“I’m sorry for all this,” I say, waving an arm generally around to gesture to... well, everything: the remote location, the hovel we’re living in, the company of rough and bawdy pirates. I might like the company, but Frannie’s from a more well-to-do background than I am.
She pauses to frown down at me and then folds her arms over her considerable chest. “I’ve said this once and I won’t say it again, Reva. Don’t be sorry for anything. It was all out of your control, and I’m finding that I’m quite enjoying myself here. Do you know the last person who stared at me for my green skin? Itwas back in Port Yarrow. None of these folks are judging us, and I’m enjoying the freedom.”
I give a nod, only slightly mollified. “Do you ever wish you could go back to the caves?”
The ogre caves are somewhere to the East, although their exact location is a well kept secret. From what I’ve gleaned in the time I’ve known her, it sounds like ogre society is strict and rule-filled, nothing like how most people would expect. Frannie told me that it’s very rare for anyone to leave the caves, and even more rare as an ogress.
“It might sound odd, but I feel like I’ve only just started living for the first time. Before, I had one toe in the world while the rest of me was stuck in the caves. But now I’m here and I’m going to enjoy myself. I feel useful helping around here, however I can.” She squeezes my arm. “Can’t be too different from how your witch feels. He’s certainly busy enough, but he’s in danger of running himself ragged.”
I give a little grunt rather than responding, ignoring the warmth in my chest when she still refers to Aster as ‘my witch’.
Because despite all that’s happened, he still feels like mine. And it feels like I’ve spent long enough punishing us both for something that wasn’t either of our faults.
We’ve all been so disconnected recently, and not just because of losing the bond’s physical connection. But maybe tonight might change that. Or we can at least try to soak up some of the raucous energy from downstairs.
The two of us head downstairs into the foyer where it seems like most people are hanging out for the party, spilling out into the dining room and another couple of rooms that have been used for storage until now. There are purple lights scattered all over the house, bathing the house in a warm glow. The house looks almost... homey like this, even if there is still a mildewy smell in the air. Echoing off the walls is the sound of raucouslaughter and cheerful taunting, along with the smell of food cooking. It doesn’t quite smell as mouth-watering as Cookie’s usual fare, but I’m guessing someone drew the short straw to take over from him for the night.
Someone thrusts drinks into each of our hands as soon as we reach the bottom of the stairs. I hold them up to Frannie, and she beams at me, taking a long swallow of each of her two drinks in turn.
“I don’t see any of your menfolk around here.” She peers around at the swarm of people around us, downing one of her drinks. “Wow, these are strong drinks. Something tells me this is going to be a fun night.”
Some of the crew are already swaying, their arms wrapped around each other as they start singing a song I’ve heard before whose lyrics are truly filthy.
Someone grabs Frannie by the hand and spins her around in a circle as she giggles wildly before disappearing into the crowd. Something that’s an impressive feat when she’s a good foot taller than most of the men here. I grin to myself as Frannie heads off to do her own thing, sipping my drink with a grimace. I don’t know what they put in it, but a mild buzz instantly rolls right through me.
All around me, the crew is going wild; even wilder than usual. To my left, two of them are on other men’s shoulders, and they’re fighting to unseat each other. Somewhere, there’s the sound of a fiddle and drum being played and stomping feet.
It feels a bit like an end of the world party, where everyone’s trying to get one last hurrah in before our time runs out.
I scour the room for Kit or Aster, or Torin. But I can’t see any of them anywhere. Popping my head into the little room beside the kitchen where I last found Kit and Finch, I discover it’s dark and empty. Carefully closing the door behind me, I twist aroundand smack straight into something solid. Solid and... warm. A solid someone who smells like warm cloves and sugar.
“Torin?”
He steadies me with his hands on my shoulder and my hip. “Reva? Did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” I reply quickly. He squeezes my hip and then reluctantly lets go, his fingers trailing over my flesh and leaving goosebumps in their wake despite the fabric separating us. “Why is your hair all wet?”
He shakes his head like a dog with a sheepish shrug. “I had to step outside for a moment. I’ve been trying my hand at baking. But I can’t say I’m a natural.”
I wave a hand around as the crush of people down here presses us closer together. “I don’t think anyone will care.”
He nods. “H-how are you?”
“Not impressed that you’ve been avoiding me,” I tell him. My tongue is loosened by the disgusting drink and the atmosphere around us, and I’m about done with giving him space to sort himself out.
“You need a drink, Tor,” someone crows from beside me. “That face is way too serious for a party.”
They thrust a drink into Torin’s hand and then melt back into the crowd before I can even see who it is.
I can’t help letting out a little chuckle that has him sucking in a sharp breath, gazing down at me like I did something miraculous.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I’ve just missed that sound. And your smile.”
“Well, I’ve missed all of you.” I prod him in the chest. I open my mouth to say more, but the crowd surges and I wind up stumbling forward and bashing my nose against his rock-solid chest.
He rears back, eyes wide as he squats lower and inspects my throbbing nose, tilting my face up so that he can get a closer look. “I’m fine,” I tell him. “It’s not bleeding.”
“We should get Aster to take a look anyway,” he mutters, grabbing my hand in his and steering me toward the staircase. With Torin in front of me, it’s a lot easier to weave through the rowdy crowd, but rather than enjoying him fussing, it strikes a discordant note in me and a surge of frustration travels through my veins.
