EoS: PW --- Episode 01: Lyrielle Emmyrinthia 6010/2/50
“Is that you, Bhenny?” She asks, rubbing her eyes after bringing her elbow beneath her to prop herself; it was then she realized that she wasn’t in her bed, but on some form of minimal padding atop a hard surface, and something was poking her in the rear. Splinters? Her eyes flung open and she inspected the space she occupied to the best of her ability. She was quick to come to lucidity, though only a pale green light dimly illuminated her surroundings—just enough so that she wasn’t blinded by darkness. Bhenida’s arms are outstretched, holding Lyrielle by the shoulders as both women become more aware of their predicament.
“Yes, yes it’s me! Thank the stars, when I woke, I couldn’t tell if you were breathing.” Her voice is raspy, and Lyrielle surmises that her companion must have only been awake a few minutes before her. “I don’t know where we are. This isn’t our ship!” She says with an anxious whisper. Lyrielle takes a deep breath to stave panic, exhaling slowly while coming to an upright position next to her kneeling counterpart. She looks above her head to the source of the dim glow and squints.
“Is. . .is that Lumastone?” She asks, doing her best to clear the fog in her mind which slows her wits. The object that drew her attention was confirmed to be crystalline in appearance, but was cut to a cylindrical shape rather than its natural, more jagged appearance. Then it definitely isn’t our ship. Damn. Lyrielle was almost thankful for her fatigue and headache, for a sharper mind may have succumbed to panic.
“Yes, I think so,” Bhenida states, letting go of Lyrielle once she confirms that her charge is well enough to support her own posture. “It is very dim, so it must have been a while since it was brought to sunlight,” she continues, sitting back on her heels while stealing a second glance toward the light above them. Lyrielle turns her head, looking for an exit to their room, and she sees a door with a gentle light being cast through the crack near the decking on which they sit.
“Have you tried the door?” Lyrielle asks, rubbing her temples with a mixture of impatience toward her situation and pain. The sloshing of the sea against the hull did not help her beckoning nausea, so she started to focus more intently on her breathing.
“Please don’t tell me we’re being taken hostage? I’d rather not see another bloodbath at the moment. Father would be most disappointed…” She trails off, rubbing the thoughts from her mind through her temples.
“No. Listen,” Bhenida answers in a whisper. Lyrielle had trouble complying, but she did her best with a furrowed brow. She quiets her breathing and does her best to focus, trying to drown out the sounds of creaking wood and gently beating waters. Nothing? The realization worries her. Even in the latest hours, it wouldn’t be terribly long before footsteps could be heard from somewhere, right? The woman refocuses and tries to hone her ears to the ship once more, but they bring her to the same conclusion.
“No, we can’t be alone, can we? That’s senseless…we’re too far from a port to be at any wharf or marina. . .”
“I don’t know, but that is the source of my worry,” Lyrielle groans in response to Bhenida’s words, her headache still not waning.
“You said the door is locked, yes?” Lyrielle asks, tossing her hands to her lap in a huff as she gives up on trying to soothe herself. “Have you tried unhinging it?”
“Riveted,” she replies with disappointment. “Also, we are too far from home for me to use my strength.” Lyrielle rolls her eyes. Of course we are.
“Nothing comes with ease,” Lyrielle states, mimicking her father as she acclimates herself to the sway of the ship and comes to a stand. “Could you unlatch the lock in some way?”
“I’d need a tool. Both of us are still in our nightgowns and without our belongings.” Lyrielle looked down and frowned, she hadn’t even noticed; now she was in pain and frustrated. Lyrielle looked to the walls of their enclosure and tried to focus. Though the light was dim and green, she could see a few details that might aid the pair.
“This is not a Geilerian ship,” she says, shaking her head with a look of disappointment. “The wood is too light.”
“I thought as much, but couldn’t be sure,” Bhenida replies, more worry coming to the surface. “What should we do, Princess?” Her question is voiced with apprehension, something that struck Lyrielle as odd given the woman’s prowess. Right, she’s never been so far from home. Seems we cannot rely on her powers.
