12th of Eylestre, Continued

Kindness should never be underestimated as a weapon. It works its way through the chinks in any armor, wears away resistance, and it does it without ever threatening a thing.
  

Arramy stayed topside after we docked, working on something in the pilot's nest while there was still light to see, but Denzig insisted I warm myself up and do him a favor by keeping him company. I hadn't wanted to insult him. Still, that old doubt sparked up again as I stood in the doorway, looking at Arramy over Denzig's head. The Port Authority office was only just at the end of the dock. It would be a simple enough thing for him to wait till I was below, then run to use their dispatch office to contact the Coventry.

Arramy could read those doubts in my face. I knew he could, because I could read the hint of resignation settling over his.

I swallowed. I'll always come for ya. E'en if ya don't want me to. Slowly, I took off his coat and handed it to him, never breaking eye contact. For something so simple, that was an oddly weighty thing. It felt much more like I was holding out an offer of trust. Trust that he wouldn't seize the opportunity to turn me in. Trust that he meant what he had said, and that he wasn't going to betray me again.

Arramy's gaze sharpened, homing in on mine with keen focus as he reached out and took the coat. Then he dipped his head. Once.

I blinked, my heart skipping erratically. Then I turned on my heel and followed Denzig down the stairs into the hold, my stomach twisting.

Dinner that night was fried redfish, roasted vegetables, and soeppellan , a local Tettian treat made of caramelized sugar, spiced apples and sheets of thin, crinkly pastry. Denzig made all of it himself, pottering around the galley while I 'helped' by sitting in the booth, listening to him tell stories about his wife. How they had met. Where they had lived when they first started out, how many children they had. Where their children lived now. I smiled and made appropriate encouraging noises. 

An hour later, Arramy came down, a pot of machine oil in one hand and a turnscrew in the other. Ever so calmly he stowed both items in the tool chest built into the curve beneath the stairs. Then he crossed the room to the scullery, dodging easily around Denzig and a hot skillet, washing his grease-stained hands in the sink while telling Denzig over his shoulder, "The reverse gear shaft connector shouldn't stick anymore."

Denzig grinned and aimed his spatula at the two of us. "Best decision I ever made, taking you upriver. It's like having my own floating repair crew. Now have a seat. Food's done."

Arramy came to sit across from me, and his gaze collided with mine, wry, unguarded humor glimmering in the depths of his eyes. 

Something was different. I couldn't quite put a finger on it. And then Denzig brought our plates over, along with mugs of his homemade beer, and we ate. Arramy even went back for seconds, and I had an extra helping of the soeppellan, which made Denzig grin some more.

And we talked. Or, rather, Arramy and Denzig talked, and I stared at the relaxed, easy-going man on the other side of the table.

I kept waiting for him to slam his armor back down and batten everything back up behind those icy walls of his, but he didn't, and the longer he didn't, the more I began to wonder if this was the real Rathe Arramy – the Arramy he would have been before the war. Before the Coventry took everything.

Whoever he was, he was doing something strange to my head. When we finally finished eating, I pulled a Denzig and made both of them stay put while I cleared the table and washed the few dishes we had used, as much because I hadn't done anything to earn my keep yet as to get away from those unnervingly warm liquid-silver eyes that seemed to find mine much too easily.

Denzig got out a box of imported Ronyran cheroots and offered Arramy one, and a few minutes later a soft haze of cigar smoke drifted along the ceiling. As if I needed to add memories of my father to what was rapidly becoming an all-too-pleasant evening.

I scrubbed at a spot on one of the plates, the familiar rumble of Arramy's brogue and Denzig's occasional cackle blending together. I needed to be careful. I knew that. But of what? This wasn't Reixham's ballroom, and it wasn't Zharos's fortress of a house. What harm would come from letting Denzig believe we were as normal, decent and nice as he was? Wasn't that the point?

