by Rebecca Grey
I roll my eyes, the movement much too similar to the Captain's before his untimely death. Whatever allure Marcello seems to have on other people, it isn't going to work on me.
The two crew members gather up the limp body. Marring drops of red continue to stain the deck as they walk Balander to the edge and toss his body overboard with a grunt. He hits the unforgiving waters with a splash that carries the scent of salt up to us. We need to leave quickly, before any witnesses come forward and all of The Bend holds us to trial. Kill and run, that's my motto.
“On the bright side, now we have us a ship. And we are heading right for the Games.” Marcello hands the sword off to someone else who passes, weighing the words. “With a few stops on the way.” The crewman takes the weapon without a complaint. Then he claps his hands together, rubbing his palms in anticipation. He smiles broadly, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Juilliard, would you give Miss Nilsa a tour of the ship?"
He doesn't look pleased, but Juilliard turns on his heels and starts walking. I assume I'm supposed to follow. Without offering Marcello a thank you or even the smallest glance, I trail after his friend. Though the heat of the Elf's gaze is squarely on my shoulders, I refuse to turn around.
"This is the top deck." Juilliard's voice is dull as he motions around us. Much like Marcello, he is clad head to toe in leather and gold metal clasps, only he chooses not to top his with a hot-pink coat. The unwrinkled leather groans as he shifts, pointing a hand above us. "That's the crow’s nest."
How educational.
We stop just before the shade that comes from the deck that rises about six feet up on the back half of the boat. He turns to me, putting his hands on his hips and angling his head to motion behind us. "Up there is the helm."
Now, I'm not much on nautical terms but I'd say my common sense is pretty decent. I flick my gaze up the stairs. The helm, the big wooden steering wheel, got it.
"I shouldn't have to say this, but for good measure I will." Because he isn't sure what my teeny tiny Human brain can comprehend, I'm sure. "Don't touch anything. Seriously, nothing."
Looking around, I'm not sure what's here that I would even want to touch. The only things on the top deck of the boat are lengths of ropes, chains, and metal hooks or contraptions I don't know the name of. What good would it do me to fiddle around with any of that?
As I leave him without yet another response, he smacks his lips and walks over to a small trap door with a metal ring. The hinges protest with a loud squeak as he lifts the door. From its position in the middle of the sky, the relentless sun shines down onto the staircase underneath.
"Ladies first?" he offers.
I'm quick to shake my head. Hells to the no.
He sighs, but begins down the steps. He swivels, walking sideways when his shoulders scrape along the walls on either side of the stairwell. Even my shoulders brush against the walls as I force myself into the darkness below. Always aware, I keep my head cocked to easily catch a glance behind me, in case someone tries to follow.
As my eyes adjust on the bottom step, I find myself in a large room. Half of the space is filled with crates, barrels, and bags of goods that I assume are the merchandise the pirates sell off to the merchants in The Bend.
How far do the pirates go to trade? Do they steal from The Oasis and come to barter their goods in The Bend where common theft is often overlooked? Only vaguely am I aware that other kingdoms exist, though if asked I couldn't produce a single name. Maybe life in another kingdom would be kinder than my life here. It's too late to ponder such things now, though.
I'm able to view the assortment of their assets from the light that seeps in from a few small windows that look out along the surface of the sea. Green prisms are placed about the space, throwing the light into the dark corners of the room. It's almost an eerie glow.
There's probably alcohol in some of those crates. The thought comes too quickly. Now that's something on this ship I might be tempted to touch. My only downfall would be attempting to read the labels and sorting what's safe for Human consumption and what drinks I should stay away from... like Elfish wine. Elfish wine gets you a different sort of drunk. And I know from the tales that it never ends well for Humans.
On the other half of the room, small pallets of blankets are laid out and hammocks are hooked to the ceiling. None of the presented options look comfortable.
"This is where the crew sleeps?" I question.
