Page 55 of Blood on the Tide
Lizzie raises her eyebrows. “That seems deceptively simple.”
“Because it is a deceptively simple plan. Putting it into action is significantly more complicated. Sailors love to talk, but every person in Threshold fears the Cwn Annwn. If they think for a second that we mean the crew of the Crimson Hag harm, we won’t be able to get a single piece of information out of them. Not because they’re loyal, but because they’re afraid of the consequences coming back onto them and their people.”
Lizzie braids her hair back with smooth, practiced movements. It leaves her face on display, and it’s almost too much beauty for me to think straight. I expected to be inoculated to her presence after all this time together, but moments like these strike me all over again, and I’m rendered speechless.
Not that she seems to notice. She finishes braiding her hair and frowns. “It’s interesting to hear the perception of the Cwn Annwn from someone who isn’t Bowen. I don’t understand how someone so disgustingly honorable spent so long wrapped up in such a corrupt system.”
From what I gather, Bowen is the exception to the rule. Honorable Cwn Annwn are certainly not my experience. “He didn’t choose to be part of their group any more than most people do. And, to hear tell of it, the last captain of his ship, Ezra, was a lot like him.” That was before my time gathering information for the rebellion, but when my mother indulges in more than her usual amount of wine, she’s been known to wax poetic about Ezra. A member of the Cwn Annwn with honor? It defies belief. The only exceptions I’ve seen are people who actively participate in the rebellion. Like Nox.
“I won’t pretend to be some paragon, but at least my family doesn’t run around terrorizing entire civilizations.” She says it slowly, almost as if musing to herself. “The Cwn Annwn truly are evil.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to point out that participating in the rebellion would ensure a significant amount of murder, certainly enough to satisfy her more violent impulses. Surely that’s reason enough for her to stay.
But I don’t. Even making that comment in jest reeks of manipulation. Lizzie has no interest in the rebellion or staying in Threshold longer than strictly necessary.
What if she asked me to come with her?
The thought slips free before I have a chance to smother it. And then it’s there, sitting in the center of my brain and demanding a response. I turn away from Lizzie, angry at myself for even contemplating it. She’s not going to ask me to come with her, and even if she did, what would that even look like?
My place is here. In Threshold. Fighting against a corrupt system. Or at least informing for those who are fighting. When this hunt for Lizzie’s family heirlooms is over, I’ll return to Viedna and resume my place in my family’s tavern. I’ll smile and charm the Cwn Annwn who come through our doors and milk them for every piece of information they have access to. And then I’ll turn around and report it to the rebellion. And some day, hopefully within my lifetime, we’ll take down the Council and the corrupt crews and establish a new, just system in Threshold.
With such a higher purpose, it is the height of selfishness to even consider leaving.
Not to mention the fact that Lizzie hasn’t asked me to come with her and shows no indication of doing so. I’m living in a fantasy, and it’s only hurting my own feelings.
“Maeve?”
I clear my throat, swallowing past the burning that takes up residence behind my eyes. I have the rest of my life to mourn the loss of Lizzie. I’m not going to start while she’s still with me. When I turn around, I have my smile firmly in place. “Let’s get started.”
chapter 28
Lizzie
There’s a sadness about Maeve that I don’t understand. She’s trying to hide it from me, too. I almost pull her aside and hash it out right then and there, but she’s a blur of motion, dragging me along behind her to the first tavern on our list. Drash is large enough to house half a dozen taverns that seem to be making good business off sailors, tourists, and locals alike. The city may feel different than any of the others I’ve visited since arriving in Threshold, but the first bar Maeve leads me to is familiar enough. There must be some universal law that says all dockside taverns must have low light, sticky floors, and a clientele that smells ripe from spending so long at sea. This one is no different.
Maeve is right that I’m not particularly skilled when it comes to charm, so I order a round of beer for us and sit back and watch her work.
She’s a master at it. I can see why the rebellion recruited her, because people of every gender and age immediately melt upon exchanging words with her. If I were a different person, jealousy might flicker through me in response to how they flock to her, bees to a particularly intoxicating flower.
What am I saying? Of course I’m fucking jealous. Watching her dole out those smiles, flirting, and just being generally kind makes me want to wrap her in a cloak and haul her out of here. I’ve never been overly territorial, but I want to keep all that sunshine just for myself.
I’m in trouble. There’s no two ways about it. Last night more than proved my feelings, even if I’ve been in denial ever since. Honestly, the trouble goes back even further. I’m not sure when she crept beneath my barriers, but she’s taken up residence and I don’t have the heart to eradicate her. Or the desire to. I like spending time with her. I like the fact that I’m continually finding out new things about her. I like that she keeps surprising me.
It takes about two hours for her to fully make her rounds, including the bartender who hangs on her every word and offers to let her drink for free for the rest of the night. I can tell that she wasn’t successful by the way her brows draw together and her smile dips as she makes her way back to me.
Maeve drops into the chair next to me and leans her head on my shoulder. She exhales a long, slow breath. “No one has seen the Crimson Hag in months. Most of the people here have southern routes or stick close to Drash, though, so that’s not to say we won’t find more information in the next place.”
I nudge her beer toward her and watch as she takes a small sip. “We had our allotment of luck in finding your pelt without having to wait weeks for Bronagh to return to Khollu. It stands to reason that this part of the hunt won’t be easy.”
She lifts her head and smiles at me, and I’m surprised to realize I can tell the difference between her smiles now. This one isn’t the expression designed to charm and disarm people. It’s a little crooked, a little bittersweet, and purely Maeve. “Let’s keep going, then.”
But at the next bar, it’s more of the same. And the next as well. Drash lays at the tip of the arch of islands that swing north from Lyari. Most ships on a north-to-south route will stop in here, whether to trade or just as a break for their crew before moving on. The fact that the Crimson Hag hasn’t stopped in in months, not since well before Bowen was voted out as captain, seems to suggest they’re still in the western part of Threshold somewhere.
That should narrow things down a bit, but this damned realm is littered with islands. Even if we pick the right direction to sail, there’s every chance we could miss them entirely. Literal ships passing in the night and all that.
The thought should fill me with deep frustration, but it doesn’t. I press my fingers against my chest, but I don’t have a chance to examine that lack of sensation before the small hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Someone is watching me. Watching us.