Steelflower at Sea (The Steelflower Chronicles) by Lilith Saintcrow

Author:Lilith Saintcrow [Saintcrow, Lilith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lilith Saintcrow
Published: 2018-10-15T23:00:00+00:00

Baffle and Breeches

Breathing, in and out, a comforting rhythm. Complete darkness, for my arm was over my eyes, sealing out the faint glow of the banked fire. Darik’s inhalations were long and quiet, his exhalations the same. It was...pleasant, his arm across my belly and his mouth near my bare shoulder. Every so often his hand might twitch or his dark lashes flutter, not signs of restlessness but of deep dreaming.

I tried to match his breath with my own. I listened to the creaks and groans—any house, especially an Antai stone-and-timber villa midway up the hills, sings at night. The kitchen was stocked enough for a tenday, Janaire had taken over the cooking with a sigh of relief, declaring inn-fare passable but nothing more; our first meal in our new home had been merry enough. She made skanta, and made it well, despite some of G’maihallan’s spices missing. They did not travel even so far as Hain, the flavours of my homeland.Gavrin attempted to strike up his song about the crossing again and was hissed at, Diyan had a long face because he had his own room—he’d grown quite used to sleeping next to Redfist, but I did not trust this Ninefinger enough to let a child rest near him. Still, the boy badgered Gavrin into playing some freetown drinking-songs, and that lightened the mood considerably.

Ninefinger himself was not so hearty an eater as Redfist, but he did not look askance at a free meal. It worried me, slightly. I did not like the idea of two giants to feed, and somehow the conversation had never turned to what business, precisely, the blond barbarian was in Antai upon.

D’ri moved slightly, his arm brushing my hip. Sleeplessness had left its mark on him. Perhaps he was not quite as used to it as I had become. Or perhaps my sotted stupor the previous night had given me a surfeit of rest.

The little Vulfentown boy would need proper winter trews and jerkin, and would likely outgrow both by spring. Now that we were settled for this season, I could begin to plan for the next. I could not drag the entire troupe about for the rest of my life, could I? Janaire and Atyarik could return to G’maihallan whenever they pleased, what kept them was my unfinished training and perhaps their fealty to Darik. At least he was not subtly hinting at homesickness. Redfist could sellsword with me; it could even be an advantage. The boy, though...did I really think him fit for a thief’s life? He was quick and capable, and most thieves are winnowed early; he was past the most dangerous age.

Gavrin was all but useless, especially if I wished to hie myself to any city I required a decent amount of anonymity in.

A sharp dissatisfied sigh caught me unaware, but Darik’s breathing didn’t alter. It was useless. I would not sleep that night, between the worry and—useless to deny it—the dread of another dream. Battles sometimes returned while a

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