Blood of the Guardian (13 page)

Alec smiled. “Don’t touch me.”

Again, he brought forth Speed, disappeared from the deck, and headed to his room—faster than the gawking savages could see him. He did have one other problem he still didn’t know how to solve: What in the Darkness would he wear to dine with a king?

***

When he arrived back at his quarters, Greer was in the process of laying clothes on Alec’s bed.

“Sorry to intrude,” Greer said. “I took the liberty to make you a new outfit.”

Alec stared at it. “Where did you … ? How did … ?”

“I bought a few supplies before we left.”

“You bought me clothes?”

“No, Master Alec. I bought supplies.”

“And you made me clothes.”

“Correct.”

Alec joined him at the bed, fingering the new outfit. He didn’t even know the Guardian could sew. He froze, a question forming in his mind. “Wait. If you could make clothes, why didn’t you do something for Nolan?”

“I attempted to learn when you found the pair of breeches for him. I spent some time at the tailor’s, observing his skills.” He cocked his head. “Do they meet your satisfaction, Master Alec?”

Even if it was only a white tunic and brown breeches, it was well made, better than Alec had before. “They’re great. Thanks.”

Greer smiled, obviously pleased with Alec’s gratitude. He pointed to the short desk in the corner of the room where a bowl of water steamed. “I assumed you would appreciate these as well.”

A washrag lay folded next to it, along with a chunk of soap.
Soap? Praise Brim!
Alec had been longing for soap.

“I will wait outside while you prepare yourself. We do not have long until the meal with the king.”

Greer moved to leave, but Alec caught his arm. “Wait. You know about that?”

Greer smiled, his old eyes crinkling. “I have been listening, trying to learn the language. I have deciphered a good deal of it, although there are some words I do not yet understand. You see, they have a smaller alphabet than the people of Adamah, and there are far more consonants—”

“Wait! You can translate?” Alec interrupted.

“For the most part, I believe so, yes.”

Alec grinned. “So when can we throw Jezebelle into the sea?”

Greer shook his head. “Master Alec. I know you do not get along with her, but we must do our best to maintain some civility until we reach our destination. I have noticed, however, her interpretations are not as accurate as they should be.”

“So she’s making things up?”

“I believe so, yes,” Greer responded. “I am curious of her intentions. For now, let us pretend I do not understand the conversations.” He turned toward the door, then hesitated. “Do you need a Healing draft again, Master Alec?”

“I’m fine, Greer. Thanks.”

“So the tea worked well then?”

Alec gawked. “So you had something to do with that?”

“Of course not, Master Alec. I only witnessed the exchange.”

Alec turned from Greer. What had he seen?

“Let me know when you are ready, and we will make our way to the dining chamber.”

Alec heard Greer open and close the door, leaving him alone for the first time all day.

When Alec had first been assigned his room, he thought it was odd he had a bed. He figured that, because of the skins the Talasians wore, they would be primitive in all things. The small room consisted of a wood-framed bed adorned with warm furs, a short desk with a chair more like a pillow on the ground, and various pieces of artwork on the walls. Animals Alec didn’t recognize were on one of the images. On another, a mountain landscape, not too unlike Adamah, stretched the expanse of the canvas. The artist had painted with broad, abstract strokes. He stared at that one frequently, wondering about the differences between Talasi and Adamah.

Alec squatted next to the obscenely short desk to wash. He undressed and threw the dirty breeches in the corner. As he scrubbed away the grime of his last week of illness, he glanced occasionally at the door, hoping nobody would randomly barge in. It had happened before, in less … revealing circumstances. Even Jezebelle had flung open his door on occasion. Privacy was not common here.

Alec dressed quickly, relief flooding over him. The new clothes fit quite well. He glared at the soiled piece of clothing in the corner. After some consideration, he rubbed them with the soap and left them in the bowl to soak. He didn’t want to be that filthy again, especially if the girl brought him more tea …

No. He didn’t want to see her. Not that he didn’t find her pleasant to look at, but she made him so self-conscious, almost like when he’d first met Taryn.

He sucked in a breath, anger flooding him. How could he compare this little savage to Taryn? He couldn’t compare them. This Talasian didn’t even know how to smile. What kind of girl couldn’t smile?

He strapped on his sword. Well, he would have to stay away from her, take food from one of the other servers. Maybe Greer could find out more about this tea; he hadn’t felt this good since he’d set sail on this Brim-forsaken ship. Yes, he would avoid the girl. He’d go the other direction if she came toward him again. He wouldn’t let her touch him anymore, wouldn’t let her study his face or try to learn his language. And hopefully, once they landed, he would never see her again.

Chapter Twelve

A PAIR OF TALASIAN WARRIORS STOOD outside the room, flanking either side of the door. Stone-tipped spears crossed over dark, muscled chests. Tattoos traveled over their torsos, spreading up their shoulders and snaking across their arms. The warrior on the right even had tattoos invading his emotionless face. From what Alec had learned of their culture, he assumed the tattoos represented rank. These two were decorated more than a bakery cake in Alton. They were likely two of the most powerful warriors of the tribe.

Greer waited for him, standing near the pair of warriors. He’d dressed up more than usual; the wrinkles were missing from his typically crumpled shirt. He had combed his few remaining strands of gray hair and tacked it with water or oil. He smiled at Alec, giving him an encouraging nod as they headed toward the open door.

They passed the warriors—who didn’t even seem to notice them—into an unexpectedly simple room. A long table, with cushions positioned around it, took up most of the space. Standing in the small perimeter were more Talasians, dressed in white. Waves of steam rose from wooden platters. The smell wasn’t even too bad.