As if summoned by some sort of magical cue, Denzig's voice broke through my thoughts. "Well, I say we end this excellent dinner with a game. You two any good at cards?"

~~~

A warm glow pooled over the eating booth, the soft light of the ceiling lantern snared by the smoke above our heads.

Arramy sat across from me, back turned against the wall, left foot planted on the bench, left elbow propped on his knee. He toked his cigar and shot a sideways glance at me. Then he put his card down. 

It was the card he had been holding onto for the last hour. The card he had repeatedly shuffled to the side rather than trading it or bidding with it.

It wasn't a bad card to play, given the circumstances. It certainly would take the Six Sisters Denzig had just laid down.

Denzig squinted at me from the end of the table, dark eyes beady and shadowed below puckered brows.

Ignoring them both, I licked a dribble of apple and sugar off my forefinger and eyed my cards. I already knew the play I was going to make, but I wanted to bask in my moment of power. Just one second more would do. There. Perfect. Then, ever so slowly, I placed my Crow King over Arramy's Dozen Maces. I wasn't looking at the table, though. I was watching his face, my lower lip pinned between my teeth, a crazy grin threatening to break through.

Arramy was studying my absolute massacre of all of his careful planning. He tilted his head slightly. Lifted an eyebrow.

My grin started creeping out around the edges.

Denzig released a sigh through loose, floppy lips, then put his cards down. "You surely play a mean game, woman."

I didn't move, still watching Arramy.

Waiting.

He inhaled slow and deep through his nose, and then there it was. The hint of a dimple playing at the corner of his mouth. His lips twitched.

My grin burst free, curling wicked and sharp across my face. It was absurd, how exhilarating this was. I had won plenty of rounds of Cheat the Dead, but... to spend two hours locked in a grueling battle of wits and strategy with Arramy, and then to know I had just beaten him, and to know he knew... there was no price on this memory. I would treasure it. Always. Pure, and glittering, and golden and —

He started laughing. First it was a raspy chuckle behind his fist. Once, then again. Then that glorious, sun-stealing smile broke across his face and his shoulders started shaking, and real laughter was pouring out of him, rich and deep and smooth, running like a river through my soul.

My breath caught, and for an aching heartbeat I could only stare at him, mesmerized. I had done that. I had made this steel-eyed, battle-haunted man laugh.

Denzig was watching the two of us, his gaze flicking from one to the other and back as though he could read something in the air between us. His expression went sly. Then suddenly he scooted his chair back and announced, "Well, that's me done for the night."

I jerked, tearing myself out of whatever spell I was under, and started to my feet, thinking I could somehow help. With something. Anything.

"No, you just sit tight. I've got my hammock all set up . You two are welcome to whatever you want. Just yell if you need me."

"But won't you be cold?"

Denzig was already halfway up the stairwell. "Nope. Pilot's nest has an oil heater, I'll be fine. See you in the morning! Night!" And then the door to the pilot's nest closed behind him.

Silence fell.

Arramy wasn't laughing anymore.

And we were alone. Together. In the same room. 

Which shouldn't be sending this weird flurry of wings through my middle. I had been alone with him many, many times before. This should just be easy. So what if we weren't outside? So what if nothing was going to eat us, and we weren't covered in mud? It was only a bedroom —

There was a rustle of fabric behind me. Then Arramy cleared his throat.

I whirled to look at him.

He had put away the cards, gotten up, and had moved on deceptively quiet feet to stand behind me. Or, rather, he was standing next to the cabin door directly beside the stairs, which he was holding open. Calmly. Because we had to go into the cabin.

My chest hurt. I managed to release my breath, only to let out a funny little strangled squeak. Then I made my suddenly wobbly legs carry me to the left and through the open doorway.

There was a click as Arramy turned off the ceiling lantern in the galley, and then another as he toggled the wall sconce on in the cabin, revealing what I already knew I would find: the single berth box built out of a small alcove with a beautiful bow window for a headboard. A berth box that Denzig had obviously built for two, but that Arramy would take up most of by himself. There would be no room for me unless I slept... on top of... I refused to finish that thought. I grabbed one of the pillows and stepped around the end of the berth box to the narrow space between it and the built-in bureau. "I'll take the floor."

Arramy reached out and snagged my elbow, bringing me to stop. "No. I'll take the floor. You take the bed."

"Why?" I shot back in a whisper, glaring up at him. "I'm smaller. I'll fit better." His hand was warm. Very warm. And he was so very, very close, towering over me, his height made even more obvious by the fact that he had to stoop slightly to avoid the ceiling supports.

"I'm used to sleeping rough. In fact, I prefer it," he rasped. "Take the bed."

I blinked up at him, brows furrowing. "Why would anyone prefer the floor? Don't be daft. I'll be perfectly fine, just give me my jacket, and –"

He pulled me closer, took hold of my waist, picked me up, turned, and put me on the berth box, stepping neatly into the space next to the bureau as he did so.

It was almost like dancing. My hands flew automatically to his shoulders, and his were spanning my hips. Except that I was already breathless and dizzy, and he was holding perfectly, absolutely still.

Wide-eyed, I stared at him, heart racing. Standing on the berth box put me almost at his eye level. All it would take to kiss him would be a slight lean in his direction. A tilt of my head.

What would those stern, unforgiving lips feel like?

His lips parted. For one split-second, I thought... But then he swallowed, his throat working, his jaw tensing. He let go of me and stood back, looking down and away. And I watched it disappear, all that beautiful warmth and laughter;  finally, he brought that wall of ice crashing down again, shutting himself off.

His brogue was thick, his voice barely more than a rough growl. "Aye, lass, tis daft... but I prefer the floor."

All the fight went out of me. I stood there, unmoving, as he picked up the other pillow, leaned across the bed, and flicked off the light. I watched as he sat down with his back to the wall the bed was built into and stretched out his long legs in the small space in front of the drawers. Then he put the pillow behind his head, crossed his arms over his chest, settled back and closed his eyes.

He had to bend his knees to fit.

Of all the infuriating, stubborn, ridiculous things.

I took a shaky breath. With sigh, I bent and yanked the blanket off the mattress.

He opened one eye when I settled the blanket over him, but I just leveled a chilly glare at him. "Daft you may be, but you don't need to be cold."

Then I pulled my other set of petticoats out of my valise, pulled it over me like a makeshift quilt, and lay down with my back to the big, brooding, confusing Northlander who preferred the floor.