Page 23 of Virelai's Hoard
Riley’s gaze flitted around the spacious room in a quick study of it–more accurately, Calla noticed, in a quick inventory of what was precious, dangerous, or both. From the brass telescope–polished to a shine–resting on her desk, to the dagger hung on the wall near the bed–ornate with a sea glass talisman embedded in its handle–to the shelves lined with smooth stones and trinkets from past voyages.
One thing became evident. Calla would have to keep her eyes on her at all times, lest something mysteriously disappeared after one of these visits.
What had possessed her to invite one of her crew into her personal space? A new hire, no less.
To conceal her own discomfort at the intrusion, Calla moved to sit on the locked chest at the foot of her bed. It helped. A little.
She supposed these were… extenuating circumstances. Or maybe she was just getting soft. After all, it was seeing Riley’s care for that rat of hers that had pushed her to lessen the punishment for them both. Yes. She must be getting soft.
“Is that a… bird cage?” Riley asked, eyes trained on a big iron cage resting beneath the porthole.
It hosted the cleanest rag Calla could find in the galley, a cup of water, and a small wooden ball. She did not know what Patch did to stay entertained outside of stealing shiny silver spoons, and that was her best attempt at guessing.
“We’re not exactly equipped to deal with prisoners of such a small stature,” Calla said. Incomprehensibly, her lips wanted to pull into a smile. She suppressed it.
Riley frowned. “What happened to the bird?”
“Echo? A storm drake caught him.” Calla tilted her head at the memory. “It’s best if you don’t bring it up with the crew. They’re still inconsolable about it.”
Riley’s lips thinned, her hands tensing around Patch as if the rodent were in danger of getting snatched off right this moment. Calla supposed he was, in a way.
“You would do well to keep a closer eye on him when you’re on deck. Once all this,” she waved a hand in the cage’s direction, “is over with.”
Riley looked down at Patch, stroking his chin with a finger. “I will.” Then, shifting uneasily on her feet, she asked, “Could you lock me up instead?”
Calla blinked at that. The awkward way Riley met her eyes hinted she wasn’t used to asking people for favors, but the question hadn’t been on impulse. It was deliberate, and the silence that stretched between them was heavy, expectant. This human would trade her freedom for a vermin’s? A heavy weight shifted in Calla’s chest, knocked off balance just enough for her to feel the discomfort of it.
“He won’t be mistreated,” Calla said, as gently as she could muster.
Riley nodded, though she didn’t look reassured. She looked… tired. The dark circles under her eyes and crumpled clothes hinted at a sleepless night, and a faint hint of rum had spread through the room the moment she’d stepped in.
Which meant… Calla frowned. The crew party. Last night. She’d gotten so caught up in her maps and preparations she’d failed to count the time spent at sea–beyond Merrow’s daily reassurances that they were on track to reach the Drowning Vortex as planned. Usually Sable would stop by and try to convince her to attend, but that hadn’t happened this time around. A painful twinge accompanied the realization. The first mate had given up on her. Which should’ve been a relief, rather than something to get displeased about. It stood to reason Sable had finally gotten the hint after countless rejections. It was what Calla wanted. Perhaps once this was over, Calla could afford towant different things, but now? This was how it should be. No attachments guaranteed her survival. Her freedom. The distance was necessary.
“Do you want to do it, or should I?” Calla asked. If she left it to Riley to take the initiative on this, they might be in here all day.
“I’ll do it.”
Riley sighed, and she brought Patch up to her face, staring at him for a moment before she briefly nuzzled her cheek into his fur. Then she approached the cage and knelt down to open the door, nudging the rat until he lazily walked through. With her hands freed, she rummaged through her bag and took out a fading red blanket, worn and patched through. She carefully pressed it into a corner of the cage before closing the door and standing again.
Mirroring her, Patch rose on his hind legs, front feet hooking through the bars as he stared up at Riley and sniffed inquisitively.
“I’ll be back,” Riley told him softly, as if he could understand her. Then, to Calla, “Captain.”
With that, she was gone.
Calla’s fingers shook as she locked the door in her wake. Something about the show of affection she’d just witnessed both unsettled her and made her feel inadequate, though she didn’t know why.
Patch’s beady, black eyes followed her as she sat back at her desk.
***
Several bells later, the yearning became too strong to resist. Defeated, Calla knelt by the locked chest at the foot of her bed, taking out the iron key at her belt and turning it in the lock until she felt its softclick. Carefully, she lifted the lid and took outits contents, wrapped in an oil-imbued cloth, resting it on her thighs.
She cradled the source of her restlessness. The source of all her pain, fear, and despair. The curse that bound her to the sea and ripped her breath away whenever she walked the lands for too long at a time. The reason she could never allow anyone to get close.
Her skin.
Unwrapping the cloth, a faint scent of salt and seaweed reached her nostrils as Calla gazed at her selkie skin with a mix of feral need and disgust. It was heavier than it looked, dense like something alive, though it didn’t breathe on its own. She stroked it tentatively, a shiver skittering up her spine as her fingers glided over the cool, slick smoothness of it. Near-black, with lighter mottling across its back that reminded Calla of stormy waters. After a breath, she closed her eyes, sliding her entire hand under the folds of her skin and taking deep, controlled breaths. She left it there and counted slowly to ten. Just long enough for the agonizing wrongness of living an incomplete life to subside to a tolerable level. It would help if she could wear her skin and go for a swim, just for a while, but she couldn’t risk that with so many eyes around.