King Kamalin sat facing them at the end of the table, already helping himself to something resembling food. Next to him, Jezebelle sat, her leg propped up. She leaned toward the king, nearly falling out of her low-cut shirt. He spoke to her in hushed tones with no reaction. Seeing them, he motioned for Greer and Alec to take a place at the table.

Alec sat, leaving one space between him and the king. He crossed his legs, trying to imitate the others. After only a few minutes, his knees protested. He wondered if he’d be able to stand once they were done. A pain shot through his thigh as a cramp already started to form. What he wouldn’t do for a chair.

There were no prayers. No formal serving. Alec remembered King Alcandor’s table and how the servants brought in food. Here, they’d spread it before them in a disorganized feast. Kamalin leaned in, reaching over their plates to grab some food. Alec’s mother would’ve smacked Kamalin’s hand for being so rude.

Jezebelle tried to joke with the king, but she got no reaction. Finally, she caught Alec’s eyes and glared. He could almost tolerate the gypsy now that he wasn’t dependent on her to interpret.

Almost.

A moment passed, and a presence took the empty place between Kamalin and himself. Alec nearly choked when he saw it was the serving girl from earlier.

She stared at him, her dark, unnerving eyes never leaving his. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore; he looked away.

Kamalin motioned toward her. “
Methees mit teuoteney
, Rayen.”

Alec’s eyes shot to Greer. “What did he say?”

“He’s offering you this girl for your pleasure,” Jezebelle piped in.

His mouth went dry. “For my—”

“Master Alec,” Greer said with a sigh. “Remember how I told you not to mention my study of the language?”

Alec nodded.

“I have reconsidered.” He motioned toward the girl. “This is the king’s daughter, Rayen.”

Alec’s jaw dropped. Her name was Rayen, the king’s … daughter? The king’s daughter had been touching him on the deck. The king’s daughter made him tea? And Jezebelle tried to trick him into … His stomach churned, and it had nothing to do with the sea.

The sneer on Jezebelle’s face faded, and she reddened with rage.

“Jezebelle,” Greer said, “in case you haven’t surmised, I have been learning the language. And if you would like me not to share with the good king what you just tried to do with his daughter, I would hope you don’t put Master Alec in that position again.”

Had Greer just threatened her? Wasn’t he supposed to serve all humans? She was a human … he supposed. So why did Greer speak to her like that? Not that Alec minded. He rather liked seeing the wench squirm.

The king spoke again, motioning toward Greer.

Jezebelle shifted in her seat, then she plastered on a smile. She stammered before she spoke to the king.

Greer leaned over. “I guess we just complimented the food.”

Kamalin nodded and made a flicking motion with his hand. A servant stepped forward and piled food onto their plates. Kamalin tented his fingers, watching them.

Alec stared at the food, trying to figure out what it was. It had tentacles. Slimy ones. He swallowed, wondering if the seasickness was coming on him again.

Rayen made a motion of her own and another servant approached, this time with a pitcher. Rayen produced the same cup as before—he wondered where she had been hiding it. She set it in front of Alec, and the servant poured steaming tea into the cup.

Alec met her eyes, and they twinkled. “Trink.”

With no need of persuading this time, he downed it in a single gulp. Then she pushed the plate closer to him. Apparently, he was supposed to eat all of it.

He leaned to Greer, whispering, “What is it?”

Greer’s wrinkled brow furrowed. “I am uncertain, Master Alec. But it would seem, in their culture, complimenting the meal entitles you to something more. It would be my guess we are supposed to finish this, otherwise it might be offensive.”

“Do you suppose vomiting on the table would be offensive?”

Greer chuckled. “It might be best to keep it down.”

Alec nodded, feeling a little better after drinking the tea. However, after catching sight of his plate again, he didn’t feel so good.

Ten minutes later, Alec slurped the last of his plate clean. The squid—he guessed—tasted worse than it looked. He closed his eyes, trying to forget the slimy texture. The others, apart from Greer and Alec, hadn’t yet taken a bite. They only watched. After Alec forcibly swallowed the last of it, the king motioned with his hand, and a warrior sat another dish before them.

Apparently, they had only eaten an appetizer before the real meal.

By some unforeseen miracle, Alec finished the next dish, and he even forced down something that might’ve been dessert. He wondered what shade of green his face had taken on.

He avoided the pleased grin on Jezebelle’s face. She’d manipulated her knowledge of their culture enough to get revenge, in that small way.

After they cleaned their plates, two large bowls filled with wax and plant fibers were placed in front of them. The servant scraped a small stick against the wall. A flame came to life on the end, and he lowered it, using it to light the candles set before them.

Alec stared.
How did he do that? Sticks don’t catch fire on their own. You need lots of friction. It takes more than one stroke on a wall.

After a few minutes, a heady aroma filled the air. Floral fragrances, ones Alec didn’t recognize, mixed with a citrus scent. It made his head light and his body relaxed. With his stomach full, his eyelids drooped. He covered his mouth, hiding a yawn.

Finally, King Kamalin leaned forward, speaking. He finished and Jezebelle sighed. She was about to translate, but Greer spoke instead.

“He wants to know more about this new king, Emery Cadogan. Does he have the strange powers of your land, like the previous king?”

Alec held back another yawn. “Tell him, Greer.”

“The question is for you.”

“For Brim’s sake. You’ve known him a lot longer than me.”

“He wants to hear the answer from you.”

Alec shook his head and slapped his cheek once to wake up. The others eyed him curiously, probably wondering if he was crazy.

Alec told the king about Emery, and how Emery had once been a general in Alcandor’s army. He told him how Emery deserted, and how he started a group of resistance comprised of those who also had Shay powers. Alec also shared how he’d come into his own Shay, and how Emery had taken him in. The smoke from the candles had relaxed him, and he shared far more than he normally would.