"Yes. Lower deck." He watches me for some sort of reaction. "Supplies on one side, crew quarters on the other."
"And this is where I'll sleep?" I lift a brow. It'd be like sleeping in a den of lions, and I doubt I'll wake well rested. But if this is what it takes to earn the power to help Humans rise up again, I'll do it. Someone has to.
Juilliard snorts. "No. You'll sleep in the Captain's quarters. You think we'll leave a fragile little Human like yourself to stay down here with the crew that only gets their kicks when they come to dock for a few days by the Pleasure District?"
So he is well versed in the different areas of The Bend. Interesting, considering he looks just as proper and noble as Marcello.
“I’m sleeping with…Marcello?”
The rush of stomping boots descend the stairs. And speak of the devil, Marcello grips the exposed boards above his head and leans forward on the bottom step. Whatever dead thing that was behind his gaze when we were on the top deck is gone now, replaced with a glimmer of excitement.
"Oh, I do love my name on those lips!" Marcello crows, with the hat he stole from Captain Balander still on his head. He shifts on the steps. "You make it sound like such a bad thing. Would you rather sleep with the ruffians then? Do you find me worse than them?"
I've known this man less than twenty-four hours of my life and it's already been twenty-four too many. An attitude like that would cause you more strife in The Bend than anything else. He thinks himself so high and mighty. Maybe I should try my hand at sleeping with the crew, just to get a break from his overwhelming self-assurance.
The more I learn about him, the more I'm certain he's from The Oasis. He couldn't survive for long on this side of the wall, and luck like his doesn't last a lifetime. Not only does he have to be from The Oasis but I'd even go as far as to say that he lives near or within the castle grounds. Perhaps high nobility? An earl... or say... a duke? Does Marcello know the prince? And better yet, the question of why he is choosing to participate in the Games still remains unanswered. Glory? Had his demeanor and playful ways gotten him stripped of his inheritance and he saw this as his only fighting chance?
"What sort of arrangements are we talking about in your quarters?" I lift my chin just a fraction.
"I'll show you." He slaps the boards above his head, giving his friend a cheerful nod before he spins and jogs sideways up the slender set of stairs.
When his boots are gone and I can hear him tapping his foot impatiently on the top deck, I grit my teeth together and follow. It's imperative that I keep my wits and sanity about me leading up to and into the Games. I make sure to take my time as I join him in the heat of the day. I've gotten my quick tour of the upper deck already, there isn’t much to be seen, so I don't know exactly where the Captain Quarters might be hiding.
"Watch closely now." Marcello beckons me to follow again.
He stops where the deck rises up to where the helm sits. He's careful to move around my trunk and when he reaches the shade, he starts tapping his knuckle against the wooden boards. Tap. Tap. Tap. The insistent knocking grates roughly against my nerves, and my shoulders rise tightly up to my ears.
"Ah," he smiles as the sound of the rapping changes and he presses a finger into the groove of wood. This door moves silently, the hinges greased and well-maintained. Had Balander shown Marcello how to enter his quarters before he hatched his plan to take over the ship?
Matching the lower deck, small emerald prisms sit in the windows on either side of the room and bounce the light around. There's a small desk, messy with
papers and scrolls rolled up and stuck into the tops of a dozen different glass bottles like corks. It sits in the corner, away from the rest of the room that appears to be more geared toward relaxation.
A full-size bed is pushed into the opposite corner. A few hammocks rock from the ceiling with blankets stuffed inside them. A couple bottles of liquor, many already empty, are scattered across the floor next to a small tray with the butt of a cigarette in it.
"You smoke?" I ask Marcello. He seems much too high and mighty for that. Maybe it isn't even his cigarette, it could very well be Balander's. I stay away from those habits myself. Arron had warned me often enough of the diseases they could cause Humans, and healers in The Bend were too hard to come by for me to even think about risking it.
"No. Filthy habit." He adjusts his coat around him, then the large hat.
