Born of Shadow and Sea

Lost Girls

TARANIS

"You're back early," my father remarks from the galley where he snaps peas for tonight's supper, a hearty stew he'll spend all day on. A good task for a man whose idle hands are prone to stirring up trouble. Always have, ever since he was young. It's how he came to take up cooking in the first place. In a house full of servants, all tiring of his terrible behavior, they took it in turns sharing their chores with him. Cooking was the only one to stick.

"Adventure hard to come by at the market this morning?" he asks, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth. In our family, adventure is never hard to find. In fact, it could be said, most days, adventure finds us whether we seek it or not.

I suppose my parents are to blame. A lifetime of mischief is bound to set a pattern of sorts.

"Bit more adventure than I bargained for, to be honest," I admit, removing my bow and arrows and hanging them beside my father's. My mother's leather holster and blade is absent, and I take note of the time. Seven hours it's been since she left in the dark of night to toil in something she felt best not to discuss. Yet.

I let the hood of my sleeveless tunic slip from my head and run a careless hand through my flattened hair, mussing it up until it stands on edge, wild and unruly the way I like it. The way I was raised to be. "Xander Crowfield turned up in the center of town wearing nothing but a barrel and blathering on an endless stream of nonsense until two officers collected him and took him to the clinic."

My father stops his pea snapping and frowns. "What d'you mean, nothing but a barrel?"

"I mean," I repeat, moving toward him, eyes bulging, "nothing but a barrel. He was completely naked. Nothing but skin and a few slats of wood. And I'm telling you, they weren't bound nearly as tightly as one might have preferred. I saw entirely too much of him just having the unfortunate bad luck of crossing his path after lingering at the honey stand too long." I slip a hand into my pocket, remembering. "They had the blackberry honey you like today." I hand him the jar of liquid amber which he receives with a smile so broad, you'd think I handed him gold not honey.

"You're my favorite child, you know that don't you?" He pinches my cheek and laughs.

"I'm your only child," I remind him dryly. And some could argue, after the years spent on the Waves of Rive, far from a child despite my appearance.

"This Xander business," he returns to his peas as well as the conversation. "Anyone we know have a hand in it?"

I smirk. "I did spot a delicate little thing with springy braids of badius hair making quite a fuss right before he wound up losing his wits along with his pants."

"Delicate, ey?" My father chuckles. "That's fresh."

"Speaking of delicate," I change the subject, "has Mum shared with you what she's been getting into every night?"

"She has not," my mother's voice answers loudly, causing me to turn. Her legs are first to appear through the hatch, the rest of her follows shortly after.

Her fiery red hair appears windblown, with curly wisps roaming free all over her head despite the bun she wears. The rest of her looks equally disheveled and out of sorts. From her flushed skin to the tears in her cloak, she's marked in more ways than one by an adventure that turned on her. The only thing that comforts me, is seeing her blade still in its leather sheath, the strap securing it inside still latched.

Whatever my mother faced, there was no need to fight it.

"Corsen?" My father steps from the galley and hurries toward her.