Free City in Ruins by R.K. Ryals

obvious. Daegan looked sick, but he stood
tall.
    I stared, my gaze traveling from the
bowsprit, the spar extending from the prow (the front of the ship)
to the stern (the back of the ship). The Beatrice had a dependable and strong
air about her as if the vessel had absorbed the spirit of the woman
it was named after.
    My gut and my heart told me this
ship was one of Cadeyrn’s war moments, the Beatrice a piece of him in the same
way the items he kept hidden in a box were a piece of him, torn
fragments of his time with his son and wife. There was a piece of
me in that box, too. A ripped strip of cloth used to wipe blood and
ink away when Cadeyrn tattooed the falcon on my back.
    Cries rose up from the deck, the sound shaking
me out of my reverie, as Cadeyrn’s long stride ate up the surface.
Heads bowed, some of the passengers falling to their knees on the
wooden surface as he approached.
    “Resume,” Cadeyrn commanded.
    He nodded, acknowledging the show of respect. A
stocky, balding man with brawny arms and fierce tattoos approached
the prince. He had a harsh demeanor broken strangely by a dainty
pair of gold spectacles on his nose. The sharp contrast was
startling.
    The men clasped hands, their heads bent in
abrupt discussion.
    “That’s SeeVan, the Beatrice ’s Quartermaster.
Better known as V. He’s sailed with the prince for years,” Reenah
informed us, approaching from the side of the deck.
    Coils of rope and other supplies littered the
wood. Crew men scurried to move provisions below deck while
securing necessary equipment above.
    “I’ve never seen spectacles before,” I
replied.
    Reenah laughed, the tinkling sound
drawing attention from some of the men, Daegan included.
“You would notice
that. They’re only made and sold in the Guarda markets, though how
they’re produced is beyond me.”
    “They’re convex-shaped glass used to magnify
images,” I breathed, my gaze studying the frames.
    Reenah chuckled. “I’ll take your word for
it.”
    My fingers itched for a quill, parchment, and
ink to make notes and sketches, to record this moment on the sea,
to draw a ferocious-looking man with slim eyeglasses.
    “I’m dying,” Maeve moaned, drawing our
attention to her hunched form.
    Seagulls dove, their wings
fluttering over Maeve’s miserable head. “What did the dying man say to his son?” a seagull yelled.
    “Rest in peace?” another asked.
    “Oh,” Oran grumbled, his paws
rubbing at his ears, “now I’m dying.”
    The seagulls laughed.
    Prince Cadeyrn glanced up from his discussion
with SeeVan, his gaze passing over the ship, his eyes skirting mine
as he perused the men on deck.
    “He’s the captain of the Beatrice ,” Reenah
announced.
    My eyes widened. “The prince?”
    She smiled. “He commandeered her from a group
of smugglers off the coast of Dearn when he was eighteen turns.
She’s seen a name change and plenty of improvements since
then.”
    My curiosity got the better of me. “What was
she called before?”
    Reenah’s eyes twinkled. “The Vixen. We’re quite suited
for this vessel I think, you and I.” She winked.
    Mortals gave other mortals roles, titles, and
expectations. Once you filled one of those roles, it didn’t matter
if it didn’t suit you, you were mired in rumors and innuendos.
Words are power. Humanity, however, didn’t always translate words
wisely. In the wrong hands, words could destroy lives. It wasn’t
words that shouldn’t be trusted. It was the people who said
them.
    “Yes,” I agreed, “I rather think we
are.”
    Daegan stumbled next to us, his gaze passing
from my face to Reenah’s. “Just so you know, I think the consort
system is entirely unfair. What if a man wanted to be a consort? I
could think of worse ways to spend my time.”
    Coming from anyone else, the words would have
been an insult. With Daegan, he was all seriousness, his eyes full
of glowing amusement.
    Reenah slapped at him, and he inhaled sharply,
his hand falling to his