“Ambrosia, death isn’t an ugly thing.”
Ambrosia listened quietly and patiently as Madeira searched for the words to explain her view on death and managed to make a few elegant points. Still, at the end of her words, Ambrosia’s stance remained unchanged, and it was her turn to reach for words.
“I know I won’t change your mind, Madeira, just as you won’t change mine. We are all of us stuck in our ways. The way I see it, though, is that life is beautiful, and death is the end to all of that. Every beautiful thing life contains and every beautiful sensation you’ve ever experienced from the smell of freshly fallen rain to the warmth of the embrace of a loved one, those are things of beauty, and death just means you will never experience those again. I’ve seen lives end too soon, good people with much more good left to do.”
She sighed, hoping she had made her point but knowing pretty certainly she had not. “We’re all set in our ways. I won’t think less of you for your thoughts. I hope you don’t think less of me for mine.”
Ambrosia went silent, listening to anything else Madeira might say, but soon they had run into Port and Eli.
Madeira was indignant as Eli strode back off to his work. “I wish he’d call you ‘miss’.”
“I’m glad he doesn’t,” Ambrosia admitted with a smile as she watched him walk away. “I’d probably punch him if he did. Miss is all well and good for someone like you, someone he doesn’t know, I mean. But as much as he respects the power of a name, as much as he respects you for your name, he will never respect you as much as he respects me. There’s a deeper respect in familiarity and friendship, one that’s stronger than the artificial respect bred by propriety. He respects me and adores me in his own little way. It works for us.”
Madeira had a lead for them to follow. Over nearly half the season, Ambrosia had exhausted every lead she had here on the docks, burning a few bridges while at it, and she was willing to try anything. Besides, a new lead meant new hope, and that was something Ambrosia needed desperately. The lead Madeira spoke of was a merchant captain who had many connections across the Suvan Sea and plenty of those right here in Alvadas. Barsala, captain of The Golden Hand. And to top it all off, Madeira had exorcised a ghost from his ship. He’d practically be leaping at an opportunity to repay her.
In all her years spent visiting the Port, Ambrosia had seen ships she had considered large, but they all paled in comparison to The Golden Hand when they finally found her.
As they approached the boat, another whisper, more difficult to hear this time, sounded in her mind. You don’t belong here.
Ignoring the voice, Ambrosia followed Madeira up the gangplank. As they moved their way farther on to the ship though, Ambrosia noticed something odd. Each laborer and sailor they met along the way was given a quick but artful lie. It wasn’t that Ambrosia looked down on Madeira for it. Rather, she admired her spiritist friend for how easily each lie slipped off her tongue and brought the desired result. Ambrosia just thought it would be easier for Madeira to drop her name. Certainly, that would get them an audience with the captain a little more quickly. After all, Madeira was the Craven who had exorcised their ship. But Ambrosia didn’t question her friend’s methods, because they worked. In less than a chime of stepping onboard, they were outside the captain’s quarters.
When Madeira knocked, Ambrosia was prepared to wait, but when the other young woman entered without invitation, Ambrosia followed her in without a second thought. The way Ambrosia imagined it, Madeira had to be a celebrity here and was bound to receive a warm welcome.
The scene they stepped into was one of absolute decadence. No expense had been spared; and no comfort, forgotten. Gorgeous, dark wood panels that could only have been sourced from the finest Talderan trees lined the walls. With all the books lining the shelves, the layout of the furniture, and a rug that seemed could only have been crafted by the best artisans in Ahnetep, the room had more of the feel of a manor’s library than the living quarters for a seafaring vessel. There were little things, like the bookends carved to look like cresting waves and the fact that all of the furniture was nailed into place, that spoke of the sea. In one of the bookshelves, several bottles of wine were secured ingeniously, so their labels could be seen but no damage would be done to them when the waters got rough. On a brazier sat a pot of mulled wine, and the scent it left in the air nearly overpowered all others. Ambrosia was so enthralled by the richness of it all that she almost missed how cold the man’s greeting was.
“Madeira Craven.” Captain Barsala’s attire spoke to his wealth as much as if not more than the décor of the room. Gold and silk bedecked the man, and his extravagant coat’s tassels moved with the rhythm of the belly it contained. Rings adorned every finger. He was a man very comfortable with his wealth.
“Captain, you look well,” Madeira greeted the man politely.
“Well, you don’t,” Barsala stated.
Way to go, Titless.
Ambrosia had to look away to hide her smirk at the interruption from one of the whispers. This time, it was Jomi, one of Madeira’s ghostly acquaintances. Her mind still couldn’t wrap around how the two had become partnered as they were nothing alike. Jomi was overly sarcastic while Madeira tended toward the serious side, but maybe that made them good for each other. Despite what Madeira had said earlier, the spiritist did not seem to be on good terms with the captain. With the man’s reaction to her sudden intrusion, Ambrosia was beginning to wonder if Madeira had sorted anything at all. If Madeira really had taken Emma away from The Golden Hand, she must have done something awful not to be in Barsala’s good graces anymore.
At Madeira’s introduction, Ambrosia bobbed a quick curtsey. As Madeira explained their reason for being here, Ambrosia listened distractedly. The absolute splendor of the captain’s quarters still had her awestruck. Though they were never poor, her family had never been rich, so the lifestyles of the ungodly wealthy had always fascinated her. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t know how to deal with the rich. Even though the Rear wasn’t the classiest establishment, it still had its share of wealthy patrons. Most of them required a different touch than the usual bar goers.
A nudge from Madeira’s boot brought Ambrosia’s focus back to their purpose for being here. “Isn’t that right, Ambrosia? What can you tell him about Tessa?”
