Isle of Wings by E.A. Burnett

Author:E.A. Burnett [Burnett, E.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-12-20T06:00:00+00:00

30

Roana

Days after returning from the Little Sister Isle, Roana met with Ogdon Olcinius.

She wore her mother's hemp-dyed sash over Ekesian trousers and a tight-knit top. The sash wrapped her shoulders and bodice like armor before coming to a knot at her hip. A good reminder of her mother's strength while she sat in the chief magistrate's estate.

Although, perched might be a better word than sat. The wooden bench beneath her bum may as well have been a tree limb, given its rough hew. Ogdon himself sat closest to the hearth, in a cushioned chair made from dark joba—the only piece of furniture in the entire great hall that looked remotely comfortable—and droned on about the pleasure vessel he had been given by some merchant.

She glanced at Daggery Bolt's sister, Phalyn, who had covered up her shadowed eyes and sallow cheeks with powder and paint—a bit too much, going by the way it flaked at the seams of her face.

Showing up in a studded sash dress, Phalyn appeared as if she were attending a grand feast rather than a nefarious meeting. She had remained silent since walking through the door, which had put most of the burden of conversation onto Roana—when she could actually get a word in.

Ogdon droned on, voice ringing off the cold stone floor. "...and the fabrics lining it are of the most exquisite silk, and cannot get a drip of water on them. A rather difficult endeavor when riding on the feisty lake water..."

A dour-faced servant marched into the hall and set a tray of drinks down on the low table in front of the fire. She didn't bother offering to bring them the glasses of port, but rather stood with hands on hips, scowling at Ogdon until he noticed her.

"What is it?" he asked, irritated.

"The lady is needing you again, sir," the servant said.

"Now? But shouldn't she be asleep?"

"I tried to give her the dram of tincture like usual, sir, but she slapped it out of me hand. Said it’s not proper you treating her like you do."

Ogdon's face reddened. "Not proper...?" He cursed under his breath, then worked his ample body up out of his chair. "Excuse me," he said to Roana. "I need to see to my wife. But please, enjoy your refreshments."

He left, trailed by the servant.

Phalyn bent close to Roana's ear until she could smell her rouge. "Do you think we'll get a proper meal?"

"Of course," Roana said. The great hall smelled of roasted duck, and it was only proper to invite someone over for a meal... She glanced at the tray of drinks, typically served after eating. Her stomach ached at the thought of no supper—she hadn't had the appetite to eat anything before they left. "It would be rude of him not to offer."

"You think he's the polite type?" Phalyn asked, and Roana couldn't tell if she was annoyed or amused.

Roana reached for a glass of port, wincing as the bench dug into the left side of her bottom.

Phalyn reached into the bosom of her dress and pulled out a pipe that seemed much too long to fit there.

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