“First. . .” Lyrielle trails off, rubbing her forehead to conceal her own growing anxiety. Now that she is at a stand, the ship’s sway is not exacerbating her symptoms; panic begins to replace pain. “First we must collect ourselves,” she states with feigned confidence. The gravity of the situation was starting to set and her mind began to whir with possibilities. We set sail from Alpirsbach and we would have followed the coast just beyond the horizon. Had the invasion started? No, Rodanthia hadn’t a navy, at least not a formidable one. Priezenene? They had never ventured so far West, never into Geilerian waters…
“Princess?” Bhenida asks, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulders. It startles Lyrielle, her eyes are wide in contemplation and uncertainty. “Are you alright?”
“No. I’m not alright,” she spits, taking a deep breath and letting her hand fall back to her side. The walls of the ship start to shrink nearer to Lyrielle, claustrophobia beginning to take its toll as a symptom of her stress. Her attempts to steady her breathing begin to fail while her thoughts run rampant and her hands clench. She looks to her left, then to her right, then to her companion and tears well in her eyes. Her predicament weighs heavily on her shoulders and she can’t calm herself. “Damn it all!” She yells, trying to channel her panic into rage as her father taught. She kicks the pad on which she once laid, sending it flying across the room that felt ever smaller with every passing second. That’s when she heard it, and her emotions were stifled to be replaced with confusion. The pad gives a dull thud when it hits the hull of the ship, but there was a second sound that sounded like a coin skirting across the floor.
“What was. . .” Bhenida starts, her eyes immediately focusing in the direction of the sound’s source. She looks harder, afraid to move as if doing so might damn the pair, and that’s when she sees the item. The handmaiden pulls her hand from Lyrielle’s shoulder and quickly dives to the item, as if fearful that the rocking of the ship may send it between the floorboards. She clasps it in shaky hands and holds it away from her shadow to inspect it. “It’s…it’s a pick?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Yes, I’m sure. It’s a pick!” Bhenida says with a look of both elation and worry. She quickly moves to the wooden door and kneels, putting the metal into the lock in an attempt to free the pair from the room. Why in the world would a lock pick be hidden under my mat? Something isn’t right about this. Something is toying with us, this might not be safe.
“Bhenida, wait. . .” Her words leave her mouth a moment too late; her reach is too short to physically halt her, and both women hear the sound of a latch being undone with a heavy clank. Bhendia looks toward Lyrielle apologetically as she stands and backs away from the door. It remains unmoving for a short time, but the sway of the ship causes the heavy slab to become ajar, and instantly the pair are blinded with a brilliant light. Lyrielle covers her eyes and a wave of relief washes over her. She was too elated to take note of how the door moved silently on its hinges, too relieved to remember the eerie silence of the ship. Lyrielle squinted at the door, her headache starting to return to a lesser extent from the brightness that greets her. “Onward and upward,” she states, patting Bhenida’s back as she walks past her to take the first steps.
She looks through the frame of the door, and the first thing she sees is a row of rectangular portholes that line the entire length of the hull as far as she can see on either side of the massive ship; many are open and allow light into the rest of the brig. It’s an odd sight to her, and she internally remarks upon the strange and foreign design as she walks forward to peer out the open portholes. First the starboard, then the port. Open ocean in both directions with an evening sun glinting from behind the ship. We’re headed East? The ship is not empty, but it is far from full. Lyrielle did not have the calm sense to deduce whether the cargo seemed sparse due to the size of the ship or because of light packing. She looked to the ceiling, then to the water and realized that there must be at least two more levels below her and that she is just below the main deck.
“What the. . .” Bhenida states, coming to her charge’s side and looking down the length of the ship. “Why are there so many?” She asks quietly to herself, furrowing her brow and opting not to worry about that detail as she searches the brig for a way out. “There, stairs. That must lead to the deck,” she says with a hushed tone, her eyes darting in every direction, preparing herself for any danger that may come near. Lyrielle nods and the pair step through the large area, walking on their toes so as not to make a sound with their heels. Lyrielle is distracted by the ship’s appearance, its size, its cleanliness…even the boards beneath her feet feel nearly polished smooth. They walk past the modest pile of cargo: several crates, a handful of barrels…nothing that would rouse suspicion save for how little there is for such a large ship.
Their movements are slow and practiced, both every bit as stealthy as the other. Unless one saw them directly, hardly a soul would be able to discern their presence. Lyrielle is first to reach the staircase, she looks upward toward a large hatch and quickly ascends to greet it.
