Aligning the Forgotten ✓

Chapter 27: Roux

The battleship, an old and rickety mess of slabs of wood, furthers itself from the Flitsea docks. I stand towards the stern of the ship, my hands folded over my front, watching as the land disappears. The grey lined buildings against the matching sky are not the most beautiful sight to say farewell to but I have no other options.

The salted ocean air reminds me of a simpler time, as does the breeze through my hair, brushed back against my shoulders. While we stayed at an inn for the night, I cut the strands back to the most comfortable length—chopped against my collarbones. It felt right to have a change before leaving for a land I've never seen with my own eyes.

I'm not the only one on the ship. Behind me, the crew works to move barrels of supplies down to storage underneath the deck—food, water, ale, medical supplies, and weapons. The king brought everything with him, as much as the ship could hold, as well as an entirely new batch of soldiers to liven the group that's been fighting for years upon years. They'll likely never see their families again, not if the king's arrival doesn't win this war.

The king has already made himself at home; the captain's quarters no longer belong to the captain of the ship, but the king, a position the original leader was pleased to give up when he watched his king approach. If he hadn't given up his position, his throat would have been slit and the king carrying on his merry way.

I had to take a breath from the battlements. Standing over a table and going over battle tactics—it's too much for my swirling thoughts to comprehend. I've always wanted to experience the world and see it for myself, particularly the open sea, and I didn't want to waste the opportunity of watching ourselves peel away from the only stretch of land for miles.

Dark water laps against the keel of the ship, splitting like a knife to allow this mass of a wooden structure through. We'll make it there in a week's time and journey for two days on the land of Edogrith to find our way to the Esaria War Camp from the docks. It'll be a journey I'm not looking forward to, instead of traveling, I'd love to be at the battlefield already. My patience wears thin at times like this.

Boots scuffle on the deck, the sound being someone climbing up the stairs, and I don't have to look behind me to know the king is approaching. I've memorized the light beat of his steps, the way he walks and the saunter he has. One solid press of his boot against the rickety wood is enough for my spine to straighten and my head to clear of all thoughts when he appears at my side.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" He asks, referring to the land we're slowly departing from. Some still watch from the docks and bid their farewell and good luck on a bloodied battlefield. Nothing gets them more excited than watching their leader aid the soldiers in a dying missing to win.

Looking back at the soldiers, I realize many of them will not make it out alive. And while I want to agree with the king and say what's before me is beautiful...I can't. Instead, I say, "Esaria is very peaceful. The soldiers are blessed to have such a home." Witches of all kinds, healers, some old and young, have accompanied us. Not because they wanted to but the king personally selected them from throughout the kingdom.

With hefty pay, prostitutes, and large meals accompanied by ale, they couldn't refuse. Of course, all those luxuries are saved until after they survive the war ahead. If they die, they're rewarded with nothing other than a letter to their families, signed by the crown prince himself. It's nothing more than a statement of apology and honor—your loved one served his kingdom well, we were sorry to see him fall. Meaningless words.

"That they are," the king agrees. "I once thought this land was as wasted as the rest. I hated the kingdom, planned on taking another so I didn't have to live in the awful place known as my kingdom."