Free Salamaine's Curse by V. L. Burgess

morning.
    He’d followed a crewman below decks earlier that night when he’d changed his clothes. Not knowing where else to go, he headed in the same general direction, hoping he’d stumble upon the sleeping quarters. The
Purgatory
was a large ship, fitted with rough-hewn ladders that led from one level to the next. Tom wandered through a maze of dimly lit passageways, descending deeper and deeper into the belly of the ship.
    The thick scent of kerosene oil and greased gears greeted him as he moved lower, causing him to wonder if Umbrey used some sort of engine to power his ship, a mechanical thrust to give them extra power beyond the capacity of the sails. But he quickly dropped the thought as he came upon the crew’s quarters.
    It was a large, low room with maybe thirty hammocks suspended from the ceiling joists. A chorus of deep, throaty snores greeted him as he entered. A single lantern, the wick turned down low, hung from a central beam and gave the room a shadowy glow.
    He spied Porter, his pale blond head a beacon in the darkness, sitting in a hammock at the far edge of the room. A lone empty hammock swung beside him. Tom bit back a sigh and warily approached him. He’d hoped, after their argument, to put a little distance between them, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen.
    â€œWhere are Willa and Mudge?” he asked.
    Porter tilted his chin toward a blanket that had been hung in the corner, providing Willa a makeshift space for privacy. Mudge rocked in a hammock on the opposite side of the blanket, fast asleep.

    Tom turned back to find him holding two pewter mugs brimming with a warm, sweet-smelling liquid. He passed one to Tom. “Here.”
    The unexpected gesture surprised him. He regarded Porter curiously. Was the offer of a drink an apology for lashing out at him or a sign he meant to start over? Or neither one? The only thing Tom was sure of was that his brother looked as exhausted as he felt.
    He lifted the mug but hesitated at the unfamiliar smell. Grog? he wondered. He wasn’t exactly sure what that was, but he’d heard pirates drank it aboard ship. All he knew was that at the academy, being caught with anything alcoholic resulted in an automatic suspension, and he was pretty sure Lost would apply that rule to the Five Kingdoms as well. Still, the drink smelled delicious.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œSlipper.
Sugared milk and spices, mostly.” He shrugged. “The cook sent it down from the galley.”
    Tom took a cautious sip.
    Rich and foamy, the drink bubbled slightly as though carbonated. It was warm and soothing at the same time, with a sweet caramel aftertaste.
    â€œIt’s good.”
    Porter nodded. “Our mother used to make it for me when I was a boy and couldn’t sleep.” He drew up one knee and rested his arm atop it. A faraway expression softened his features, as though he was caught up in some warm, distant memory.
    Tom fought back envy. Porter had enjoyed a lifetime with their parents. He had memory after memory to draw upon. Tom had nothing. Just a portrait given to him months ago with their likenesses. But those images were flat, with no voice or flesh to them at all. Impossible to picture what sort of people his parents had been. Sort of like trying to imagine an entire dinosaur when all he’d been given was a prehistoric pinky toe.
    He glanced at Porter, watching as he sipped his foamy brew, and allowed his mind to wander. What if they’d been raised together, as brothers? Would there still be the same simmering tension between them? Or would they maybe, just maybe, get along? Would they have spent nights sipping—Tom searched his mind for the word
—slipper
together, staying up late to build forts, tell stories, and all the other stuff brothers did when they were growing up? Would that have changed anything?
    Porter’s thoughts must have been running in a similar vein, for he gestured to his mug