The Bastard Girl (The Bastard Girl Series, Book #1)

Chapter 23~ The End of the Beginning

Chapter 23~ The End of the Beginning

The night was pacific. After all the death and adrenaline in the past few days, the oceans decided to settle—to let the rotting smells fade away. The passing islands were just as still.

I stood at the bow of the ship, lost in my thoughts. They'd drifted back to my mother. What kind of madness could have been running through her head for her to lead a life such as this? I ultimately understood her abandonment of my father's conduct. If I could only speak with her once more...

The sea breeze rippled through my raven-colored waves and left icy kisses across my cheeks and nose. I hadn't opened up my eyes in what felt like an hour. There were no sounds piercing my ears—only the numbing accent of the wind. My arms rested on either side of the railings.

After my confrontation with my father, both Edmund and I were fed and properly clothed. Edmund refused any help from Henry Every at first, but he wasn't stupid. He needed any charity he could get. So, he was tended to by the ship's most skilled crewman who cleaned, sterilized, and dressed his wounds. My treatment was a bit more severe. In fact, there was nothing the man could do for my foot or ribs. He gave me a strong crutch and a blessing. And that was that.

I was dressed in a long white cotton chemise that had been retrieved from the Svarn Aatank's demise. A corset to match would've been appropriate in any other circumstance. For once, my bruised ribs had done me a bit of good.

The gown draped a tad around my shoulders, obviously too large of a size for me. However, I did receive shoes—a pair of simple slippers. The feel of a protected foot had been forgotten to me up until then. Something about the new clothes made me feel taller. more powerful than before. In return, the crutch did its job of bringing me back down a size.

Edmund, on the other hand, turned a sour grimace towards his new apparel, disgusted at the very touch of its soft cotton on his skin. I couldn't say his transformation from rugged and filthy to a respectable-looking man was any more comforting to me. I'd grown so used to the disarray. A long tawny brown leather coat sat along his shoulders, styled in silver adornments and buttoned up to his sternum. He wore actual trousers that weren't torn or poorly crafted and boots that fit him modestly and comfortably. Edmund's hair had been washed and somewhat combed back. I almost didn't recognize him when I laid eyes on him. Then again, he could say the same for me. I'd washed the grime away, as well. I was clean—reborn—not a speck of dirt upon my pearl white skin. The slave ladies had all been ordered to tame my locks, against my reluctance of them. And in a mere ten minutes, the hair had been packed into a braid down my shoulder.

I was finally comely, pretty. And God knows how much I despised that.

It was times like these that made me ask myself "what am I gonna do with the rest of my life?". The unknowing silence after asking such a question wasn't entirely bizarre to me. I'd been asking myself that very question since my mother died.

My father's wealth wouldn't last. He'd be lucky to make it the rest of the year before pissing it all away and ending up drunk, dead, and in a ditch.

He was past the point of saving. But, then again, perhaps, so was I. What do you do when there's no direction? No stability? Nothing left to fight for or against?

Where then do you turn?

"I could use a drink," I grumbled as I heard the thump of approaching footsteps behind me.

"Couldn't we all?"

Arms wrapped around my waist. Arms that I knew—that I loved. They shielded me and brought a placid smile to my lips. His chin rested upon my shoulder and nuzzled closer into the nape of my bare neck. Breath hot. Breeze cool and silky. Chills.