Dragon of Eriden - The Complete Collection

by Samantha Jacobey

  No, her tears were for something far deeper; far darker. Her so-called parents had kept their secret and could have taken it to the grave, if her mother’s conscience had not gotten the better of her on her deathbed. Smelling her rose again, Ami almost wished that she had.

  Flicking her gaze over at the man next to her as she slowly lowered the flower, Amicia caught the smallest of smiles on Rupert’s lips. He thinks I will relent, she surmised. Now that her parents were gone, why shouldn’t she? A miller’s wife she could be and bear his children. The idea of it sent the stone in her gut rolling. Never.

  Returning her gaze to the front of the crowded room, she glared at her mother’s wrapped corpse. Laid upon the alter, the mourners would pray for her soul in the hope that she would find peace in the next life. Her jaw growing tight, Ami found herself unable to join them.

  Anger and sadness had hardened her heart. For six days, her mother had lived with her admission hanging between them. For seven nights, Amicia had tossed and turned in her tiny bed, unable to sleep; unable to fathom the magnitude of their lie by omission.

  The service ended, and Rupert clasped her empty hand to guide her. Out in the front of the parish, they gathered into a sea of moving bodies, as the number who had come out for the ceremony indeed numbered many. Walking in a slow procession, they made their way to the cemetery that lay on the other end of town. They followed the wagon that held Arely’s swathed body, and Amicia felt numb as she placed one foot in front of the other. Marching along, the creak of the wagon wheels played as if they were an organ, adding dulcet tones to the songs of the crowd as they sang in low, reverent voices.

  Looking around her, she could feel the eyes of many upon them as Rupert provided her a steady arm on which to lean. Twisting the stem of her gift with her agile fingers, she considered the shy gentleman who had presented it to her. She had not seen him among the mourners, but she felt touched by his thoughtfulness as she breathed in its aroma.

  Her thoughts jumbled, she briefly wondered what would become of her parents’ house and meadow. They would be hers by right of inheritance, but she held no desire to keep them. An old house, a few acres of land filled with gardens and patches of wild berries. It would have made a nice home for a family of her own. A place for her future if she had wanted it.

  Glancing up at the man next to her, she pondered how things could have been. If he had been her lover or if her heart had been more receptive to his attempts at courtship. Rupert Miller had not been the kindest of men, but he had been decent enough. Respectful. That’s a word she could use to describe him. The idea of it brought a small smile to her lips, and she emitted a brief, spastic laugh before tearing her eyes away and placing them once again on the cart before her.

  Rupert had been a close family friend when she was a child, and if her father’s health had not failed, she felt certain he would have offered him her hand when she came of age. But they had needed tending, and in their selfishness, they had kept her for themselves. Her lips pursed, she felt grateful once more that they had. A respectful man does not a husband make, she felt sure.

  Arriving in the field of stones, the mourners waited for Arely to be laid in her resting place, then moved forward to form a large crescent around the open hole. After another brief prayer, they filed past to pay their final respects, each dropping a handful of soil into the grave.

  Waiting until all of the others had said their goodbyes and returned to their lives, Amicia came forward, allowing the dirt to sprinkle loosely between her fingers. Watching it fall, she whispered her forgiveness to the woman who had left her behind. I know you did what you thought was best, mum. But the future is now mine to decide, and I know I will never stand in this place again.

  Ami had not formulated her plan. Her fear of what lay ahead had not allowed her the clarity of thought to do so. She had been caught up in the anger and pain her parents’ dishonesty had twisted within her. However, as the earth slipped from her hand, it carried her anguish with it, sprinkling it over the body of the woman who had loved her and cared for her in the only way she knew how.

  As the last grains trickled away, a spark ignited deep within Ami’s chest, a burning realization that the ending that lay before her was not her own. Follow your dreams to the place where you belong. Her mother’s words sprang from the depths of her being, and she could hear them as a melody carried on the wind. Do you travel? the young man seemed to whisper in her ear.

  A stiff breeze catching her hair, she reached to smooth it as a full smile reached her lips. “Goodbye, mum,” she said softly as she dropped the gifted rose on top of the pile of dirt. Almost wistfully, she accepted Rupert’s hand. Walking next to him, she swung their arms slightly, a sense of joy filling her emptiness and pushing the sadness away. A fire had begun to burn inside her, a deep ache far greater than the angry passion their treachery had spawned.

  Purer, hotter, more robust, she could feel the embers scorching her from within. A truth lay among the flicker of flame, an excited understanding in clarity. She had a purpose. She did have a place that she belonged. And if this woman she had buried here today was not her mother, she had a family.

  Would they still be looking for her?

  Had they ever been looking for her?

  The idea a parent could have lost their child and not searched for it seemed absurd. She knew that they had and maybe still were on some level. They would be pleased at her return. There could be no other possible response.

  Arriving at the parked carriage, Amicia accepted Rupert’s help back into her seat.

  “You seem at peace,” he observed with a smile of his own. “I was afraid you would not take this well.”

