Ulla stiffened.A stubbornness crept into the set of her jaw, as if she were readying herself for battle, but she nodded.
Bart signed to her, keeping his gestures tight and small, so the wall of patrons along the bar screened them from the rest of the room.Then, probably for Bastion’s benefit, he said, “Let’s get you into some dry clothes.”
Bart opened one arm in welcome as he came around the bar.The fatherly expression on his face wasn’t lost on Bastion.The innkeeper cast a dark look over his shoulder at the pirates filtering through the room before he guided Ulla through a doorway.
Bastion reclaimed his seat and flagged down Triss.He ordered another apple tart, keeping watch peripherally.
Each of the six pirates had tan, weathered skin.Over sun-bleached clothes, they wore jackets dusted with salt spray, along with knitted gloves and hats.Two shouldered their way to the counter to order drinks.Two others shed their outer layers and commandeered a table with a view of the dance floor.The last two struck up conversation with nearby patrons.
The locals regarded them with casual suspicion.In a coastal town like this, Bastion suspected they had their fair share of travelers, seafarers, and more buttoned-up types like Lord Kyrith’s naval officers and crew.The size of this group made them more innocuous, but Bastion was willing to bet the townsfolk recognized them for what they were, if only subconsciously.
He took one bite of his tart, chewing it slowly.The sugar dissolved on his tongue, but he was too busy scanning the room to really notice the rich combination of caramel and apples.When Triss returned with a pitcher, he covered his pint, shaking his head.
The man to his right got up, heading for the dance floor.A moment later, Ulla dropped into the vacant seat, and Bastion nearly choked.She wore a skirt and blouse with floral embroidery at the hem and neckline.The clothes didn’t suit her.
She met his eye, a hint of embarrassment flickering there, as if she felt as out of her element as she appeared.
Before he thought better of it, he leaned in and said, “You look lovely.”
An unconvincing smile jerked across her lips.Bart arrived with a bowl of stew.The guise of kindly innkeeper had faded, replaced with a sharp watchfulness that made even Bastion wonder if he was misbehaving.
The other Yvri kept glancing curiously in Ulla’s direction, but she ignored them, staunchly keeping her back to the rest of the room.The music changed, and almost immediately, a man sidled up to Ulla.She stiffened and leaned away.
One of the pirates.
“How ‘bout a dance, darlin’?”he asked.
His shoulders shook with a salacious chuckle, clearly misinterpreting why her eyes had fallen on his mouth.Disgust rippled through Bastion.Before he could intervene, Ulla draped her wrist over Bastion’s shoulder.
For a heartbeat, all the air sucked from his lungs.Then, automatically, as if it had always belonged there, his arm snaked around her waist.He pulled her flush, stool and all.Ulla’s rigidity melted as she folded against him.The inside of her elbow brushed against the back of his hand, her skin smooth and cool.All Bastion’s mental focus dropped to that single point of contact, threatening to frazzle his thoughts.
Somehow, he managed to growl three words.
“She’s with me.”
The man’s lip curled.
Silently, Bastion dared him to challenge the proclamation.He knew getting into a fight with one of the pirates would draw unwanted attention, but he craved an outlet.He could do it without even unsheathing his sword.Perhaps, if he bloodied his fists on this man’s face, he would find some relief from the coiled frustration threatening to burst from within.Here, at least, his bruised knuckles would be physical proof that he had done something right.
The pirate's eyes dropped to Bastion’s sword, lingering on the pommel.Whether it was the heat in Bastion’s words or the blade at his side, the pirate yielded.
“My mistake, mate,” he said.
He slunk away, joining his fellows down the bar as they passed out a round of drinks.Bastion glared daggers at his back.Only when he was sure they’d be left in peace did he relax his arm and reluctantly let Ulla slide out of his space.
“Ye’d cement the ruse if ye actually danced with her,” Bart rumbled across the counter, his attention fixed on the pint he was polishing.
Bastion’s heart leapt, burning at the idea.He glanced at Ulla to gauge her reaction.But then, all his bravado evaporated as a new thought swamped his mind.
How would they dance if she couldn’t hear the music?
Ulla met his eyes, the earlier unease long gone.Her expression turned stony, as if sensing his train of thought.The hint of an old wound burned behind her eyes, scarred but still tender.One that he understood instantly, because it mirrored his own.And yet, he’d never dared give it words, let alone lay it before someone to perceive.
Slowly, as if she were challenging him, Ulla reached over and picked up his half-eaten tart.She took her time, holding his gaze as she ate it.Bastion couldn’t help but look at her lips, coated in sugar, then at her throat moving as she swallowed.She ate it in a calculated, measured way, staring him down.In a room full of people, he had nowhere to hide.
A question hung heavy in the air between them.
Would he reduce her to her deafness or let her define herself?
