"ask the desert the cost of rain"

˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼⋆

"Come, my lady." Rook and his men waited in two rows as Hester and I stepped away from our sleigh. He nodded toward the assistants. "They'll take the sleighs back to the palace tomorrow morning."

"Of course," I said, drawing the hood of my travel cloak over my head.

Several steps ahead of us, Lord Alaric turned and clasped his hands behind his back. "Gather your things. The ship awaits us at the port."

Hester scoffed lightly but bustled off to order around the servants. A mass of flesh loomed over me, solid as a rock. Pulling my cloak tighter, I turned and leveled my gaze on Lieutenant Hale.

The orc-blooded man stared down at me, dark eyes severe and unwavering. His eyes dragged away from me, slowly scanning over our surroundings. The tension that had unknowingly lodged itself in my shoulders eased away, knowing this shield of a man was here to protect me. His small tusks poked into the flesh of his top lip, giving him the impression of a dog caught mid-thought, melting the image of the stoic warrior I had formed in my mind.

I straightened my shoulders. Rook nudged Sergeant Orell's shoulder. The young man turned slowly, eyes glinting in the dimming light. It reminded me of a cat's eyes at night.

"Go ahead of us," Rook whispered, eyes trained on Lord Alaric. "Make sure the path is clear."

Orell flashed a quick salute before he slipped into the shadows, and I lost track of him.

Then everything was moving fast. Escorted by Rook and his men, we descended to the port. Weaving through the streets, lit by flickering lanterns, everything was quiet. Lord Alaric and his men were separated from us, other, shadows of an unknown future slipping in and out of my presence. I found comfort in the strangers of my home, the captain and his men.

We rounded a corner, and there was the port. In the light of the moon, the ship was a dark wraith sitting on a mirror of the night sky.

Everything following happened quickly. We were ushered onto the ship silently, whispered orders directing us where to go. My departure was not secret, but I felt like I was running away, slipping off into the night like some shameful wraith. We were tucked away safely below deck with Hester, the luggage, and my escort of soldiers.

As we settled into the cramped space below deck, I couldn't ignore the damp, salty smell that clung to everything. Hester, seated next to a pile of our trunks, fussed with her skirts and grumbled under her breath, though she cast a wary look at the beams overhead each time the ship creaked. It felt surreal, this shift from desert to deck—like I'd walked straight into a different life entirely.

Rook sat near me, his posture stiff but watchful. The other men were quiet, absorbed in their own preparations or leaning against the wooden walls, faces half-lit by the lanterns hung at intervals. Hale positioned himself by the door, taking up nearly all the space around him, his tusked profile framed in the soft glow. Though he was silent, his presence filled the cabin, a solid, immovable force reminding me of the dangers I was leaving behind and the ones that might yet lie ahead.

Lord Alaric had disappeared onto the upper deck shortly after boarding, no doubt coordinating with the ship's captain. I wondered if he, too, felt this strange, nervous thrill of leaving Sigyn behind. Or was he merely focused, as he always seemed to be, eyes set on the goal in the distance?

Hester caught my eye and raised a brow, her mouth pressed into a tight line. I knew her well enough to recognize the unspoken question there. But what answer could I give? I could only offer a small, comforting smile, hoping she understood that I felt every bit as uncertain as she did.

The ship groaned as it began to sway with the tide, and my heart gave an involuntary flutter. We were moving, each small creak and lurch a reminder that there was no turning back now. The realization settled heavily within me, a mix of excitement and dread. I drew my cloak tighter around myself, grounding in its familiar weight as if it were a piece of home I could carry across the seas. Within the hidden compartments of my clothes, I withdrew the fox figurine Father had gifted me. I smoothed my thumbs over its surface, finding comfort across the familiar shape and the warmth it still carried.

Footsteps echoed above, firm and deliberate. I knew, without needing to look, that Lord Alaric was pacing, overseeing every detail, making sure that nothing could go wrong on this journey of ours.

"Well," Private Roane said, breaking the silence with his light voice and bright grin. "This is a fine predicament. Nothing like new adventures, aye?"

I glanced over at him, then to the others.

Hale grunted and picked at one of his tusks.

Rook didn't bother to look over at Roane as he replied. "Not an adventure, Bas. It's a job."

A smile threatened to break across my face, and I had to hide behind my cloak. Silence fell among us again, and it wasn't long before I felt the rocking of the ship increase. In my gut, I knew we were moving. The sudden pull of the wind as it caught within the sails forced me to lean back to balance.

We were off for Zospery.

Time seemed to lose all meaning, stuck below deck. Finally, one of the crewmates onboard ushered Hester and me to a separate room. Rook waved me on with a solemn nod, his eyes following us before we lost sight of each other. It wasn't the fanciest room we had ever encountered, and some part of me recoiled at the thought of soiling my traveling clothes.

