She returned to the narrow bed to watch his tan face. Now she saw the faded scars like claw marks on one side of his jaw and a single thicker scar down his cheek on the other side. And there, down on his exposed wrist, were the oldest ones ... from her teeth. There were newer scars along his other forearm.
He’d gained them all in his determination to stay with her.
Magiere slipped in beside Leesil, pulling the blanket up over both of them and feeling him nestle closer to her in his sleep.
She couldn’t stop until this was all over and done—until all five orbs were hidden away and forgotten once more. But now that she’d let herself remember again, she kept wondering.
Tonight she’d begged him not to leave her.
Was that even fair to him?
Chapter Seven
That same evening, a small, two-masted Suman merchant vessel reached the port of Kêdinern and docked at a narrow pier. Dänvârfij was below deck in a cabin with Fréthfâre and Eywodan, deciding on their best course of action.
They had been forced to wait five days at the Isle of Wrêdelyd before finding passage on this Suman ship called the Bashair. One dark-skinned human sailor told her the name meant “good omen.”
Being so far behind their quarry had pushed Dänvârfij’s frustration to the limit, and she related her need for haste to the captain, a slender, dusky-skinned Suman named Samara. Though she was not fluent in Numanese, he was and spoke it with a strange musical accent more appealing than the guttural tone of the Numans. He said they would make frequent stops, but his ship was lighter and swifter than the larger cargo vessels.
Remembering that the harbormaster at the isle had described the Cloud Queen as such a vessel, she had gained a little relief from that. She and hers might yet overtake their quarry, but on this night, halted in another port, her impatience regained its edge.
The cabin was small but comfortable, with refined wool blankets, linen casings for the mattresses, and pillows of a soft and strangely shiny material. The latter were not as fine as her people’s shéot’a cloth, but similar. She cared little for such things but had been surprised by this trace of luxury on a Suman vessel, as she knew little of this human people.
Her team had not even touched their own food stores, as Captain Samara had made sure they were well fed. The ship’s cook often served savory dishes from the captain’s homeland made with rice and vegetables. Occasionally the strange spices did not sit well in her stomach, but at least tea was served instead of the ale and beer gulped by most other human sailors she had encountered.
The only problem with the cabins was their size, suitable for only three occupants at the same time. Her team could have all gathered on deck and spoken only in their own tongue, but Dänvârfij preferred to keep discussions private. Here and now she could only converse with Eywodan ... and Fréthfâre.
“How long will the ship linger in this port?” Fréthfâre asked.
Sitting on the edge of one narrow wall bunk, gripping her walking stick, she looked different in her new disguise. Dänvârfij had not quite adjusted to the sight.
Back on the isle, Rhysís had “acquired” their new clothing. None of them knew how the so-called Lhoin’na—those other elves—truly dressed, so they had simply done their best with human clothing. This was not easy, considering that some of them were well above average human height.
Fréthfâre was laced up in a long red dress, fortunately designed with cuffless sleeves that ended above the wrist. Her hair was pinned up and covered with a small matching hat. If not for her eyes and skin, she might have passed for a human female of high standing.
If not for her eyes and skin ... and her stooped, hobbling stride, which drew attention.
The others needed loose clothing in order to fight if necessary. Dänvârfij wore the breeches, white shirt, and black vest of an adult human male. The items were all a close fit in length, though she had to pull in the waist of the pants excessively. It all felt strange and uncomfortable compared to the soft forest gray clothing of an anmaglâhk. At least she could move freely, and she had tied back her hair under a black scarf.
“How long?” Fréthfâre repeated.
The annoyance in her voice grated upon Dänvârfij.
“Until tomorrow,” she answered. “They are resupplying some stores. Their cook seems to use much fresh water.”
“We need to learn if our quarry landed here, and if so, when they left,” Fréthfâre went on. “A larger vessel may be slower but might not stop at smaller ports. Knowing if it stopped here, and how long ago, will let us calculate how much—or not—we have gained on our quarry.”
Dänvârfij did not need to be told this. She nodded curtly and looked to Eywodan. “You and I will go,” she said. “If this can be learned, two will be enough in this small settlement.”
He also looked strange, dressed in brown breeches and a light quilted jacket—both slightly short for his height. His hair was pulled back into a long, thick braid, and among all of them he had kept his forest gray cloak and hood.
Eywodan nodded in agreement, as both she and he spoke passable Numanese.
Dänvârfij turned to the ex-Covârleasa. “Should I send Én’nish to attend you?”
“No,” Fréthfâre answered curtly. “Just bring back some useful information.”
Fréthfâre could not answer the simplest question without an implied accusation of probable failure.
Dänvârfij headed for the cabin door, and Eywodan followed her out and off the ship. The port was indeed small, barely large enough to qualify as a town. She thought it unlikely to have a harbormaster, let alone an establishment for such.
A familiar rush of water reached her ears.
Not the sound of ocean waves, and she glanced to the right. A small river flowing into the sea divided one side of the town from the other. From where she stood, she saw several people boarding a barge to be pulled against the current by a harnessed mule on each side of the waterway. The sight jolted her and brought unwanted thoughts of the last time she had herded someone onto a barge.
Eywodan stepped in next to her and peered about. When he then looked behind, she turned.
A stocky young woman herding two small boys came down the pier after them.
“Hurry, ducks,” she said to them. “We visited Papa too long, and your supper is late.”
“Why can’t he come home?” one boy asked petulantly.
“He’s very busy. Now on with you two.”
Dänvârfij guessed the woman might be bonded with a mate who was a captain or lower officer. Perhaps she had taken their children to visit him while his ship was in harbor.
Eywodan stepped in front of the woman. “Pardon.”
She looked up—and up—at him, and a flash of fear passed over her round face. He smiled slightly, bowing his head once, which was more than Dänvârfij would have thought to do.
“We have only arrived,” he said. “Can you help us find the master of this port?”
She appeared to settle a little, though she still eyed his height nervously.
“Harbormaster ... here?” she said. “We’re a bit of a small place for that huffy nonsense. Most of the inbound stop off at the Kettle and Drum while they’re docked.”
She pointed off along the shore, and at first Dänvârfij could not make out the destination. There were two buildings large enough—though smaller than those of the isle—to qualify as what humans called a warehouse. Along the dimly lit waterfront, there was one two-level building that leaked light from its shutters.
“Ask Master Liunt, the owner,” the woman added. “He hears of all who come and go.”
“My thanks,” Eywodan said, and the woman pushed the boys along with one more watchful glance over her shoulder.