To the relief of the crew and their many refugee passengers, the length of Comet’s Cove was devoid of pirate vessels. Farek’s ship encountered a few defensive galleys around midday, and was permitted to dock not long after. The news they brought—of disaster in Saanazar—was sour for the dock workers and sentries alike.
Sheld was built along a series of cliffs, braced about the rapids and waterfalls of the Shalan River. Their former ship’s captain had made it clear that he would not be pressing his luck further—Sheld was his final destination, lest the pirates came here, too.
Farek had bitterly commented that it would be safer for him to sail west until he reached the setting sun. Ralla had looked at him with disbelief.
They found accommodations at a small inn—the Roiled Barrel—just beyond the waterfront. Much of the waterfront was either newly built or under construction, and the taverns and inns were still too expensive. On his last passage through Sheld, Farek had stayed in the New Seastar, a tavern rebuilt where its predecessor had once stood. Farek could no longer afford such a venue—not on the pocket change he had whittled away after his recovery in High Raena.
After asking around at the tavern for a while, Farek pieced together at least one relieving bit of news. The Matriarchs did not, apparently, rule Sheld. They had pushed hard for it at the negotiations that Farek had been privy to, but the Atmos Septi’s governor still held his position. This had been concerning news to them on the first leg of their journey—now it would have been grim tidings for Farek and his party, not to mention outright dangerous, should their survival be confirmed.
While at the bar asking about it, Farek also learned that a call for fleet formation had arrived recently, and many Sheld ships had departed to follow the call. He prayed that that fleet would be heading east, toward Saanazar.
His duty done—relevant news learned—Farek ordered an oversized mug of beer to wash down a sharp shot of spirits he took at the bar. His guards were waiting for him at their table, but he needed to curb the edge first. He rested his head in one hand as the barkeeper prepared it.
“Another?” asked the woman next to him.
Farek glanced at her and paused. His fellow patron of the Roiled Barrel was a tall, buxom woman with an elegant arc to her eyebrow and a few piercings. He was about to express confusion, when he saw that she was tapping a square grey-sea coin against the counter. “I won’t turn it down,” he muttered.
“Had a rough go of it, have you?” she asked, smiling.
“You haven’t the faintest clue,” Farek murmured.
His hefty mug arrived on cue. The woman leaned over the bar to give her order over the din of the common room: “Two more,” she said, and pointed at the empty shot glass.
The barkeeper held out his hand and she paid him. Then the woman looked back at Farek and noticed his wandering eyes before leaning back from the bar. She grinned and ran her tongue along her teeth while Farek looked back across the bar uncomfortably. It had been a long time since he had even noticed such things.
“Your shots,” muttered the barkeeper, setting down two small glasses.
The woman cleared her throat as she grabbed her own. Farek glanced back at her and smiled politely before grabbing his own. They swigged in unison, then slid their glasses across the counter; Farek’s clinked against his empty first round.
“Thanks,” Farek muttered.
The woman shrugged. “A third round? Or do you want to just head upstairs?” she asked. When he blinked at her in surprise, she held his eyes with an unwavering gaze.
Farek sighed and took a drink of his beer. “I appreciate the drink,” he said, quietly. His days of womanizing had ended when he started trying to save Soros from itself. Not that I accomplished much… he thought. He might have gotten his home into deeper danger than it had ever been before. He shook his head at the thoughts, gave the woman a polite smile, and said, “Not this time.”
As he staggered away from the bar, hefty mug in hand, Farek glanced around the crowded common room. He knew how he looked—bags beneath his eyes and a perpetual frown hidden beneath his unkempt beard—so he had assumed the woman would have asked for his coin once they had gone upstairs. Now, though—seeing women in translucent blouses blatantly preying on the lust of the inebriated clientele—Farek wasn’t so certain. He glanced back to see her watching him with unveiled interest still, and then he finally sat down at the table with his friends.
“Who was she?” Oakeb asked, smiling.
“Just another patron,” Farek said. He still knew very little of Oakeb, one of the guards Jannia had sent with them at the start of this charade.
Matek chuckled. “Did you learn much of note?”