I could have smacked myself. This was for my people, and I needed to let go of the pride which had coiled itself around my very being. Hester settled in fine, cozying up in one of the cots. Her rumbling snores soon filled the room, and I wouldn't have been able to sleep even if I wanted to.

It was unsettling, to say the least, now that the journey was officially underway. A point at the apex of my ribcage tightened with nerves, squeezing all the way up my esophagus until it reached the back of my throat. I swallowed around it, pushing away the fear and anxiety mentally. The must of the salty air did almost nothing to quell my anxiety, instead rolling my stomach with nausea.

Licking my lips, I dug my fingers into the fabric of my cloak. The roughness soothed me, and I blew out a steady breath. Rising, I crept as quietly as I could back toward the main compartment where muffled voices and flickering light beckoned me, hugging to the shadows as best I could. I drew my attention outward, beyond myself, focusing on what I could see.

The ship's creak and sway were constant, and the dim lantern hanging from the low ceiling cast a warm glow over the small space. Lieutenant Orell sat cross-legged on the floor, sharpening a dagger, while Roane propped himself up against a barrel, already wrapped in a thin blanket, his eyes drifting half-closed. Sergeant Hale leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and looked thoroughly unimpressed with their cramped quarters.

Rook paced between them, then let out a dramatic sigh. "Cozy, isn't it? Just what we'd expect from the grand luxury of Zospery's fleet."

"Could be worse," Orell muttered, running the whetstone down his blade. "I once slept in the hold of a cargo ship that reeked of fish for a month."

The mere thought almost made me gag.

Roane grinned, shifting under his blanket. "Was that the time you came back smelling like the docks for a week straight? I thought someone had dragged in a stray sea lion."

"Watch it, Roane," Orell shot back, though his eyes held a hint of amusement. "It's not like you ever smell any better. I swear, you sylphs have some trick to hide it."

The private smirked. "Ah, you know us—breezy and fresh. All I need is a little wind and some sunshine, and I'm good as new."

Rook snorted, taking a seat on a barrel across from Hale. "A little wind and sunshine... You'd last about an hour on a real campaign, you featherweight."

Hale, who hadn't said a word, finally spoke up, his voice dry. "I'd trade you all for a proper bunk right now." His gaze flicked up to Rook. "Didn't you promise us better than this, Captain?"

"Oh, right," Rook said with mock regret. "I'd completely forgotten that was part of the recruitment speech. 'Join my unit—enjoy the finest barrels of stale bread and the softest floorboards of the Zosperian fleet.'"

Amusement flashed through me as I considered them—Brothers in arms. The saying took on a new meaning as I watched them silently, content to observe and not join in. Not that I wanted to, anyway. The thought of speaking out now felt cruel to myself, as if I would be losing the chance to see how a secret sect of soldiers interacted with each other.

The men chuckled, but Hale only shook his head. "You know, orders or not, this is the last time I trust your word."

Rook grinned, unbothered. "And yet here you are. Can't resist my charm."

"Charm? Is that what you're calling it?" Orell drawled, glancing up from his blade.

"Don't flatter him," Roane quipped, settling down. "Next thing you know, he'll start calling this his 'quarters.'"

They all shared a chuckle, their laughter a low rumble in the confined space. Lieutenant Hale's gaze drifted toward the shadows I hid in cast by the single flickering lantern, his voice dropping as if the humor had settled into something softer, something almost protective. "Think the princess will be all right with us here?"

I straightened slightly, the question pulling me from the lull of their banter. They'd been talking for some time, their voices and laughter filling the tight space with a strange sense of ease, almost warmth.

Rook chuckled, his rough edges softened in the dim light. "With the lot of you on guard? She's got a fighting chance." He stretched his arms above his head, then leaned back against a crate, letting out a long, unguarded sigh. "Rest easy, gentlemen. We've a long way to go—and who knows what we'll find when we get there."

A comfortable silence settled over them, the kind of quiet shared only by men who had known each other through thick and thin. The gentle creak of the ship's hull and the faint splash of waves against its sides filled the space, and I watched, feeling like I was seeing a rare side of them, unfiltered and unfeigned. It was the first glimpse I'd had into the heart of the men I was trusting with my life, the ones who were—at least for now—my guardians.

I thought Orell might have glanced my way for a moment, but he said nothing, nor did he seem to know I was there, against the wall like some thief in the night. They simply shared one last, sleepy chuckle before the lantern dimmed, their jabs and jokes fading into the quiet of the night.

Unseen and unnoticed, I lingered in their midst, feeling oddly comforted by the reminder that even warriors sometimes sought refuge in laughter.