“Ugh. It’s heavy,” she admits softly, her cheeks flushed with effort. Bhenida nods and comes to her aid beside her, her mouth moving to make words with no sound.
“One. Two. Three. Four. . .” Then both heave, lifting the heavy hatch door with a gasp of effort. It’s too heavy to hold still to ensure that the deck is empty, so they push with all their might, wincing with exertion until, as if the hatch was made lighter, the door opens suddenly and the pair nearly fling themselves onto each other as they are knocked off balance. Lyrielle opens her eyes, hoping to see that none were around. She was disappointed in what she saw.
“HEY!” They all shouted in unison, as if in celebration. Indeed many of them retrieved tankards from their rear and clashed them together while laughing. The sudden eruption startled the women, and they were no more at ease now than they were in silence. Lyrielle looked to the man smiling at them, then to his right. What? How old. . . There is a woman who sits next to him on the horn of the large anvil they share as a seat. Lyrielle sees clearly that she is Maylen, but her ears are impressively long, extending beyond the back of her head at least two hand widths. Lyrielle was in awe, but was quickly distracted by the woman’s skin and attire. Her flesh was a light purple in hue, and it was nearly on full display. Her clothes were sheer and left very little, if anything at all to the imagination. Once Lyrielle’s gaze went to the woman’s nipples, she blushed and quickly averted her gaze, but her mind still reels at the woman’s ears. Her thoughts are interrupted by the man who yells over the laughter and chatter. “Oh, Roz!” He shouts, his voice waving with vibrato at the last word. He holds his left hand outward, still smiling at the two stunned women half above and half below deck. Another woman with crimson hair and a scowl that could wilt flowers makes her way through the now silent crowd, staring daggers at Lyrielle and Bhenida as she joins the man’s side. She reaches behind her back and retrieves a coin purse of some heft and thrusts it into his outstretched hand, giving him the same mean look before wandering off in an audible huff. There are a few chuckles and awws as she makes her way toward the stern of the ship, all the while the man’s smile was unwavering.
At this point, both Lyrielle and Bhenida had a chance to inspect the rest of the crew, of which there had to be at least forty from what they could see. All of them were wearing seemingly expensive garments, but no two individuals matched in attire. To Lyrielle, they seem too healthy to be pirates, but there was little that could explain how well-fitted they are without any uniformity in their uniform.
“Welcome aboard the Iron Concerto!” The smiling man says to the women, both turning their heads in the direction of the voice that addressed them. The crew shouts ‘hey’ loudly once more and smiles can be seen as more coin purses are exchanged between the men and women aboard the ship. “Well don’t just stand there! Come up!” He says, coming to an abrupt stand to come nearer to them. “No foes are here to greet you, I can promise you that, little ones,” he says, beaming, outstretching his hands to both Bhenida and Lyrielle. Neither of them are quick to take his offering, and Bhenida takes a defensive stance, ready to throw a retaliatory punch if she needs to. Lyrielle grabs her wrist and subtly shakes her head, knowing that without her power, they are outmatched in this fight. Bhenida reluctantly obliges, and the pair take the man’s hands. He lifts the women onto the deck with ease, his grin never faltering before he gives a low and courteous bow.
“Who are you? Why have you taken us as prisoners?” Lyrielle asks, letting her father speak through her in tone best she could, but still faltering. The man straightens his posture, and his face still bears his candid expression.
“Prisoners? Hardly,” he says with a chuckle and the crew join him.
“Then why were we held in the brig?” She retorts, her heart rate steadying but the rest of her body still tense.
“Gambling, of course!” He says, and the crew gives another ‘hey’ in chorus. “What else would such a crew do for entertainment on such lonely waters?”
“You kidnapped us because you lacked entertainment? Do you have any idea…” Bhenida starts, but Lyrielle quickly silences her by interrupting.
“Who are you, sir?” Lyrielle asks, looking around to see if there was anything about the crew that could tell her their origin or loyalty.
