Free City in Ruins by R.K. Ryals Page A

stomach. “Maybe I should save the teasing
for when my stomach doesn’t feel like someone removed it, shook it,
and then replaced it wrong,” he gasped.
    This time when Reenah laughed, I joined
her.
     
     
     

Chapter 11
     
    The ship’s sails were open, the
vessel digging through the waves when the Beatrice’s Quartermaster came to me. I
was standing on the deck facing the sea, letting the spray from the
ocean wet my cheeks when his lumbering form settled next to mine, a
leatherbound book held gingerly in his big hands. SeeVan looked
even more terrifying up close, his face lined by time and the
elements, his gaze shrewd.
    “The cap’n mentioned ye be a scribe,” he
said.
    I glanced at him, focusing on his spectacles.
Evading intimidation meant looking at the small things, the things
that made a person human. To look beyond the outer exterior of a
person to the man or woman beneath.
    Smiling, I nodded.
    SeeVan thrust the book in my direction. “It’s
the ship’s ledger. There be two of ‘em. The cap’n ledger and the
ship. If ye look at what’s been recorded, it’s pretty
self-explanatory. We’ve not had a scribe on board in a bit. While I
know my letters, I’m not good at scribin’. Got a hard time seein’
the words, I do. Cap’n says ye may be interested in taking a look.
Might make ye feel useful and all.”
    My brows rose, amusement rising in me.
“Useful?”
    I accepted the book, and he shoved his hands
into the pockets of his loose breeches. “I’ll warn ye, miss. Ye got
a lot of men on board lookin’ at ye like ye’ll be something good to
eat knowin’ you’re a consort. Dragon whore or not. Reenah’s
protected by the royals, but ye ain’t.”
    His blunt words crashed over me, my face
heating. “The captain has told you everything then?”
    SeeVan inclined his head. “I’m the
Quartermaster, miss. It’s my duty to know what’s going on aboard
this ship and what kind of problems it could cause. Being a consort
of the dragons, ye’ve thrown away your right to Sadeemian
protection. Your protection depends on the dragon, and he isn’t
always on board.”
    “He’d hear me if I called,” I
protested.
    “Nevertheless,” SeeVan said, “the
cap’n wants ye to scribe for the Beatrice . Your bow and arrows aren’t
as useful on ship as they’d be on land. If ye have a job on board,
a title, then the cap’n is obligated to protect ye.”
    A slow warmth developed in the pit of my
stomach. “This was the captain’s idea then?” My fingers pressed
against the tome, drawing strength from the leather and parchment.
Escreet’s presence was much stronger here than Silveet’s. The ocean
sang, the sound rising until it was a steady chorus around
us.
    “He be a good leader, miss. He’s saved my life
a time or two.”
    My gaze found his, peering past the harsh lines
to what he must have looked like as a boy. “What may I call you,
sir?” I asked.
    For a moment, his eyes widened, my respectful
address unexpected.
    “I go by V on the Beatrice ,” he
replied.
    Smiling softly, I inquired, “From where do you
hail, V? You don’t have Sadeemian features, and your dialect is
different.”
    When he’d approached me, I’d noticed the black
tufts of hair that remained on his head, his eyes so dark they were
almost black. He was a head taller than me, but not as tall as most
Sadeemian men. He also sported loose breeches and a strange,
colorful sleeveless tunic.
    SeeVan studied me. “Ye be an observant one. I
hail from the wilds of Yorbrook.”
    “Yorbrook!” I exclaimed, delighted. “I would be
honored if you told me about your country one day, Mr.
V.”
    The man flushed. “Just V, miss. Cap’n told me
ye were an inquisitive wench.” He scowled and stepped away from me.
“I might have time to tell ye a little about the wilds if ye ever
feel the need to visit the deck most evenings after ye sup. I do
some mendin’ on the lines durin’ my watch.”
    My heart was light. I’d spent the