  “I’m fine, yes,” she agreed, folding her hands into her lap and waiting for him to join her. He would take her to her house, but it was no longer her home. Her home lay across the ocean. That’s what the fire in her heart had told her. A home and a family were waiting for her, and she didn’t plan on wasting any time getting there, as her days of living in Nalen had reached their end.

  Ships in the Night

  “You haven’t said much,” Rupert informed her in a hushed tone when they had cleared the buildings of the small hamlet.

  “There isn’t much to say,” she replied in monotone. Her tears gone, she rocked along with the sway of the cart, occasionally bumping against his muscular arm. Sensing that he expected something, some hint at what her plans might be, she glanced quickly up at him, licking her lips. “I’m not going to marry you, Rupert. I meant it. I am not a miller’s wife.”

  “Nonsense,” he countered evenly, prepared to make his case again. “If you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you. I can make the repairs on your house, and you can continue to run your family’s trade. I can sell the mill or hire an overseer for the day to day of it all…” he rambled, his voice growing quieter with every word.

  His tough exterior seemed to crumble, which surprised her. She had expected him to be angrier or to put up more of a fuss. Staring straight ahead, Ami did not reply. Her jaw set, she considered allowing him to believe their betrothal lay ahead just to shut him up. When they arrived at her cottage, she didn’t wait for him to come around and instead climbed out of the wagon and stomped through the small iron gate.

  Close on her heel, he stopped short when she spun around to face him. “Don’t say no, Ami,” he begged. “I can’t bear the thought of you living here alone.”

  “Give me a week,” she said through gritted teeth. “Do not darken my door for seven days, and I will consider your request.”

  Dropping his jaw, Rupert gasped, “A week!” He could scarcely recall having gone a day without seeing the girl before him, much less seven. “I’ll do my best,” he replied, lifting his hat in a small salute before he shuffled back to his horse and buggy.

  Watching him go, Amicia waited until he had disappeared around the curve, then hoisted her long skirt with both hands and hurried inside. Changing quickly into something less dainty,
she retrieved her pack and began filling it with necessities.

  Choosing her second dress, she folded it tightly to conserve space and tucked it inside. A change of undergarments went next, and finally her only pair of boots. They had lasted two years, but she might get a few more if she were lucky. Her thickest wool socks also found a place as she finished emptying her box to locate her hairbrush and a small round mirror. Giving the remnants a final turn, she saw nothing else that would qualify as essential.

  Moving to her mother’s chamber, she searched for anything of value. Finding only a few pieces of jewelry, she dropped them into a small leather pouch. She also came across a stash of gold pieces and spread them on her hand to count them before placing them in with those she had already collected. She wasn’t rich, but it brought her to a fair sum, and she felt more confident that she would have enough to pay for her fare on a ship.

  She paused when she discovered a small dagger that fit inside a plain metal sheath beneath her mother’s clothes. She had never seen the knife before, and it surprised her that her mother would own such an item. Perhaps she had been better friends with the smithy in her younger years than Arely Spicer had let on.

  Deciding to take the weapon, she placed it beside the pouch of gold, along with a pear and the last loaf of bread. Looking around, she saw nothing else that could be bartered, and she knew she was ready to leave.

  Reaching the door, she pulled it wide and stepped out onto the path, where she looked towards town and noted a line of smoke that spiraled into the sky. Gazing at it, she thought of Rupert. He deserves some inkling of what has become of me.

  Returning to her mother’s room, she located her small box of stationary and ink. They did not put pen to paper often, but she had at least been instructed as to reading and writing as a matter of course. Placing the materials on the table, she sank into a chair and stared at the blank page.

  The words forming in her mind, she opened the small well of ink and gave it a slow stir with the tip of her pen. Then, with a slight tremor in her hand, she scripted her final words to Ru Miller:

  My dearest Rupert:

  I have said it enough times, so you must know that it is true. You will have a bride one day, but I will not be her. By the time you find this, I will be long gone, as I intend to book passage on a ship and sail to the west on the morrow. Thank you for your friendship and may good tidings ever come your way.

  Best Wishes,

  Amicia

  Propping the note in the center of the table, she decided to take the small box of writing items and slipped them inside her bag. She then carried her pack over her shoulder as she left the cottage for the last time.

  As she made her way into the woods, a sudden shift in the wind caught the fabric of her long skirt, causing it to float slightly, if only for a moment.

  Amicia grinned at the thrill of femininity the action stirred within her. Having worked on her parents’ farm every day of her life, she sometimes forgot that she was indeed a woman and capable of being delicate if she chose to be.

  Coming out into the berry patch, she walked briskly across the meadow and into the trees on the other side. The sun crept across the sky as she picked her way through, shining down on her bare arms. This being her summer dress, the material had been lighter, with less of it to cover her flesh, and a strange distraction entered her mind as she muddled along the path. I wonder what my new life will be like when I’m settled.

  Amicia Spicer of old had never had time to consider such ramblings. Her life had been a straight line with no chance of straying off course, and it was a luxury she scarcely had time for now. Her skin spotted and freckled from years of hard work in the sun, her hide might have been considered leathery and anything but the soft or smooth of an indulged lady. Perhaps there will be fine clothes in my future, with less work to be done. Wouldn’t that be an amazing alteration?

