my case, perhaps, it is not so far off,” Grace considered. “When I thought about intimacy, I never really
considered another ship.”
“How come?” Charles asked seriously. A voice in the back of his head was getting a little too excited, even though he didn’t really think her reasoning had anything to do with him.
“Whenever people talk about true love, they talk about never wanting to be apart, about a ferocious need to be connected to the other. I don’t think that would happen between two of my kind.” She gave a dour smile as she continued. “To be intimate would require this—” she gestured to her body “—to match up with the manifestation of another. Merely touching hulls would be akin to holding hands in oven mitts. And ships don’t have the…parts to be intimate. One manifestation would be forced to leave their ship, which inhibits our senses. For two of my kind to be intimate, one would always be forced to experience less than the other. I think that would wear on any love, being less than you really are.”
“That’s a pretty wise observation,” Charles complimented. Cursing his own situation, he added, “Being less becomes like a curse, and starts to poison everything.”
Grace placed a hand on her chest apologetically. “I didn’t mean you.” Charles didn’t respond, and she pushed again. “You aren’t less than you were.”
“I don’t think the captain would agree with you there,” he responded quietly.
Grace extended her leg fully, giving her just enough length to tap Charles’s foot with her toes, grabbing his attention. “The captain talked about your time in the war as if you were a great hero. Well, ever since I’ve met you, you’ve been freeing the wrongly imprisoned, fighting oppressive governments, and saving your friends from mortal danger. Sounds like you’re still every bit the hero you were back then.”
Charles opened his mouth, but didn’t immediately trust himself to speak. Something moved in his heart, some block that had been so firmly lodged there before. For the first time in decades, he felt a warmth spread throughout his whole body. For the first time since he lost his powers and Alastair, he felt happiness. He sucked in a breath of air sharply before speaking. “I… Thank you.”