"Nah, that's all me." Juilliard squeezes into the room around us, going for what is left of his smoke. He picks it up and pulls a match from his pocket. He strikes it up against the wall, holding to the end of the cigarette until it glows red and a light fume rises above it.
How rebellious, Juilliard.
Marcello places his hand between my shoulders and ushers me into the room, letting the door close quietly behind us. I take a large step to get out of his reach. I don't take kindly to being touched when I haven't asked for it. Nor do I particularly like to be touching others. Oftentimes, if a Hybrid is reaching for you without your explicit consent... nothing good waits for you. I learned that lesson young. The scar on my face is there to prove it.
"You'll be safe in here, Pureblood." Marcello winks without acknowledging how I jumped away from him. "I've always heard that Humans are so delicate. It's a miracle or a testament to what you can do that you've survived this long on your own."
But I hadn't been alone. At least not my entire life. I'd had parents till I was five. Then I'd had Arron for a few years after that.
Juilliard blows out a cloud that rises in front of his face and fills the room with the bitter scent. "I'm not sure how you even expect to survive the Games." He smirks.
I wish they'd stop with the cutting remarks about my humanity, as if I'm not already aware of my own body’s limitations in comparison to theirs.
"I expect to survive because I expect to win. We will win." I cross my arms.
“Win,” Marcello snorts.
“Is that not why you compete? Or do you just not need the riches?” I press. "What's the point in playing if the goal isn't to win?"
Juilliard answers for him. "Oh we want the coin alright. Shit-ton of money. We're going to get you out of The Bend, Nils." I scowl at the nickname, while his voice fills with sarcasm. "You and me. Living large in The Oasis. Doesn't that sound like the perfect dream?"
The horror that flashes over my face makes the friends share a laugh. I practically gag at the thought.
"Should I be jealous of the chemistry between you two?" Marcello points between Juilliard and I. "I wasn't expecting that. Juilliard is a good boyfriend though."
"You know from experience?" I say curtly.
Marcello's smile only widens and Juilliard rolls his eyes. "Don't knock it till you try it." The newly crowned captain bites on the edge of his tongue, and my gaze is automatically drawn to his full mouth.
Tapping starts against the door, leading me to wonder if anyone else knows how to enter this room exactly. Marcello pulls at the metal door handle. Heat from the day floods the room and I hadn't caught how comfortable the room had become in such a short time. How does it stay so cool?
"Oh, thank you," he hums as a few crew members pull my trunk inside the room and then leave without a word.
The ship lurches and I take one large step to plant my feet to keep myself from toppling from the movement. My trunk stays put while all the bottles chime together as they slide on the wooden boards.
"Anchors away," Juilliard whispers, putting his cigarette out and sitting on the edge of the bed.
"You know you can take your hood off now. No one to hide from here. No sun to blister your porcelain skin." Marcello presses his back against the door, bending one knee so that his boot rests against it too.
"I know that."
The men arch their brows as if they don't believe me. Obviously, I know I can take my hood off. I just don't often make a habit of doing it outside of the old apartment building. Marcello had called me pretty earlier, that was only when he was guessing at what my face looks like. Will they flinch when they get a better view of the scar? Joss likes to tell me it makes me look more like a threat. I like to be threatening.
"So take the hood down," he urges.
My hands shake once before I force them to be calm as I grip the fabric around my face. I flick it off the top of my head, not letting my expression change even slightly. I won't let myself react. More so I won't let myself react to any reaction the Elves have either good or bad. With my hood down my long blonde ponytail falls down my back.
A smile like butter melting on hot pavement spreads on Marcello's face. It feels like he's mocking me, but he doesn't say a word.
"Happy?" I say.
"I forget how you can see the aging in Humans." Juilliard lays back on his elbows on the bed.