  Hoisting her skirt as she stepped over a rock, she enjoyed the feel of the material. Not a work dress, but not a dressy dress, she had never considered how such a simple thing could arouse her. I will have fine dresses in my new life, she declared. Fine clothing and fine furnishings to surround me, with servants to tend my bidding. No more leaky roofs and lumpy beds, she swore to herself, her breath coming on quicker with the excitement the idea brought.

  Leaving her musings, she focused on her escape. Avoiding areas where she might be seen until she arrived at the water front, she made her way to a small inlet that allowed ships to dock safely for loading and unloading their cargo. There, she would use what money she had to pay for her passage, and her new life in the West would soon begin.

  Pausing at the top of the cove, Ami stared down at the long dock that formed a “V” in the center of the lagoon. Three of the ships appeared to be loading, as the very point of the wedge formed a wide area where boxes were carried down and placed from above by merchants with goods to barter or sell. Crews from the ships would then cart or carry the smaller crates to the waiting ships, taking them over narrow platforms to board the boats. They would use large rope nets to swing bulkier payloads over and lower them into their holds with large pullies and beams as thick as a man’s chest.

  Only one of the ships seemed to be unloading, and she discerned that it had probably only arrived a few hours prior. That being the case, she knew she wouldn’t bother trying to book her passage upon that one, as it might be several days before the vessel left the harbor. She needed to leave as quickly as she could in case her intended departure was discovered before Rupert’s assigned seven days had expired.

  Locating a tree to lean against, she took a seat on the soft sandy soil, keeping her pack of treasures close at hand. She continued to watch the men as they worked, getting a feel for their moods. They were a brackish lot, and a plethora of curses and foul language floated up to her on the salty air blowing in from the sea. But they laughed a bit too, and that calmed her reservations at approaching them.

  She had been to the dock many times over the years, making her first visits with her father when he had been expecting a shipment or sending one out. In time, she had become the merchant and had a few ships that she dealt with regularly for selling her jellies and spices.

  If only one of those ships could have been here to take me where I need to go. However, not knowing exactly which way she was headed, there was only one thing she could say for certain. She wanted to go west, as that’s the direction her gut insisted upon. I can’t wait for one of them to arrive. I must leave tonight, before my intent is discovered, but how to choose?

  They sailed on an ocean formed by a vast ring of land; continents and islands surrounding a massive sea. She knew the names of towns traders visited; Deernesse, Baycoast, and Newrock were only a few.

  Her mind clouded for a moment, the mission before her felt daunting. She would either have to discover the direction of each ship’s travel or simply find one that would take her and hope for the best.

  While she made her observations, she noticed a large, burly man with dark hair pulled back in a short, stubby puff at the base of his skull. He had a broad chest and muscular build, surely warranted by the hard work of a sailor’s life. She decided he was in charge, as he oversaw the cargo as it was brought up for loading and directed the crew as to the processing of it. Squinting at the hull of his vessel, she could make out the name: Sea Serpent. How horrid! she thought, instantly put off by the moniker.

  The crewman reminded her of Rupert in a way, and her mind wandered. She thought of the long days her suitor had worked in the mill and the evenings he would spend afterward helping her in her fields, never seeming to tire of the toiling that must be done in either location. After a few minutes of daydreams featuring children and a future that would never be theirs, she pulled herself back to the present and her task at hand.

  The sun low in the sky, Amicia decided the time had come. Dusting the sand from her skirt, she made her way down the dirt path to the entrance and padded along the wooden planks of the p
ier. She forced a smile to her lips, hoping to pass as pleasant as she made her way along.

  Her hair gathered into a ribbon tied at the back of her neck, it puffed out and curled in a mass of frizz down her back. The golden rays accenting the bright highlights as they lay across her bare shoulders, the workmen and sailors paused as she passed, each giving her a look up and down.

  Selecting the ship tied off on the far end, the young woman stopped in front of the tattooed man she had been observing from above and smiled at what the close-up version of him presented. Sweat glistened on his bare skin and he smelled of work. His aroma strong, it prickled her senses. His masculinity did not disappoint, and he appeared to be ignoring her as he continued his sorting of cargo for loading.

  Clearing her throat, she waited, her eyes drawn by the broad bare chest and hard muscles that rippled over his back when he moved; sultry enough to make a girl swoon. If he were looking for a woman, she felt certain he would have no difficulty locating one willing to share his company. “Excuse me, sir,” she stated confidently, lifting her nose as she addressed him. “Who might I speak to about booking passage on this vessel?”

  Bent over a large crate, inspecting its contents, the man froze, then tilted his head to peer at her dirty toes before straightening to his full height and glaring down at her. “Book passage?” he grunted. “This ain’t a luxury liner, ma’am,” he replied in a surly manner. “This here’s cargo.” He indicated their haul with a flick of his wrist.

  “Yes, of course it is,” she stood straighter, “but surely you have room for a passenger, especially one willing to pay.”

  Grinning, the Mate glanced around at his fellow crewmen, evaluating their response to a woman on board their vessel. “I’m the first officer, and I assure you, we don’t take passengers, paying or otherwise,” he smirked, then turned his back on her to continue his task.