Farek sighed and gave his friend a flat look. Matek quieted his humour, knowing he could not push it with their embittered lord. “A proposition I passed on—nothing more,” Farek said, making the last words an assertive phrase that meant, “move on!”
Ralla, ever the crude one, looked back at the distant woman and, in disbelief, muttered to Farek, “Really? Her tits are huge.”
Farek shook his head and took a drink. “Let’s just move on,” he insisted.
Ralla scoffed. “What are we going to do with him?” she asked Matek. “His sister won’t even want to see him again, not in this state.”
“Ralla,” Farek bristled. She had one unflinching attitude, that was certain.
“No, she’s right,” Matek said, surprising Farek. The lord looked at his friend in confusion. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal, but you’ve got to move on. We’ve been training, that’s good. But, Farek…you can’t help anyone when you can’t help yourself.”
Farek leaned back in his chair, feeling rather assaulted. He buried his scowl in his mug and chugged until he needed breath. Lowering the beer, he felt the room starting to spin. He had been drinking before the shots, he remembered. “I can’t help anyone—that’s it,” he told Matek.
Ralla shook her head. “Then why sail for Soros?” she asked. “Just drown yourself here and everyone else can move on.”
“I…” Farek didn’t know what to say. He wanted Jannia and Simi to be safe—that was all. Contrary thoughts bubbled up. I must help them was countered by, Assassins go wherever you do… He would just bring assassins to their doorstep, like he had before. But…how could he do nothing? They were serving their would-be killers.
Seeing his anxiety, Matek put his hand on Farek’s. “One step at a time, right?” he reminded. “Tomorrow is a new day. They don’t know you survived—it’ll be different this time. You make it different.”
Farek inhaled and forced a nod. Then, feeling a modicum of calm return, he took another swig of his beer. “Thanks, Matek. Thank you, all.”
Oakeb gave a nod, too.
“Before this wound, I would have tried to laugh it off,” Farek pondered. Maybe I can’t save Soros. Maybe I can’t be who I was trying to be… he thought. But that doesn’t mean I need to be…this. Ralla was right about the woman at the bar—it would be good to not be alone, tonight. He had failed to bring safety to Soros—and he would fail to be the more well-meaning Farek. But the old Farek had gotten by all right—and had had some good times beside.
Seeing his eyes wandering bar-ward, Ralla laughed. “There he is!” She punched Farek’s shoulder playfully. “Go get her.” Matek smirked and gave Farek a shrug.
Feeling foolish, Farek took another gulp from his mug and then stood up. He wandered back across the common room to the waiting woman. Before he could say anything, she grabbed his matted beard and yanked him roughly against her lips. Her mouth tasted like spirits, but her pull felt good.
They crossed the common room hand-in-hand. When they reached the stairwell—that was when it first occurred to Farek. What if she’s another assassin? he thought. She was separating him from his friends. A knife at her hip—or Farek’s own blade—would be enough to finish him for good, in the throes of lovemaking.
But that’s madness, right? he told himself. They went to her inn room; she unlocked with a key and led him inside. In a smooth motion, she pulled the tunic off over her head—her shoulder blades were more defined than her spine—and then turned to face him. It had been a long time since Farek had been with a woman of her shape. Enora Roek had been petite and lacking in strength, though she had made up for it in beauty.
Farek stepped closer to the woman, though he took his time with the buttons of his jacket. Her displayed bosom lowered his guard, certainly—but was it to slip a blade into his ribs? He felt a pang of the pain of the last blade to do so.
For a few minutes, they began their dance. By the time they ended up on the bed though, it had become clear that Farek would not be able to satisfy her. She looked at him with a little disappointment and a little confusion. Likely, others did not react the same way to her affections.
Farek groaned. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He felt ashamed now. He was a fool—and she was an eager lover.
“What do you want to do?” she asked. It must have taken a good measure of patience not to throw him out for the perceived insult of his failed performance.
An assassin wouldn’t ask that, Farek realized. It would be hard to control your target if you gave your target free reign to answer that question. Farek closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he opened them and looked the naked woman over once more. “Can we just start fresh?” he asked, and gave her a rare smile. He grabbed her hip when a smile came to her eyes.
They slid up the bed and into the pillows.