“Forgive me, where are my manners!” He states, bowing to them once more with an arm outstretched to his left. “My name is Captain Acatice Scuttle of the Iron Concerto.” Once again the crew gives a joyous ‘hey’ and swig from their tankards. It was then that it registered with the two women, and both of their jaws dropped. Lyrielle assumed a panicked expression and took a step backward. THE Acatice Scuttle? THE IRON CONCERTO? No, this isn’t good, this isn’t good at all. Lyrielle looks from the corner of her eyes, waiting for one of them men aboard the the ship to approach her. Now that she was made aware of her fate, she was certain that the worst would befall her. “Let me get a look at you,” Acatice says, standing upright. He moves toward Lyrielle, but Bhenida steps between them. Still, his smile remains fixed on his face.
“Not you nor any of your rapist, villainous thugs will lay a hand on her,” Bhenida says, confident and aggressive, raising her fists in expectation.
“Rapists?” The captain looks hurt and the crew goes silent for a moment, but there are some oo’s and low chortling that can be heard. “My, what stories are they telling about us, now?” Acatice laughs, the crew does as well. A few moments of laughter ensue, but dies down quickly. Some of the crew is already inebriated and singing songs to themselves under their breath. “Settle down, lass. No harm will come. I’m merely settling a wager.” He raises his hands in submission, but Bhenida doesn’t move. Lyrielle is worried about the situation, but even more worried what might come if her handmaiden is the aggressor in this predicament. Another look around the ship and she sees that the crew isn’t in any particular hurry to come to their captain’s aid, but the sight does little to settle her nerves.
The princess steps forth and places a hand on Bhenida’s wrist a second time. Bhenida looks to Lyrielle with a confused and worried expression, but does as she’s silently directed. Acatice steps forward to plant his feet directly in front of the woman, reaching out to tilt her head up by her chin. Bhenida purses her lips in disapproval, but if he noticed, he didn’t care. Acatice cocks his head, a look of anticipation upon his face as he brings his other hand to push Lyrielle’s hair behind her ear. She takes a sharp inhale and her eyes widen. Her cheeks flush at the man’s touch, a man she was quickly realizing was far more handsome than the stories, should he be telling the truth of his identity. When Acatice sees the pointed tip of her ear, he smiles once more and leaves Lyrielle to stand without his touch.
“Hardly a century. You must be Lyrielle Emmyrinthia. The skin, the eyes, the ears, and a very protective escort,” he tells her, taking a step back and inspecting her expression. She only blushed more at his deduction and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came from her throat. How could. . .no, there has to be more to this man. “That and we plucked you from Geilerian waters, but you weren’t on a Gilly.” He continues, crossing his arms. “Am I right?” Lyrielle could hardly speak. Between his identification of her and news that she wasn’t on a Geilierian vessel, she was spinning, and her headache was not helping matters.
“What value is it to you if I am who you say I am?” Lyrielle asks, standing her ground and doing her best to hide her fear and bewilderment.
“If you’re Lyrielle, then I’ll ensure that you are taken to safety, and done so safely. If not, then I will offer you a job,” he says plainly with a shrug, the crew chuckles again. The woman ponders her options while Bhenida gives her a concerned look from her rear right. Both women were still tired from the ordeal and scared of their surroundings, but the princess was hardly in a position to bargain for anything else. She weighs her options, none of them attractive, then gives a sigh and looks Acatice directly in the eyes before speaking.
“I am Lyrielle Emmyrinthia, princess of Geileria,” she states confidently, but on her last word, another woman’s voice can be heard screeching across the deck.
“Welcome aboard the Iron Concerto!” Acatice yells, spreading his arms as if to embrace the pair while the crew hoots and hollers. What in all the stars have I stumbled upon? Acatice can see that the two are a bit dazed and he leans forward in a low voice. “Come now, princess. Follow me; there is much to discuss and you need better clothes. Seasons change quickly in the South,” he says, standing upright and cocking his head as a gesture to her. He begins to walk the same path that Roz did, but reaches for the woman with purple skin and long ears. She takes his hand with a nod and regal smile, coming to her bare feet. Lyrielle looks once more, first at her ears then the rest of her body. My words, she is beautiful, but if it wasn’t for that decorative belt and its ornaments, there wouldn’t be a single secret that woman could keep.
The laughter, and now singing, of the crew was all it took to keep the women in a haze. Both were reluctant to follow, afraid that they occupied a small area of safety and they could soon step from it, but Lyrielle did as she was instructed and followed the pair in front of her to the stern of the ship. She braces herself for unwelcome touches or grasps, flinching while she moves through the crowd of pirates, but none accost her, nor Bhenida to her rear. If it weren’t for the merriment and mismatched clothing, she might confuse this vessel for one of official purpose.
