The Princess and the Blood of Eternity

Chapter 2: A Princess is Discovered

Leaving the carnage behind, Cleo followed Ural past the double hatch and down a flight of stairs. The wide staircase had enough room for three people to walk abreast, and the fact it was built with such a moderate decline meant it was a staircase unconcerned with the concept of space.

It was a novel concept for a ship built with such a valuable commodity also known as wood. And for the wasted space, crews routinely bent themselves backwards, trying to determine the most efficient setup while dedicating most of their hull to cargo. Cleo and his crew slept stacked and packed like sardines in their hammocks, the bottoms of which were kept loosely tied in place to prevent them from swinging when the seas grew unusually rough. Cleo couldn't imagine such a luxury, even while stretching his arms out and failing to touch the walls instead of the cramped tunnels familiar to his own craft.

In front of him, the big southerner lumbered along, taking two steps at a time. One hand held his sword, and the other kept a firm grip on the railing for balance. His confidence from earlier remained as an ever-present shadow that carried him toward his goal. Cleo tried to drink it in, to borrow the confidence as best he could. Perhaps it would stop his hands from shaking—prevent him from making a costly mistake. Inside, he hoped the effort didn't make him look foolish.

The wide staircase spilled into an even larger hallway. It was a magnificent space of polished dark-stained oak floors, smooth polished walls and enough artwork to imagine they had stepped into a palace. There were small oil lamps attached to the wall near the ceiling that illuminated the space in a warm glow, and the ceiling was high enough that it allowed Ural to stand inside the ship's cabin without having to slouch. The air smelled of fresh cut wood mixed with the stench of pitch and tar, but underneath floated a seemingly inappropriate flowery fragrance whose potency made Cleo's nose itch.

The second half of the ship appeared to be hidden by a series of barriers or decorative doors. Cleo had never seen the like, though his experience was anything but diverse, having never been on anything larger than his schooner.

All traces of the smoke had vanished, overcome by the sheer size and distance from the deck and various other smells permeating the air. Strange, the way the enormous ship behaved in the water. He could almost believe they were on land and walking the halls of a massive building.

Try as he might, Cleo could not distance himself from the haunting images he'd seen topside. So much death and blood, all of it left to dry beneath a scorching sun—forgotten and spent. Just thinking about the sharp stench of decay left him queasy. He needed to empty his thoughts before he got them killed.

Ural continued leading the way, passing the numerous doorways lining both sides of the hall. Muscles taut, his blade tilted from left to right depending on the direction of an open doorway, as if he was preparing to deflect an attack.

Watching his alertness made Cleo jumpy. It felt like the big southerner had eyes on the back of his head, and instead of feeling comforted, Cleo felt his stress magnified.

The doorway on the left led to a closet that was piled high with sacks of grain. Arranged on the floor were several rows of porcelain vases filled with rice. They were sealed and dated with wax to identify their contents, and on the far wall was a small porthole that displayed an empty horizon.

Room after room, all of them packed with supplies. Cleo touched none of it, but he couldn't help but feel guilty, guilty over the idea of waste. He still had the dagger safely tucked into his pants, an invisible weight threatening to anchor him to a harsh reality. He moved to keep his hands pinned to his sides, just in case.