Ambrosia let her eyes wander to Barsala’s. Hard as granite, his dark brown eyes watched her warily, assessing and picking apart every facet of her they could. Like many rich people, his caution had helped him secure his wealth, and his continued shrewdness had let him keep it. But one thing Ambrosia knew was people, and she had met plenty like him before. Captain Barsala had attained wealth, but that wasn’t what he valued most. His wealth had bought him power and the respect of others, and he was used to being treated with the respect he was certain he deserved. Somewhere along the line, Madeira hadn’t given him that, and her lack of respect had bought his ire. That gave Ambrosia an idea, a way to get Barsala to warm up to her. She hoped Madeira would forgive her for what she was about to say, hoped her friend would realize it was all for show and that Ambrosia didn’t mean a word of it.
Part of Ambrosia wished she was a little more presentable, that she had taken the time to do up her hair a little more nicely before she had gone on her drug trip, that her eyes weren’t bloodshot and teary like some little girl after her first heartbreak. Part of her wished, but she knew she only had what was available to her at the moment. Though she probably looked at least a half a mess, her smile shone through it all, the one that bought her attention and trust.
“Captain, it was very generous of you to not kick us out right away, especially after we interrupted so rudely.” It was a risky statement as it gave him an opening to do just that, but he didn’t jump on the opportunity quickly enough. Ambrosia went on. “I do hope you’ll forgive Madeira. Her name gives her an inflated sense of self-importance.”
Captain Barsala hadn’t made it to where he was in life by giving his trust away easily, but Ambrosia watched in secret satisfaction as a smirk tugged at the corners of his eyes and lips, even if only for a moment. With as quickly as Barsala regained what little of his straight face he had lost, Ambrosia knew she’d have to be careful not to push too far too fast. Being a merchant, he was bound to recognize flattery for flattery sake. Still, a little flattery never hurt. The rich tended to love hearing how amazing they were.
Her eyes swept over the cabin once more and she let the wonder she felt show on her face. “It must have taken you years to accumulate all this wealth, and no doubt, it takes much of your time to maintain such an enterprise. We’d hate to take too much-” Ambrosia stopped as one of the bottles of wine caught her eye. It wasn’t so much the bottle itself as it was the label. “Is that…?” She stepped closer and saw the label, rare but familiar, that confirmed what she had thought. “Bluevein Godspirit? Captain! You are a man of exquisite taste.”
It was expensive. That much she knew. Once, early in her days working for Cade at the Stallion’s Rear, they had had a representative from the Bluevein Vineyard arrive and try to turn the Rear into a supplier of their wine in Alvadas. Every flavor the big blue man (an Akalak, he’d called himself) described had Ambrosia swallowing as the saliva in her mouth built. But when the man had told Cade the price of their finest wine (upwards of two hundred golden mizas a bottle), Cade had laughed in the big man’s face, not because he thought the wine wasn’t worth it but because he knew none of his patrons could afford it.
“I’ve only ever seen one bottle of this, and I didn’t even get to taste it. Is it as good as they say?”
Captain Barsala gave her a haughty and knowing smile. “Better.”
Ambrosia reached her hand out toward the bottle, stopped, and looked to Barsala for permission. “When the Akalaks brought this to the Stallion’s Rear to try to get us to sell it, they wouldn’t even let me touch the bottle. May I?”
The captain gave an affirmative gesture with his hand, and Ambrosia released the bottle from its craftily-designed wire holder. Ambrosia held up the bottle, inspecting its simple yet elegant label more closely before turning to Madeira. “Do you realize how amazing this is, Madeira? I bet that even Madara would be hard-pressed to get her hands on one of these, not due to cost, of course. I’m sure she could afford them by the dozen, but the contacts one would need to get just one, let alone three. I doubt even she has those.”
Ambrosia was sure the head of the Craven family certainly did have those connections, but that wasn’t the point. What she was doing was continuing to diminish Madeira’s name while making the captain feel more important. As much as she hoped Madeira knew it was all a lie, it didn’t matter to Ambrosia. Even if her friend recognized it, it still left a bad taste in Ambrosia’s mouth and the heavy feeling of regret.
“How does being rich feel?” Barsala asked. Whether he was just putting on a show or whether he was enjoying how impressed Ambrosia acted, she couldn’t tell. “As good as you imagined?”
“Better.” Ambrosia’s smile said so. Letting her hands slide over the label once more, she imagined what it would be like to open it, pour a few glasses, and sip away at them in the company of friends. Her present company was not excluded. She was sure Madeira would appreciate such a fine wine. Cordon and Cade would be there too, maybe even Bandon, and her sisters, of course.
Her sisters. They were her reason for being here. Ambrosia’s face fell, and her smile disappeared.
Captain Barsala saw. “What’s wrong? Finally remember you’ll never have this much wealth?”
Ambrosia shook her head and put the bottle back, securing it once more. “No. I was just thinking who I’d share it with, if it was mine. My sisters were at the top of that list. Despite her lack of manners, Madeira meant well when she brought me here, and I wouldn’t be able to say I had any manners of my own if I wasted any more of your time. Please, Captain, tell me anything you might know about my sister, and I’ll let you get back to your business straight away. I’m sure the Alar name is meaningless, especially to someone of your standing, but she has an unforgettable face.”
Since Tessa had disappeared, Ambrosia had been carrying a picture her sisters had had painted of the three of them. She remembered that day well. By the end of it, having held a smile for the full day, smiling no longer felt natural. Setting the painting on the table in front of Barsala, she spun it toward him and tapped above the woman in the middle. “Tessa’s the dark-haired beauty in the middle. She disappeared late last season.”
The painting was a good likeness. Barsala was sure to recognize Tessa’s face if he had ever seen her before. |
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