Page 39 of The Ballad of a Bard

T here wasn’t much room in the small cabin usually reserved for the captain, but West promised that they wouldn’t need it. Not when they should reach their destination by nightfall if the winds were on their side. He showed her around the boat and she was surprised to find that it was a fairly small vessel, in comparison to some of the grand floats that sailed around the continent.

There was only one mast, instead of the usual three that she expected to see when looking up, but the single post bore the flag of Tazali proudly, high and mighty. The railings were worn, which signalled to her that the ship was well loved. The captain seemed to know it inside and out, front and back as if it were a valued member of his family instead of a transportational item.

They set sail quickly, without any delay after the gangplank was loaded up and the ship was pushed off the docks with large paddles.

West seemed to be lost in thought in the crash and pull of the sea, as if it called to him. She supposed that even though his Saintly name was that of the Northern Star, that he represented the night in its entirety. The navy quilt in his sapphire eyes, the golden stars with his rich skin, the darkness in his near black hair and even the silver of the moon in his curved smile.

And the moon was connected with the ocean, with the lulling sense of command and obey that came with each shirking phase and every seafoam capped wave.

He wore the cobalt jacket that boldly stated his title and what he did for the Empire of Tazali, with his broad arms crossed over his chest as his gaze locked with the horizon. A focus point somewhere across the cerulean sea as he heavily contemplated something that she wasn’t privy to. He didn’t move an inch, looking as stoic and stone as one of the granite statues in the Empress’s garden. His mouth pursed as he chewed on the inside, lost in his thoughts and to nothing else.

Whatever it was, seemed important.

Crimson approached him as she would a frightened child; with caution and discretion. West acknowledged her quiet creaks of her shoes with a tilt of his head in her direction. She came to the wooden railing, leaning across it as she tried to see what had captured his attention. But as she drew close, she noticed that his fingers were tightly grasped around something cream coloured.

Around something familiar.

She paused, turning her focus from the water to see what it was.

The Saint spared her from anymore perusing as he uncurled his digits and held out his hand before her. Her spine immediately locked up as she knew why the thing in his hand looked so familiar.

Her note.

Crimson didn’t say anything as she tucked her lips together until they formed a flat line. She took it from him, brushing against his gloved palm. Uncrumpling it, she looked down at it blankly. There was no need for her to try to read the ink, not when she knew the one by heart. It was the one from C that mentioned him, about dragging him into this whole Heartache mess.

His voice was hoarse as he asked, “How many notes have you received, Crimson?”

She swallowed, “Three.”

“Why didn’t you say anything to me?” West stopped his forlorn look out towards the waves as he turned towards her. “You should have brought this up, especially considering that they included my name.”

“Why?” She bit out.

“What do you mean, why?” Confusion darted through his tone like a frog snapping at a fly for lunch.

“You thought that they were a harmless joke, a prank to be ignored when I brought the first one to you.” Crimson tore the note into shreds, scattering them onto the sea-salt-licked breeze. They watched them flitter and flutter around until the wind carried them into the ocean.

“But-”

“If I had brought the next one, and then the one after that to you, would you have taken the matter seriously?” She hated that she’d forgotten to empty the wastebasket before they departed, leaving the evidence of whatever this stupid game was behind for him, or anyone truly, to find.

West glanced down at her. “Yes.”

She met his gaze. “Yes?”

“I didn’t realise that there had been more. No wonder you asked for that knife when you did. I can’t imagine what’s been racing through your head as these have been spontaneously emerging from nothing.” He sighed and flipped around, propping his back up against the worn railing. “I want you to feel safe, Heartstrings, regardless of where you are or who you’re with. Myself included.”

Pity stuck to her like the barnacles on the hull of the boat, scraping alongside her innards with sharp edges of shame for not telling him.

