DAY 45: STEALING BUNDLES

"Wait, let me get this straight. You're seriously telling me money grows on trees here?"

Ro heaves another disconcerted sigh. Considering it's only noon and they've got time to kill until their arrival in Straeh, it's left Leda the opportunity to barrage them with relentless questions.

        "No world is that simple," Ro says. Propped against the railings of the ship, the warm blue sky and sea complement him, adding to his princely air. If only he wiped that trademark frown of his; the scenery would surely suit him more.

        "Every kingdom has a tree bank where money is both processed and sent throughout the the land and exchanged between its citizens." Leda follows the voice back to Nixon who comes striding from the door leading to the kitchen. Ro isn't the least bit favourable at his arrival, but Nixon performs a polite bow then points his toes in Leda's direction. "But if you're discussing the economy, each land varies in their income."

       When a copper coin spins through the air, she barely reacts in time to catch it. Startled, she stares down at the thick metal and symbol smack dab in the middle. A raven in the shape of a spade. The symbol of the royal family.

       "So the currency is distinguishable depending on the symbol?" she realizes. "Straeh has a heart, Revolc a club, and Dia, a diamond."

       Nixon smiles as he glances at Ro. "You caught yourself quite the intelligent Human. She's quick on the uptake."

        "What is our progress?" Ro leans over the railing, out into the open sea they're steadily moving across, ripples crisscrossing before fading into the distance. "Should you really not be at the helm?"

        Nixon laughs. "Have a little more faith in my navigation skills, Your Highness."

        "If you had a flawless sea chart like Marci I possibly would," he says. "We need to get to Straeh as swiftly as we can. I can't have any means of error stopping me from accomplishing my duty to my people."

As soon words pool from Ro's mouth, a strangled cough follows. Leda's heart rises to her throat in her next heartbeat and Nixon is at his side in less than that.

"We'll arrive at Pashee by noon tomorrow," he whispers. "You've done enough. You need to rest, Your Highness."

Ro waves him off as he gasps a rather shaky breath. Hunching over the slightest, he places his palm to his chest, inhaling and exhaling heavily. Once he stabilizes his breathing, he straightens himself out and talks again. But this time, there's no mistaking the fragility of his tone. "I am fine."

Nixon reluctantly retreats. "Still..."

"You need to take better care of yourself."

Not taking Leda's interjection to be favourable, Ro jerks his head to her. A frown tilts his lips as he shifts. "Like I have stated, I am fine. Worry more about yourself."

She pivots, hopping off the chair she was reclined upon. One moment her legs skim Nixon's and the next her face is in his personal bubble. She scours every portion of his ashen complexion. It's baby's play to notice that the black spots have spread from his collarbone to his jawline. The scraggly flesh protruding in replace of his skin stretches further than her imagination can depict. Simply imagining what's hiding beneath all his layers...

Ro shields his neck from her, immediate strain coating his features. She's making him uncomfortable; the way he's leaned so far back against the railing is proof.

"Have you been taking the medicine you've been given?"

"I am not a child that needs reminding."

Now it's her turn to frown. "I'm reminding you because I'm worried!"

Ro's eyes shrink back, clearly surprised. Nixon is too. Despite knowing that, Leda doesn't pry her attention from Ro.

Fortunately, this highborn prince understands, but that doesn't eliminate his speechlessness. He concedes a step. "You are... worried?" he asks. "About... me?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" she replies. "You're an important friend of mine!"

"'Friend'?"

      He says it like it's a foreign word on his tongue—one capable of stringing utmost bewilderment through him.

Nonetheless, she surges forward, vehemently bobbing her head. "It means I'm on your side! That's why you have to take care of yourself. If something happens to you before we can find a cure to help the rest of Edaps, all of this will have been for nothing!"

Ro remains stunned for a good while. Then, his features soften, muscles no longer as rigid as they used to be. "My life is nothing compared to my people's—the King, Queen, and other princes."

       His conviction comes right through, startling her.

"Of course it's—"

"But there is no need for you to tell me that. How can I ever expect to die when I've made up to mind to save my citizens—my family? I will not leave this world until I find a cure. That is something I have decided long ago."

Leda's lungs nearly give up on her. Not because of his words; rather, the gentle smile that has pinned his lips. It's unlike him, but genuine nonetheless. Who'd have thought such a stoic prince could smile?

"What a prince I've become, making my subjects worry for my well-being." Ro ducks away at that and starts toward the rooms in small, sturdy steps. "I shall turn in early, if it's not too much trouble. Sleep well, Leda."

As Ro disappears into the bunkers, Leda's grin is just as wide as Nixon's.

"You are quite the Htraein, Leda," he says. "I have never seen the prince exhibit such a genuine smile in years."

"Now, that's surprising," she snorts. "Ro's the hugest softie I've ever met."

She swivels on her toes, ignoring the slight stumble that comes with it. She's still not accustomed to the rocking of the ship. Scanning the deck, she steps forward until finally arriving at her fourth crewmate—currently groaning and moaning as he curls up even further on a chair he hasn't moved from all day.

Leda crouches beside him, slightly guilt-ridden. "Feeling any better, Orian?"

      "Master Leda?" He doesn't open his eyes, but his mocha complexion is as cloudy as the evening sky. His ears and fingers twitch as he tugs his blanket closer to his chest. "I... cannot believe you have to see me in this state."

"I'm just flabbergasted seasickness exists here," she says.