I'm not old enough to have that much ageing! The weight of his insult stings in my chest deeper than any blade has ever cut. Humans do age, unlike many of the creatures in existence today. I'd say I only look a few years older than these Elves here, but I definitely don't look old. I'm not ashamed of my aging either. If anything, I should be proud. So why does that comment sting?
Marcello dips his head in thanks, holding my gaze. His eyes never lower down to the scaring, though I don't doubt that he knows it's there.
The muscles in my arms grow tired, aching, from holding my whetstone and journal close to my chest. I break the locked gaze Marcello and I start to stiffly move to the trunk and set my items down. I shake my arms down at my side.
"So, what's next?"
Above our heads I can hear the crew storming up and down the stairs as they complete the tasks that keep the ship coasting along. Water slaps against the outside of the hull, rocking us with each swell. Every time I hear the crashing of the waves, all I can think about is Balander's body washing up on the rocks below the docks.
It'd be a miracle if no one else saw us. If we ever return to The Bend, I don’t doubt that someone will recognize the ship and hold us accountable for the lost life. I'm not sure why they bother. They don't uphold any other laws. No one cares. But they always try.
Marcello finally strips himself of that god-awful coat, leaving it hanging on the back of the chair pushed up to the desk. He runs his fingers over the waiting papers, many of which look like ledgers. Is he prepared to take over the entire business? Or is this simply his method to get us to the games?
"Next stop is Kaprisha," he tisks.
I've heard that name. "The pirate island?"
I've never heard anything good about the place, though. Like I've never heard anything good about Elven pirates. Nothing that exists in or around The Bend is good. But a place just for the pirates to stop for whatever sort of rowdy fun they enjoy... that has to be worse.
"Kaprisha isn't just 'the pirate island'. It's home to our next team member. We should be there by evening."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to remember the rules of the Games. I've never put much thought or research into the topic because I never imagined that I'd be entering. With my other hand I tug at the ribbons that hold my cloak to my neck. The bow quickly slips away and the fabric floats down to the floor behind my feet. I kick my cloak toward my trunk and sit on its edge.
"How many people can we have on our team?" I look up.
"Six."
I look around the room at Marcello and Juilliard. "So I'm looking at half of our team?"
"What a marvelous half at that."
Marcello's voice carries such a lovely tune that if I perhaps didn't have such a serious grudge again
st his kind I might actually like the sound of it. With a tone like that I bet the man can sing, too. Saints, I hope he isn't one for singing.
Shifting in my seat, I turn and point to Juilliard. "And what does he have to offer? Other than a compromised lung capacity?"
Juilliard gives me a mocking frown. "I'm glad to hear that you think so highly of me already. But you'll find that I'm a man of many talents... many skills that have proven to make me worthy of competing in The Oasis Games."
"What my friend here is trying to say is that he's a fucking genius." Marcello eases back into the conversation. "Though he might not look like it, he's wicked smart. Great with riddles and turn of phrases. Memory of an elephant, this man." He points at his friend. "Wins every card game he plays."
"Not all card games require skill. Not if you have Luck." Which these Elves seem to have in vast supply. If anything, maybe that's what will carry us through the games.
"You don't need Luck if you know how to count cards." Juilliard winks.
Such blasphemy. I both admire and despise it.
"How do you two know each other?" I ask, unable to contain the curiosity. "You’re both clearly from The Oasis. But maybe this one," I motion to Juilliard's spot on the bed. "has just cleaned up rather nicely, since he seems to know so much about The Bend."
"Tell me more, detective." Marcello props his head on top of his fist.
Sometimes, only if the mood strikes me, do I get the sudden burst of energy to tempt my fate in ways that I should know better than to do. The way Marcello watches me like I've become his very own fortune teller makes lightning crack underneath my skin. I stand. Each step I make toward him is silent, a feline grace that had taken me years to master.
I keep my fingernails long, nearly as sharp as my own knives. Pressing the tip of my pointer finger into his leather vest, I make a crease in the material. Marcello looks down at his torso with a half grin. I press a little harder at that.