Chapter 12:

  Nereida stared up at the Admiral. She had, in all honesty, not been sure that the woman would still take them home. She and Basiano were perfect hostages. She felt tears prickling at her eyes again, and so she turned her head. She had not meant to mention him at all, but she had. She hoped Ael would not ask her more about him.

  “May I go, Grand Admiral?” She did not like how rough her voice was, the strain of the emotions making her hoarse. There was a pause, the clinking of the teacups and the shifting of the Grand Admiral’s armour.

  “Yes,” the reply came slowly, as if the sailor was thinking hard on something. Nereida stood, offering a small smile to Grand Admiral Ael.

  The sound of the ocean was not muted outside, nor was the happy squealing of her sons. Basiano stood awkwardly leaning against the main mast, his watchful eyes set on the boys above. Quietly, so as not to disturb them, Nereida partially ascended the stairs. There was a small circle drawn on the deck. Epelda was showing the boys how to use a sword. She would gently correct their holds, and had them use small sticks to attack poor Evander, who took the sharp, quick blows without compint.

  She watched for a few minutes before she slid quietly down the stairs and strolled over to her brother. She could not see her children from below, but he stood tall enough to see them.

  “You’ve been crying,” he observed. He handed her one of his handkerchiefs without looking at her. “Didn’t drown the Admiral for putting you on dispy, did you?” She thrust her elbow into his side.

  “Your joke is in poor taste,” she hissed. “She was angry… thought I’d ensorcelled her first mate.”

  “He’s not hers, you know,” her brother said, gncing at her with an amused expression. “He has a husband, the cook. No, not that one, I can see the face you are pulling.”

  “I am not,” she huffed, though her face burned with embarrassment. She had in fact, been picturing the portly, tobacco smoking older man with only seven teeth. She leaned against the mast as well, feeling the faint pockmarks on the wood, the sanded, smooth wood damaged by debris thrown in a storm. She wondered what the wood would tell them, if it could talk. “Why does it matter if he has a husband?”

  “I think it matters very much to you that she does not have a husband.” He pced his hand on her shoulder. “You remain as subtle as a thunderstorm.”

  Her cheeks burned, but she did not pull away from her brother.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “I may… I may have told her about our slight exaggeration… and mentioned him and that we had been held by the demons…” Basiano let out a long whistle. For a long moment, he said nothing. She listened to the sound of her children screeching with ughter, as Evander’s voice echoed above them.

  “As! I have been sin by the mighty heroes!” Basiano chuckled deeply.

  “Missed his calling, that man should have been an actor.” The familiar, rge hands of her brother pulled her into a tight embrace. “Tell her, Nerry.” She choked on a sob that threatened to escape.

  “I can’t,” she managed. Her brother sighed heavily but did not push any farther.

  Her tears spent, Nereida headed to get her children. They were exhausted, their cheeks red with ughter and too much sun. She signed a thank you to Epelda, who simply grinned back at her. The first mate would not look at her, though he was sprawled on the deck face down.

  “They are quick,” he said with a grumble. He forced himself to his feet. His powerful legs were already showing signs of bruising. “Give them five years, maybe six, and they’d be unholy terrors on any crew.”

  “Ah yes, because all mothers want to hear their children are unholy terrors,” she replied dryly. This just managed to make her children ugh harder. She reigned in her frustration. “Did they hurt you?” She felt bad if they had.

  “A bruise or two, and my pride since young Mr Alejo got me in the kidney.” He ughed, but it had an undercurrent of fear. The dark haired first mate took a step away from her. “With luck, they won’t ever have to use these skills.” She could hear the grimace in his voice. “Epelda taught them to go for the family jewels.” This startled a ugh out of Nereida.

  “Thank you. I will see you after sunset.” The children compined loudly about being forced back into their small cabin. They wanted sun and running, not chores and learning. They had to be ready to meet their grandparents.

  She spent the remainder of the day working on Egaz’s letters, Alejo’s maths, and telling them stories to teach them proper behaviour. She had started three months ago with teaching them etiquette, when her brother had shown up at her door alone. The sight of him had almost broken her; the sight of her with two children had moved him to actual tears. They had been hidden on a farm near the border of Seliniakos, close enough to the nation that they could get supplies, far enough that she had hoped never to be found. She had thought her family had given up. But her brother hadn’t.

  It was difficult to concentrate on teaching her children. Her thoughts swirled about her past and her pain. The ocean’s song was loud, warning of wind and waves coming their way within a day or two. She wondered if she could convince the ocean to give up a few fish; they were running low on meat, and the boys were already turning their noses up at the bean stew that had been supper two days in a row.

  Dinner was quiet in their family usually, but Alejo, uninterested in his supper, began to ask questions. First about the city they had visited before coming on the ship.

  “Limani is the capital of Seliniakos,” the old information drilled into her in her own lessons came tumbling out, fact after fact about their exports, their imports, their known allies.

  “Do the trick!” Alejo cried.

  “It’s not a trick,” Baliaso replied with a pointed look at the little boy. “It is memory. You could learn this.”

  “Please Uncle Bassy!”

  And so Basiano began to recite the lineage of the king and his children and grandchildren. Not to his own people, though Nereida was certain he could recite everyone three generations back. Instead, he listed the royalty of Seliniakos. When he got to the eighth in line, one Ael Kyverna, he paused. His fingers closed around the spoon and he lifted a mouthful of the bean stew up to his mouth.

  “So that’s it,” he muttered through a full mouth. The children took it to mean that he couldn’t remember any more, hearing only “that’s it” and so they began to eat. The beans smelled even less appealing now, as she watched her brother’s face shift. The pyful reluctance was gone, leaving only understanding and sadness on his face. Ael was too close to the crown to be acceptable to their father, who worried his “odd offspring” could not ever be married. He would never sanction a wedding to another nation for her. For one of his boys? In a heart beat. But she was other, not his. He feared her power. She couldn’t bring herself to mutter it out loud, and so instead, she suggested pying dice as a family once supper was away.

  Bedtime had become an easy routine of stories, singing and sleep. Basiano was content enough to doze or sleep when the boys did. She kissed each of her children goodnight. Once they had fallen asleep, their soft snores as musical as the sounds of the ocean, she headed to the deck.

  She had a burden to share.