—FROM THE WORDBOOK ALPHABETICA: A NEW
WORDBOOK OF THE AEADINES
FOURTEEN
Dinner with Mr. Rosser
MARY
The common room of the inn Rosser chose was narrow, stretching into a firelit, low-beamed den of irresistible smells and aching warmth. Rosser escorted me to the very back of the establishment, turning sideways to wade between a smooth, dark-wood bar, smiling serving girls and clusters of patrons. The latter’s snowy coats, hats and cloaks hung on overwrought coatracks like festive trees.
I eyed the coats, wondering what a set of light fingers might find in their pockets. But my hands were frozen, and just the thought sent guilt curling through me. I still had Demery’s solem. That was enough to get me a ship back to Aeadine. If I didn’t freeze before I found one.
In a quiet corner, Rosser shrugged off his outer cloak and nodded to a tiny table next to a hearth. There was no one else back here, the only other table occupied with a regiment of empty, froth-streaked glasses.
“Is this acceptable?” he asked.
I was already throwing my coat across the back of a chair and crouching next to the fire, holding my snow-damp skirts just out of reach of the flames. I couldn’t feel my fingers yet, but heat prickled over my cheeks.
“Yes, it’s wonderful,” I replied distractedly. My gaze caught his as I looked up, and for a moment we watched one another, appraising, hesitant and a little too long. I’d been around enough young men to know what that exchange usually meant—both to him and to my own, fluttering breath. He was attractive, with his dark hair and strong shoulders.
His appearance wasn’t why I was here, though. I was here because Rosser seemed to know a great deal about Lirr, and though he’d yet to mention my mother, perhaps he knew something about her.
I was taking a gamble—both with trusting him and lingering in town. Demery would be looking for me by now. I’d won a chance at freedom, but I might be throwing that away, staring into the large, dark eyes of Samuel Rosser. It was cold, though, it was night, and the answers Rosser had might just keep me alive.
A serving maid with curly blonde hair appeared as Rosser hung up his cloak and outer coat. A steaming jug and two mugs in one hand, she glanced between him and me, and settled on him.
She bobbed a short curtsy and set the jug and cups down on our table, speaking in Usti. I couldn’t understand, but straightened in anticipation of a meal and the scent of hot, spiced wine. My stomach rumbled. I didn’t regret storming out on Demery, but I did regret not eating first.
Rosser replied to the maid in the same language, casting her a distracted glance—uninterested, which I found oddly satisfying. He sat in the back chair, the one with the best angle on the door and added something I suspected was thanks.
The maid vanished and Rosser poured our wine. I tucked myself into the chair opposite to him, back to the fire, and rested my fingers on the sides of the mug. Heat returned to my flesh in painful, stinging waves.
“You speak Usti?” I observed.
He nodded. “I learned at school.”
“Ah,” I acknowledged, uncertain how far I wanted to pry into his past—and how familiar I should let us become.
He was either of a similar mind or had nothing to say just then, so we fell quiet and looked to our wine. The space around us filled of muffled chatter, the clink of earthenware mugs and plates, and the crackle of the fire. Like the inn where I’d been staying, this place sounded like home. That familiarity, the shelter and the warmth seeped into me, slowing my heart even though I sat across from a man who could, quite easily, become a dire enemy.
Our food arrived. The maid served Rosser first, and it was all I could do not to immediately steal a slice of steaming bread from his plate and drown it in butter. Instead, I sipped my wine and waited until my own plate appeared.
We ate. At some point, our hands brushed. It was a simple touch, accidental, but it nudged every thought from my mind. Another time, Rosser wordlessly put a slice of his bread on my plate. His motives probably weren’t charitable, but I didn’t care—or rather, I couldn’t. I was not about to repeat my experience with Charles Grant, trusting a stranger’s goodwill. I’d take what I could from Rosser and move on before the noose tightened.
The maid brought us more wine and butter. My head already felt light with the drink, washing down bites of stew thick with venison, carrots, potato and turnip.
Only when my stomach was full did I feel like myself again, the fog of hunger clearing and my nerves settled by the wine.
I sat back and asked him, “What do you know about Silvanus Lirr?”
He took up his knife and cut into a piece of chicken in one slow slice. “He’s a murderous pirate, and I intend to deliver him to justice.”
He sounded so sure, so prim and pompous about it, that I almost laughed. I’d already learned that people didn’t talk like that out here in the world, not unless they were fools or liars.
Rosser must have sensed my skepticism. His eyebrows twitched up. “Pray, do I amuse you?”
There wasn’t an ounce of deceit in his expression and, for a moment, I almost forgot who he was and where we were. He was just a handsome, slightly ridiculous man, sitting across from me over dinner.
“No,” I decided. “How do you intend to catch him?”
“With your help,” Rosser said immediately.
Yes, that was why he was here, wasn’t it? To convince me to join his crew. Something flickered through me, and it felt an awful lot like disappointment.
“Of course,” I returned. “What are you willing to do to convince me?”
He pointed to the bowls and plates before us. “I hoped this was a good start. Is it succeeding?”
“It’s not doing any harm,” I admitted. But I knew that if I stepped aboard his ship, I’d never leave again. Though Demery had told me a lot of unbelievable things, I did trust him when he said he wanted to retire. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t sell me to another ship before he did, but it was something.
The pirate hunter kept speaking. “What else do you want? Your own cabin? You’ll have that. Protection? I’ll give it myself.” He leaned his elbows on the table and ducked his head to my height. There was no boasting to his words now, no pomp or fluff or gravitas. Just a hard undercurrent to a soft voice.
For a moment, words evaded me. Then my wine-softened tongue produced the most honest, and most impossible, answer. “I want to go home.”
I want to find my mother and take her home with me.
He did not reply. Then his eyes dropped to my lips and my heart gave an uncertain, warning twist. I had to tread carefully.
“I think you know that is impossible,” Rosser said. His gaze was back on mine, as if it had never strayed. “To all appearances, Lirr is searching for you. You understand what he is?”
“Of course,” I returned, not liking his tone. Heat crept into my cheeks, from the wine and frustration, but also his attention. “He’s a mage. A Sooth and a Magni.”
“Yes.” Rosser’s tone became flatter and more guarded. “It’s the Sooth part that concerns me. He will have premonition, visions, access to the Other. As a Stormsinger, you have a reflection in the Dark Water. Did he get close to you?”