“Have some stew,” said Borgun. “Warm belly, warm body, I always say.”
Quill made a show of rubbing his hands together and blowing into them. “It never reaches my fingers and toes.”
“Eat now. I’ll find more firewood after supper.”
“It’s all damp!” Quill said. “It just stinks and smokes and sputters out.”
“That’s enough, Quill,” Starlight said. “We have a guest.”
“I’m cold, too, Da,” said Jewel into her father’s elbow.
My own hands were aching with cold, though I didn’t intend to admit it in front of the twins. I picked up my gloves, shook off the dirt, and gave each a testing squeeze. Despite the dwindling fire, they had dried out admirably and even warmed up a little. I slid a hand into the plush ramswool of the first with relish… and tugged it back off.
“Quill, hold out your hands.”
He did as instructed, eyeing me cautiously. I leaned toward him, pressed his hands together palm to palm, and slipped my right glove over them. It was snug, but they both fit inside.
“Gally—” said Borgun.
“Jewel, may I have your hands?”
The girl unfolded from Starlight’s arms and held her hands out, ready. I slipped my left glove over them easily.
“There we go,” I said. “I can’t do much about your toes, but that should help.”
“What do you say, dears?” Starlight prompted.
“Thank you,” the twins said in unison.
“You’re welcome.” I shut my guitar case and began latching it. “Now, you two should get some sleep. Don’t give your dads any trouble.”
“Where are you going?” asked Quill, not looking up from his single-gloved hands.
“It’s only a few miles to Lackmore. I’m off to find an inn with too many beds and not enough bards.”
I began to stand, but a heavy hand on my shoulder stopped me.
“You aren’t,” said Borgun.
“Have some stew,” added Reads-by-Starlight.
“You almost forgot your warm, soft, warm gloves,” said Jewel.
“Well, it is quite dark.” My stomach gave a hollow murmur. “And that stew smells magnificent. Jewel, Quill, will you accept a trade? I’ll have a little supper, and in return, you and your brother can wear my gloves all night.”
The stew was delicious, and it warmed my body almost as well as the company warmed my heart. Over dinner we swapped jokes and stories from the road, and when the stew was gone, Borgun and I scrounged up more firewood. When bedtime arrived, much too late, I sang the twins their promised song.
The next day I rose before dawn, took up my bag and my guitar, and slipped away to Lackmore, leaving Jewel and Quill asleep by the embers wearing one glove each.
THE SEA KING’S EYES
Alix Bon Vallu leaned against the gunwale of a little jolly boat, enjoying the gentle swell of the ocean and the sight of her girlfriend’s rear end making its way up a ship’s ladder.
Alix was no stranger to ships, nor to horses, carriages, the odd aurochs, or any other mode of transportation—though she’d never ridden an icthys and wanted to fiercely. Meanwhile Gally, the sweetheart in question, wasn’t the sort one expected to spy clambering about in the rigging. She was a bard, and a damned good one, and that wasn’t just Alix’s pride talking. But she was bookish, forever studying harmony and practicing pieces so difficult Alix got cross-eyed just glancing at the sheet music. In her button-up blouse and spectacles, she looked entirely out of place among sailors. But Alix knew better. Knew her better. Gally Chaparral wasn’t all she seemed.
Alix loved that about her.
Gally disappeared through the entry port in the rail high above, making it Alix’s turn to climb aboard the ship—no, she corrected herself, handsome little Mariamber was a brig. And as Gally had made very clear as the jolly boat crossed the harbor, a brig was not a ship. Ships had three masts and square-rigged sails. A brig had two square-rigged masts.
Lords Above, how Alix adored that girl.
She stood easily in the rocking boat and checked her clothes. All in place, including the beloved yellow bandana around her neck. She reached into a pocket of her linen coat and withdrew a copper jack, which she flipped to the bargeman. He caught it, gave it a testing bite, and tucked it away with a wink of thanks.
Alix gave him a final nod and scampered up the rope ladder. The brig’s side curved outward from the waterline, then in again near the rail, creating an awkward bulge that gave many a landsman trouble when climbing the ladder. Not a few wound up being swayed aboard in the “lubber’s chair,” an undignified mode of entry to be sure.
Not Alix, though—and not her Gally girl, she thought with satisfaction.
Once through the entry port, Alix regained her feet and took in the deck. Most small brigs were flush-decked, Alix had only just learned, meaning their top deck was all one level. Mariamber had a raised quarterdeck like a proper ship, beneath which a narrow hallway opened onto a half dozen passenger cabins. It seemed she’d been custom-built for her job plying the Ruby Sea between Sunhollow and the Isles of Azure, carrying vacationers to and fro.
Sweating, cursing sailors hauled and stowed the grand array of supplies, baggage, and detritus that accompanied any voyage at sea, even a short jaunt such as this. The ship’s master, a braid-bearded dwarf in a tidy blue peacoat and bright white duck trousers, looked on squint-eyed with his hands behind his back. At least Alix thought he was the master—Gally’d laid out the distinction between master and captain, then allowed how aboard ship the master was called “captain” anyways, and even Alix lacked the attention to follow that one.
At last her gaze fell on Gally, who smiled, and Alix’s knees got that funny feeling they so often did. It wasn’t just the brilliance of Gally’s smile that did it, though that didn’t hurt. Alix had been concerned for her lately, so it was a double boon to see her happy.
They’d come down from Lackmore together, riding the King’s Road side by side, Alix on her beloved Brigand and Gally on the finest mare they could rent. They saw the sights and passed the time, and slept in each other’s arms every night, and Alix couldn’t think of a single thing this glorious life lacked. Certainly she was expected to deliver the mail every now and then—it was her job, after all, being a post rider—but that was by the way, and if she didn’t make best speed on this particular run, who did it harm?
But it was hundreds of miles from Lackmore to Sunhollow, a sunbaked port on the Ruby Sea where the world’s trade stopped in to say how do. In all that time, Gally hadn’t sung so much as a note for coin. She’d tried, to be sure. But the towns and counties they passed through—following the Weeping River as it ambled through the Reeve, rushed past the Gwentwood, wound between the Dwarrowgold Hills, and finally met the sea under the golden flags of Sunhollow—had a bard in every tavern and no need for Gally’s songs.