“West, I have felt safe.” She placed her hand atop his bicep and he tried to hide the small jerk. “You’ve provided far more for Cobalt and I than I could have ever done before. You put Damien and Thalias on bed duty over him during the duration of our travels. I don’t know how much more safe it could get. If I wasn’t feeling safe, then I wouldn’t have agreed to leave with you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His face fell, looking for all the world as if he failed at something. What, she didn’t know. “Do you not trust me?”

Her heart trilled, vibrated, buzzed as if he was the one who could control it. In a way, he was.

No, you moronic Saint. I trust you more than you could ever know. I think I might even love you.

That was what she wanted to say.

But she said none of that.

Instead she said, “Of course I do, West.”

He let out a breath. “Alright. But promise me, vow to me, that you will tell me immediately if another note shows up. I don’t care if I’m in the middle of practice or have other duties, you tell me.” He held his hand out to her once more, free of parchment.

Crimson studied it, feigning turning it down until he lifted a brow and grasped it firmly. Their fingers locked together and even through the thick fabric of his leather, she could feel the pulsing heat of his magical light. She smiled up at him and he returned it with a sideways turn of his lips .

“You’d better, Heartstrings. You’ve shaken a deal with a Saint after all. Dangerous things could happen if you don’t fulfil it.”

She could feel her face pale. “Could there actually?”

West barked out a short laugh. “Already thinking about going back on your word?”

“No!” Crimson protested.

He grinned. “You don’t sound so sure. I might have to keep a closer eye on you to keep you locked into that bargain.”

She wouldn’t have minded that.

She wouldn’t have minded if he stayed by her side forever. There was a light that entered her system at the idea of that, one that she pushed away before it distracted her completely.

“Forgive me for wanting to delve deeper into the small details and vast knowledge you must have about the entire topic of conversation. Forgive me for exploring this newfound-”

She almost said relationship.

But that word felt like a mistake.

“Friendship.” West offered up.

“Friendship.” She confirmed.

Her answering smile wasn’t as reassuring as she wanted it to be, she could feel it in the wavering confidence that sank through her like a stone tossed into a river. Disappointment bubbled up like air, trying to escape. It doused any flickering ember or hope of something else with him.

West didn’t seem to notice.

If he did, he didn’t say anything.

West was correct and they didn’t end up needing the captain’s cabin. By the time the first sign of the crescent moon slank into the midnight sky, they had docked on the shores of Valkrigge. The crew wished them luck as they unearthed their supplies, handing them over before lowering the gangplank into place and giving the go ahead to depart. The captain spoke with West before they left, informing him that they’d be back in five days time.

She looked back towards West in confirmation that it would be enough time to travel across the lands to Belledon and back. He told her that it was, soothing her giddy nerves. Worst case, he said, they could always hire another boat to take them back to Tazali if they ran late.

Crimson wasn’t a fool, she knew he meant a bribe.

They headed for the nearest inn, with the intention to begin their search for the elusive Saint first thing in the morning after a bite to eat and a full night of rest. But travelling at night throughout any part of Valkrigge, especially the run down town that they’d landed in, was not a good idea. West told her about the sort that prowled through the lands, and their misguided habits.

She’d never been anywhere besides Tazali, and up until him, never past the Silver Gate. And even then, she wouldn’t consider herself an expert traveller into the Silver Gate.

Valkrigge was notorious for their petty crimes, their gruesome murders, and all over uncontrolled chaos with unpredictable ends.

Suddenly Crimson wished that she’d brought her fighting knives, instead of the singular one attached to her hip that he’d given her. She’d left them behind for safe keeping, still tucked away in his drawer until Red Lyric could be completely retired without the fear of him resurfacing. There was always that overwhelming, lingering terror that she’d be shoved back into that role. West didn’t seem the type of person- Saint, to toss her out on her backside and leave them both defenceless, but she was aware that his protection and help might not last forever.

Even if he would.

Now as they approached the closest inn with precaution and wariness, eying the sign that said they had rooms to rent, she was more than happy to have a living Saint by her side.