Mermaid Tear (The Fated #2)

13 | Caydel

Iliana's story had been interrupted shortly after it began by the unexpected creek of the door. Several heavy footsteps echoed through the room, but they didn't approach her cell. Instead, they entered Caydel's. There, a few sharp words were barked, followed by a stomach-churning thud. Had they kicked him?

Someone sighed, and there was a heavy shuffling, before Caydel was escorted from his cell. She only knew he was missing by the silence that followed no matter how many times she whispered his name. Fear for his well-being filled her despite her best wishes. His company was warm, and his absence returned her dark cell to a fearful chill.

In the end, it left her alone with her thoughts. And, as tended to happen in these moments, Iliana sought solace in her memories.

The cold stung harsher on an empty stomach.

Iliana's body couldn't seem to decide what should make it harder to move. There was the way her stomach seemed to curl into itself, searching for food that hadn't been provided for days, but also the frozen air that blew through the alley hovel she currently claimed.

Neither issue could be fixed by staying there, so she crawled to her feet, resting numb fingers against a dirty brick wall. Her head spun, and for a moment the world seemed to tilt to and fro. But, soon, it settled.

The world outside her alley wasn't much better. The townsfolk steered clear of her, which suited her just fine, but made work hard to find.

Agata at the bakery had hired a new apprentice, and wasn't even around to shoo her off himself. The blacksmith spat at the ground and cursed about how no girl would ever be allowed in his workshop. Apparently the rumors about her secret had finally reached his ears. The tanner apologized, but he couldn't afford to let her clean his skins. She didn't have a good hand for those sort of things, and the hunt had been scarce this winter.

In the end, all she had was the docks. Well, it was the only safe bet, at least.

The folks there were migratory for the most part, never sticking around long enough to catch rumors. Even if sailors were as bad as anyone else about gendered superstition, as long as she kept her hair short and her clothes baggy, no one looked twice at a scrawny kid.

Her luck was poor, of course. In the end, there were only two ships at port, and one of them was a nobleman's. Iliana couldn't risk approaching nobility, as even with the dirt that stained her, there was always the risk someone would recognize her and cart her off in hopes of winning Kyril's favor. So, it was really just the one. The Airlea.

"Hello?"

The gangplank was down, but silence was all that met her call. Hesitance pitted against her hunger as she stared at what she could see of the empty deck. She didn't want to anger potential employers by trespassing, but she also didn't have much time to waste here. If no one at the dock was willing to hire, she'd have to go check the seedier part of town. Sometimes folks there would be willing to pay a coin or two to a kid willing to run a message, or stick their nose where it didn't belong. She'd been avoiding them since the rumors started spinning--as street girls had a habit of disappearing in those parts, it was one of the main reasons she disguised herself to begin with--but if they were all she had left, she'd take the risk.

So, she tried calling out three times more, before stepping away. Just as she'd turned her back to the ship, however, a loud thump and curse broke the air. Curiosity had her looking to the Airlea, just as a figure appeared atop the gangplank. Disappointment hit her as she realized the newcomer couldn't have been but a year or two older than herself, if that. Likely he was a lookout or cabin boy. Neither had the authority to hire a porter.