Soon the four reach what Lyrielle assumes is the captain’s cabin. Acatice reaches forth to open the door for the Maylen woman, and bows to Lyrielle and Bhenida so that he might hold the door for them. He seems so proper. So respectful. Which is the act? She wonders, her anxiety creeping up the back of her skull once more. She nods a thanks to Acatice and enters the quarters, and already the red-haired woman is voicing annoyance.
“Cover yerself, fer fuck’s sake, Kee. You look like a damn harlot.” Kee just chuckles softly as Roz extends a quilted blanket to her, wrapping it around the Maylen’s shoulders. Both of them sit in a large bed that is in the rearmost corner of the cabin. Kee sits upright with proper posture while Roz lays her head in the woman’s lap after setting herself comfortably and casually in the bed, looking toward the guests with a bit of scorn. The princess looks around the rest of the cabin, trying to take in as much information that she can, but the cabin is remarkably clean and barren, hardly matching the aesthetic of stories she has heard over the last 20 years of her life. Even the large desk seemed beautifully constructed of exotic woods and meticulously maintained, much like the rest of the ship.
Lyrielle was ready to confront them about the honesty of their identity, but when she turned her head to the right, she saw the ship’s colors. Purple with a silver and gold pinwheel. It was astronomically expensive, and she knew that nobody would go through the cost and trouble to try and steal his identity and bear such a flag. Acatice is soon to join Lyrielle and Bhenida, but it is a brief moment before he walks around them and sits in the chair behind the desk, the gentle sea at his rear as the sun sets behind him. He gestures across the desk to the three chairs placed to face him.
“Come, come. I’m sure you are tired, given how we found you,” He says, waiting for them to take a seat. Lyrielle is standing with slight astonishment at the scene. Two women, one a very old Maylen who strokes the hair of a young Tudian, with a man who is proven to be Geileria’s supreme naval adversary, all within a few paces of her, all under painfully suspicious circumstances. What he says is true: the women are very tired. It doesn’t take much coaxing before they seat themselves as requested, folding their hands in their lap and straightening their posture.
“I appreciate your hospitality, sir;” Lyrielle begins while Bhenida furrows her brows, “please, detail to me how we were retrieved.” Her ears perk up a little bit as she forces her mind to ignore the pain and fatigue and give the captain her utmost attention.
“Ah, yes. It was two days ago, now that I think of it. Time flies at sea.” Roz scoffs and Kee gently scratches her scalp while tightening the quilt around her shoulders. “You were locked in the brig of a bannerless ship a day’s sail North of Berleyme,” he says, leaning back in his chair and placing his feet upon the desk. Lyrielle is confused and opens up her mouth to protest, but internally concedes that he has been honest to this point. Her eyes widen at the realization. Why were we so off course? How did I end up on that ship? I should be half way to Hinksey by now, if not even nearer.
“What is the date, sir?” She asks a bit hastily.
“Viidee 2, day 50,” he replies, his expression every bit as soft as before. Lyrielle does a bit of working in her head before realizing that she had actually lost near three days of time.
“What vessel was it?” She asks.
“I could hardly say, it was washed with blue, mast to keel.”
“You are entirely sure it was not a Geilerian ship?”
“Forgive me, your grace, but I am probably more familiar with your ships than half your navy,” he says with a grin. Roz scoffs once more, seemingly still annoyed. Lyrielle did not appreciate his words, and although he had treated her with kindness, she was still seated across the table from the man colored as the most dangerous individual to the Geilerian oceans.
“I suppose that comes with the territory of piracy,” she says, withholding a harsh tone, but unable to stay her tongue. “Do you enjoy thieving and killing innocent men and merchants?” She asks pointedly. Acatice looks to the ceiling of the cabin and ponders the question for a moment, but he eventually shrugs.
“Not particularly.” He smiles at his words before looking toward the princess. “Why? Does that surprise you?”
“Based on stories, that would surprise me greatly.” Now it was Bhenida’s turn to look at Lyrielle as if she was about to overstep. “You have earned quite a reputation for yourself.” Acatice beams at her before folding his hands atop his lazily slouched torso.
