*
The doorframe was cold to the touch and for just a moment El-i-miir retracted her hand. This was what she’d been reduced to? Common thievery? She turned the handle, checked over her shoulder to be sure no one was watching and slid into the galley.
It was so late that although El-i-miir’s heart raced in her chest, she knew she was quite unlikely to be discovered. All but a skeleton crew were in bed and she was fairly certain that none of them had reason to come by the galley. Across the room El-i-miir found her target where a large air-tight unit beckoned. She pulled open the door with confidence, as this was not by any means her first nocturnal venture.
Far-a-mael intended to starve Ilgrin. He planned to keep the silt alive, but only just. That way he’d be too weak to cause any trouble. It was therefore El-i-miir’s task to ensure Ilgrin maintained his health so that when the opportunity arose, he’d be able to escape. Snatching up a crudely cut--although properly cooked--lump of meat in one arm and a loaf of bread in the other, El-i-miir pushed the unit shut with her foot and headed for the galley door.
‘It’s unbelievable,’ a male voice laughed outside.
‘I still can’t get my head around it,’ a deeper voice replied. ‘He said she can actually leave her body and go floating around in the sky.’
‘And she’s not even Elglair. Not really anyway,’ the first man spoke again. ‘Not like that other one.’
‘Pretty little doll, that El-i-miir,’ the deeper voice murmured. ‘A damn shame she’s such a sour little cunt.’ The door swung open and lantern light bounced off the walls. ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s only me,’ El-i-miir grumbled as she pushed past them. ‘I got hungry.’ She blushed.
As soon as the door swung shut, El-i-miir heard the two men burst into fits of laughter. ‘Laugh it up, boys,’ El-i-miir mumbled, sneering. With a flick of her wrist she could’ve had them both blubbering like little girls.
With all the stealth she could muster, El-i-miir stuck close to the shadows, crept past Far-a-mael’s room and down the spiral staircase. The steel door was bathed in shadow and as was usually the case it was guarded by a single crewman.
The crewman had time only to gasp in surprise as El-i-miir approached. ‘Go to sleep,’ she whispered, lifting her hand to manipulate his Way. The crewman’s head fell forward and he started snoring.
El-i-miir unclipped the food hatch and with some effort pushed through the meat and bread. She could not risk opening the door, not with Far-a-mael so close. With his intentions so intrinsically linked to the silt it was very likely he’d sense such a violation of his trust and wake up.
‘El-i-miir?’ Ilgrin whispered from behind the door. ‘Is that you?’ With some effort, El-i-miir ignored him and hurried back the way she’d come. She so badly wanted to know how he was doing, even more than that, she wanted to kiss him again. But the risk was too great. She had to keep their exchanges as minimalistic as possible.
Despite her intentions to retire, El-i-miir was stopped halfway along the corridor by the sound of raucous laughter and merriment up on deck. Her curiosity having gotten the better of her, she clambered up the ladder.
Men were laughing, joking and dancing. ‘What’s going on,’ El-i-miir asked a crewman as he stumbled by.
‘Look over there.’ He pointed through the thinning woods toward a vast expanse of scrubland. ‘We’re about to turn out of the Ceal’lu River.’ They’d come out the other side of Cold Wood alive.
Before objection could be made, a mug was thrust into El-i-miir’s hand. ‘No!’ She tried to give it back, but the man danced away before she was able. The dark brown liquid smelt of strong ale and El-i-miir felt tempted to drink it. It’d been a long time since she’d had a drink and she doubted a few sips would hurt.
The Inner Circle: The Knowing Page 49