Book 2: Sea of Delarn

Chapter 9: New Chef

Delarn's ears were burning as she kneeled on her hands and knees on the hard wooden floor and scrubbed the stew up. She did her best not to let the knees of her pants soak up any of the mess, knowing that asking for fresh ones would only lead to further embarrassment and maybe scorn. She felt her stomach churn, and she felt on the verge of cursing a god if her stomach dared to make her mess bigger. Her body swayed with the ship, and she knew she wouldn't forgive herself if she tipped over.

She reviewed where she could have gone wrong again and again, but none of it made sense to her. What could she have possibly done different? Her palms felt raw scrubbing harder and her back complained.

"Fucking bitch," she said so softly it was barely audible to even her ears, but she braced herself anyway. When no retribution came, she said it louder. "Fucking bitch!"

And this time she was sure it was going to be heard, and tried not to flinch this time, not wanting to be known for cowering as long as she was on this ship or anywhere else. She couldn't help but feel more than an ounce of relief when nothing happened.

And though her ears were still pink, and she was still sore, she wondered what the captain was doing. She hadn't hung around, and maybe she was waiting for her to do a bad job to punish her. It made staying on her knees appealing, but then again, maybe she would punish her anyway.

She finished cleaning so there wouldn't be a mess to contend with. She didn't want to be forced to lick it off the floor or whatever other petty punishment the captain might devise. It was encouraging to find the door unlocked; she half expected to be locked in.

She felt the absurdity of what she was intending even as she slowly made her way through the hall up to the deck, making sure she knew where the captain was, so there was no way for her to sneak up on her. She wanted to understand how the woman worked. It wasn't good enough trying to guess, and it was a whole different matter actually knowing.

Delarn regretted having such poor eyesight. It meant she wasn't entirely sure if the captain was on the deck or not, but she felt she would have heard her if she was, or else she would have been spotted. Maybe she was putting too much importance on herself, assuming the captain would come harass her if she saw her and not just ignore her until she wanted her again—especially with her mad at her—but she would bet on it.

She was relieved when she arrived at the galley and could hear the sounds of the cook and the captain talking, but felt her blood running cold at their tone. She felt a strong urge to turn around and hide in Beraliska's room until she came for her, but couldn't pry herself from listening in.

"And what do you think I would have done if you would have done something to her?" Beraliska asked, her tone low. Her teeth sounded as if they were scraping together like knives, or perhaps that was the knives of the cook. Would he stab her?

"I don't think you would do much," the man said, but his voice was so low she doubted she would hear him if she weren't a Lyalltine. "A girl like her is easy to replace, but you have a problem you can't easily replace me for, don't you?"

Delarn leaned in a little, wanting to get a better image of what their conversation looked like even if it was blurry, but a loud crack followed his words and she moved back as if expecting it was for her. What followed was the sound of hissing and the cook screaming in a way that made a pit form in her stomach. She could smell flesh burning, and she peeked around the corner again.

And Beraliska looked enormous standing over the cook. Delarn remembered feeling small, but she dwarfed him easily. She could smell her fur, salty and musky and she didn't think she was mistaken to think she was half shifted as she said, her hand bearing down on the man's neck as she held him against a great, big boiling pot, the metal scorching his back. She could make out smoke rising.