“Aye,” he says, giving her a warm smile. Acatice tilts his head toward the woman and lets out a soft sigh, raising his eyebrows and blinking slowly. “Look behind you, princess.” Lyrielle rolls her eyes and suppresses a sigh, but does as he asks. She looks through the doors of the cabin and through the glass watching the humble festivities take place outside the door. “All of them were once crew on ships I’ve plundered. Every last one of them,” he says, grinning ear to ear proudly. Lyrielle returns her gaze to him, narrowing her eyes.
“So what? It just means they lacked morality, the same as you,” she says a bit sharply.
“Ah, well, just as I almost did for you, I offered them a choice. Join my crew, risk a swim in the drink, or die protecting another man’s treasure. Even if they took the first option, I never bound them to servitude. Most of them stayed at port when we set sail next,” he says with a nod. Lyrielle seems confused, but Kee smiles at his words and leans down to give Roz a soft kiss as the red-haired woman begins to drift in her lap. “The truth? Killing is rather boring. I’d sooner take a ship without resistance than with it, but some men cannot be swayed.” Neither them nor me. Lyrielle thinks to herself, resisting the urge to give the man a glare. She blinks a few times and sighs, remembering her more vulnerable position.
“Never accuse my crew of rape again.” His words are said plainly, his smile fading. His eyes narrow at both women sitting across from him and his aura is that of annoyance. “If I ever had such a person on my ship, I’d drown them with my own hands. As much as the stories help my image as ruthless, there is at least a certain amount of decorum that I expect from those under my command.” Lyrielle scoffs, having difficulty believing him.
“Then from where do the stories originate?” Bhenida asks sharply, her own air feeling tepid.
“There are two women for every three men on this vessel. I can assure you they enjoy a good romp just as much as anyone,” he starts, seemingly defending himself with arbitrary facts that do little to sway the handmaid, “perhaps your stories are written by the envious. There are not many women aboard Geilerian ships, and if they aren’t royalty, they are rarely willing,” he finalizes with his own daggers.
“Are you trying to suggest that my navy would stoop to such depravity?” Lyrielle asks, almost offended by his insinuation.
“Yes,” he replies plainly, his smile returning to his lips slowly. “I am more surprised that you are under the impression that it doesn’t happen. First, you don’t control the ships in your navy, not directly. It would be ridiculous to assume you did as princess. Regardless, you would read dozens of tomes’ worth of reports daily and send just as many letters in command. Second, remember where we found you, Princess. It seems doubtful that there weren’t unsavory individuals working under your nose,” he chuckles. Kee looks to the women and smiles, piping up for the first time.
“Not all is as it seems, for better or worse,” she says melodiously.
“Too right. You will be aboard my ship for the greater portion of a Viidee, and you will learn that not even a princess of Geileria knows everything.” Bhenida scowls, Lyrielle as well, but neither feel they have the wherewithal to say anything in their own defense at this moment.
“Where are you taking us?” Lyrielle asks, assuming the worst. There were a few locations in the world she hoped he would voice, most of them in her homeland, but she quelled her own hopes so as not to be disappointed by the news.
“We are 45 days to Winetongay, 65 to our destination given favorable winds,” he says, adjusting himself in the chair more comfortably. Just as he finishes his sentence, the sun sets beneath the horizon with a gentle flicker, much like Lyrielle’s and Bhenida’s spirits. We’re going to Aehovimor? No, that can’t be right. He wouldn’t be allowed to set foot there, and neither would Geilerian royalty. . .
“Not all things are as they seem, young princess,” Kee repeats as she strokes Roz’ hair, as if to silence the anxieties within the two women as they arise.
“Geileria and Aehovimor…” Lyrielle starts, her eyes narrowing to worry, and immediately she starts to wonder where Acatice’s allegiances are. Does he know about the Viceroyalty?
“They are countries on a map, yes, but I have business in Aehovimor that cannot be delayed further than it has already. There are scant few ports in Geileria I feel safe traversing; the Southern Canals are always riddled with anxiety for myself and the crew,” he says with a bright smile, almost reminiscing. Lyrielle wonders the motivations of this man, seemingly fueled by risk and danger. “So before you ask, I will not be turning this vessel West. In the meantime, feel free to take any of the numerous unused bunks in the brig, and address me directly if my crew gives you any trouble.”
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