All the Stars and Teeth(28)
On one hand, I understand his reaction. The first time Father showed me how to dissect something, we started with a foot, which are full of messy, sticky tendons that goop around your fingers and are nearly impossible to work around. I’d been upset about staining the dress I’d worn that day, but having magic not only means learning how to live with it, but also how to accept it as part of you. When I first began practicing soul magic, death felt like a tragic, sickly thing. But as the protector of Visidia, that was a hurdle I was forced to cross long ago. If Bastian wants to use me and my magic, he should understand what he’s using.
“I never took you as the type to faint.” I can’t contain the bitterness that drips into my words.
He rubs his neck. “Sorry.” Though his words are clipped with annoyance, they’re genuine. “It’s just so…”
“Impressive?” I try to ignore how his reaction stings. My magic is strange. But why can’t people see that it’s also amazing? “I took on this magic to serve Visidia and protect my people. Impressive is the word you’re looking for.”
His brows are knitted like he’s contemplating something, and I don’t like the look of it.
“Maybe you should check on Ferrick.” It’s not necessarily a suggestion, but Bastian takes it as one. I eye him warily as he rubs his hands over his face.
“No, no. I’m sorry. It’s not the blood that bothers me. I’ve just never been quite so thorough with someone’s body before. Should I start to feel ill again, I’ll leave. I promise. But this is something I want to see. You’re right, it’s … impressive.”
I press my lips together as I slowly pull back the burlap to reveal the hand. Bastian struggles to keep his face frozen and shoulders steady. He’s barely breathing, knuckles pressed into his lap to steady himself, but it’s clear he wants to stay.
And because I want someone to understand my magic, I let him.
CHAPTER TEN
We finish washing and drying the bones several hours later, just as Ikae’s terraced mountains begin to loom over us. My mouth is dry as I stare up at their extravagance, gripping the ledge of the ship to steady myself.
The terraces look like dozens of giant steps have been carved into the stark white mountainside, each of them filled with lakes of pink water and surrounded by dazzling houses all in a variety of colors and styles. Some are enchanted so that purple smoke billows out of tall chimneys and into the setting sun, while other homes look as though they’re made of shimmering sea glass. Rows upon rows of vineyards stretch far up into the mountain peaks, where the sunlight shines the brightest. Mornute’s primary source of income has always been from exporting alcohol. Just thinking of all the wine they’re making up there has my mouth watering.
The azure bay is swirled with soft green foam, though when I peer over Keel Haul and into the water, I can still see the boastful coral reef that rests below. The thunderous cheers that fill the air have driven the fish into hiding, but the bay itself thrives with life.
I hear the people of Ikae before I see the anchored ship they pile onto, cheering as they wave soft pink flags into the air.
“Two gold pieces on Romer!” someone yells, met with a smattering of cheers and applause.
“Three gold pieces and a pearl on Keanu!”
I lean over the ledge of Keel Haul to get a better look, and am sucked in by the frivolous figures parading around the ship. It’s only been a day, and yet feathers no longer appear to be the current style. Despite the fierce humidity, women wear heavy gowns of pastel fish scales that catch the light of the sun and sting my eyes.
The men are just as extravagant. The majority wear luminous trousers and simple pastel tops with giant scaled shoulder pads. Others have attached the scales directly to the skin of the neck and beneath their eyes, and have adorned their trousers with bubbles or shifting fabric that mimics an ocean’s wave.
On the plank, two men stand side by side in only their undergarments. Their oil-slicked bodies are lean and cut with muscle.
“What is this?” I ask Bastian. The pirate leans beside me after twisting the helm and steering us to the far right of the bay, out of the other ship’s path.
“Cannon Rushing,” he answers. “Also known as the most ridiculous sport known to man. Ahoy!” He yells the last word, loud enough to draw the attention of those on a neighboring ship. Several people wave in acknowledgment.
“Good spot?” Bastian yells.
We’re met with a mix of raised flute glasses and rueful hoots before the people on the opposite ship return to whatever they’re up to.
A lady with beautiful obsidian skin and lilac hair waltzes her way around the deck, holding a shimmering fish-scale pouch. She extends it to anyone who shouts out a price, and they drop their money into it without hesitation.
“I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Bastian snorts. “And you won’t anywhere else.”
The men on the plank lower themselves to a crouch. They grip on to the plank as a sun-flushed woman behind them raises a pink flag into the air. She holds it there, taunting, then swoops it down with a high-pitched laugh.
The ocean trembles and I jump back from the ledge of the shaking Keel Haul. The neighboring ship spits out a cannonball, which hurtles past the cleared-out bay. My ringing ears burn, but I can’t look away. I throw myself back against the ledge and watch as the two men from the plank dive into the clear water.