"The rocking of the sea has never been something my people were fond of." Orian nauseously brings his hands to his mouth.
"I promise I will fight off this wretched sickness of the sea. You do not have to give me too much attention, Master..."

        His choice of words is enough for her to stifle a laugh. Ascending, she bestows him one gentle pat. "Yes, yes, I'll make sure not to dote on you too much." She rotates on the balls of her feet. "How about I get you something to drink?"

        As she ventures beneath the deck, Nixon joins her. She doesn't pay him and his jovial behaviour much mind as she enters the grand kitchen. She searches the cupboards, peering past strange relics and ornaments until finally locating the cups.

        Pushing to the tips of her toes, she reaches for the glass on the top shelf. The slipperiness just about makes it fall through her fingers if her other hand doesn't react in time to catch it.

          "You're quite the tough one."

          "Why do you say so?" she says, ensuring the glass's condition before glancing around for a source of water.

          "Humans are a rarity in Annadia, and not many outsiders are as accepting about magical worlds like you seem to be— Oh, allow me to me handle that." He slips the cup from her fingers and heads towards the far end of the room. A hose hangs around a wooden wheel and with the slight crank the hose slithers downwards until he has enough to aim it at the cup. With a flip of the switch, the cup fills with bubbly water—and within seconds, he also retrieves and hangs a sliced lemon over the side. He hands it back to her. "It'll aid with his nausea."

          She accepts the cup and sets it off on the nearest countertop. She leans back into it, folding her arms over her chest.

          "Going along with a detour as dangerous as this is startling as well. Straeh is enemy territory for us Spades. Even the place we're headed—Pashee—it's Edaps land in Hearts territory. We're taking a gamble that it's still peaceful, but we can't ascertain that given the circumstance of our kingdom." He frowns. "You do understand that once we pass their borders at midnight we may be subjected to assaults, or even war—"

          "But the only way we can find a cure is to go there, right?"

          Nixon goes mute. Leda pushes herself off the counter, rounding with narrowed eyes.

          "Instead of living with the misconception that I'm incapable of caring for a kind unlike my own, you're better off navigating the ship. Even if I'm weak and powerless—and can't do anything by myself—I made up my mind about this."

          She scoops up the glass and twists to go only to be stopped by a grab to the fabric just below her right collarbone. It's almost second nature to react but she gives him the benefit of the doubt.

          "What do you still need?"

          "Perhaps..." Nixon no longer carries his air of lightheartedness. His glass eye is cold, calculating, piercing into the depths of her soul. "You're also fighting an incurable disease?"

          The accuracy is like a stab in the gut. Leda's mind blanks to the sleet of murky black she's familiar with. In one fluid movement, her fingers wrap around his wrist and she uses her entire body to twist it left. His grip around her collar loosens but she's already ripping his hand from the fabric of her shirt, pinching his elbow and bringing him to his knees. She flicks his arm and with a yelp, he collides face-first with the ground.

          Her heartbeat that was once lost to her hammers against her ribcage with enough force to leave her breathless. Her shoulders jitter as she heaves, now aware of the weight of her knees crushing his lower back as she pins him firmly to the floor. All at once, buzzes fill her ears. Noise.
Nixon's muffled grunts.

           Her senses flood back to her like the ripples of the ocean outside but it's heavy, maybe from regret. It's been a long time since she's acted on her emotions. Just because of the truth she was so sure she'd buried...

          She doesn't recall when the glass of water left her hands, but at least now it's shattered across the floorboards along with a puddle of water. Along with his fedora that was blown off, dribbles of blood seep into the puddle, staining the once transparent liquid to a cloudy red. After she removes him from her hold, Nixon doesn't wait another opportunity to pry his smushed face from the floor, blowing relentlessly as he does.

          As he frames his body against the cupboards, his gloved hand clenches is slightly gashed, blood soaking through. It's her fault.

          "Sorry," Leda whispers. "Let me—"

          He dismisses it with a fair smile. "I deserve it for provoking you. Though..." He sucks in a sharp breath as he studies his hand. "I didn't expect you to attack with the ferocity of a wild dragon."

          He's back to his nonchalant self which is reassuring. Leda also sits against the cupboards.

          "I know enough self-defence to keep me going," she says, bringing her knees to her chin. "Or, at least I had no choice but to learn it. Given my environment, I had to keep my head screwed on somehow."

          "Your defence isn't bad for someone self-taught," he reassures her. "Not entirely too graceful or strong, but it will do the job in dire situations."

          Her eyelids flutter up and down as she whirls to him.

          "Spades—weakened or not—are kind. Even towards a human from Htrae. I wish I can say the same for the other kingdoms and suits, but unfortunately, that isn't so. Woman or not, you need enough strength to manoeuvre around tough enemies. Not to mention you're also fighting an invisible war—one you've struggled with by yourself for many years. That must be why you feel so strongly about my people."

          Leda's stuck following him with her eyes as he hoists himself to his feet. His diamond glass jaw as well as his eye eerily reflect off the light above. It's enough to send newfound goosebumps spiking across her arms like needles.

          "It was merely an inference," Nixon justifies, as if to allay her suspicion. "The only reasonable conclusion I could deduce. Was I wrong?"

          She merely dodges his gaze, the scratched floorboards suddenly a lot more riveting. He starts towards the exit, his patterned coat swaying after him.

          "Though your kindness is admirable, let's pray it doesn't come back to bite you."

          She cranes her neck at once. "Huh?"

          He spares her one last smile over his shoulder. "Just an old man's rambling," he excuses. "Come on. Let's return upstairs."