The White Sheep's Disguise ✓

Chapter 6

Since the Void Queen made her presence known, correlating with the Raven Queen's inability to thrust her sister out of her home, the land has become too dangerous to enter through the northern territories. Merchants, workers, and slave marketers used to dock their ships in the Void Territory before it became known as such, and once they began disappearing before reaching the capital or their desired location, rumors spread that the next safest, and quickest territory to enter was through Winter's Past.

Another trouble halted their journeys. Dragon's Peak, swarming with beasts of no remorse and teeth sharp enough to break a body in half with one bite, became the land's worst obstacle. A dry spell comprising a lack of goods savaged the land throughout these troublesome times until the Raven Queen had no choice but to send a letter to Hasteaston, a northern kingdom, and her fondest ally, that entering through the Farm Territory was the next best bet.

Days like these on the docks are my least favorite. Not only are the fishermen as brash and unruly as normal, but distant travelers, merchants, beasts from all walks of life scatter around the docks like ants and they're as hard to get rid of as fleas. There's a reason many baskets of fish go missing on these days—though the cleaners face blame. We don't have a thief's bone in our body. It's Hasteaston, stealing what they wish for they know nothing else. And the queen considers them our closest ally.

I glance over my shoulder at Chaska to see she's facing a similar testament. If it weren't for the bouncing child at her side, a feliram with the foundation growth of horns rupturing from the base of his hairline, she might lose her mind. It's the cluster of people next to her. Maids, by the looks of it, that watch her every move. They point out her mistakes and the more she wipes her brow with the back of her arm, the closer she is to snapping.

The crowd is one trouble. The heat is another. Cleaners receive no shade unless they arrive early enough to stand at a table hidden underneath the awning of a stone building for the foremen to hide in. Their positions were handed to them once they retired from a livelihood of killing and jailing. To sit in a cool office and watch others stand in the sun...the foremen must have the time of their lives. If they're not slumped back in chairs with their boots crossed on the table, that is.

Just when I think the afternoon can't get any worse, I hear bells. Not the loud drum of a church bell that settles deep within my chest, a rumble I can't shake until it departs on its own, but like that on a sleigh. Consistent with the step of the beast they're strapped to. My lip curls back from my teeth, revealing a sharp fang, and I hear, "Oh, come on, Rithorne. You can't hate me before I've spoken."

Wiping any trace of detestation from my face, I look up to find Eligius, Rylan's closest confidant, standing in front of me. He wraps his long fingers around the lips of his chest plate and cocks his head to the side, scrutinizing my every move. I've cleaned enough fish to not have to look down at the meat separating from skin.

He jerks his chin at my craft. "You're getting quite good at that."

"You're not one to hand out compliments, Eligius. Whatever you want, I'm not willing to grant it to you," I mutter, hoping my disinterested tone is enough to get him to scamper off and play with someone else. Hopefully, a grumpy fisherman tired of other ships impeding on his harbor.

"I don't want anything."

I slide a cleaned fish to the end of the table, but Eligius blocks the final steps to drop the fish into the bucket.

His amber eyes glow as he says, "You missed a spot."

I don't have to look down at the fish to know he's lying. "Really? Tell me where it is." Crossing my arms over my chest, I step back. Only on the rarest occasions does Eligius turn his rotten fingers on anything other than a woman's waist. The difference to that and a fish is a risk he doesn't desire to take.