Chapter 26: Beneath The Surface

  "You could have told me," Seraphina hissed as they strode down the gangplank, her perfect posture betraying none of the anger that edged her words. "About the Miners' Guild. About your connection here. About any of this."

  "Told you what, exactly?" Thristle's careful pronunciation slipped as her frustration mounted. "That I might be wanted by the guild in Port Sallow? That I've got enemies I don't even remember makin'?"

  They marched up the Wavechaser's gangplank.

  "I'm not your warden," Seraphina replied, her voice low enough that only Thristle could hear. "I'm your protector."

  "Are ye now?" Thristle stopped abruptly, turning to face her. "And what exactly are ye protectin' me from? Because sometimes I wonder if it's not from Lord Blackbriar himself."

  Seraphina's perfect composure cracked just slightly. "That's not—"

  "Isn't it? Because from where I'm standin', there's a whole lot nobody's tellin' me. Including you." Thristle jabbed a finger toward her, nearly poking Seraphina's perfectly pressed apron.

  "I've seen how ye look at those messages. The ones ye don't read out loud." A ripple of blue caught their peripheral vision as Vesper materialized beside them, his surface patterns shifting with obvious concern. Both women ignored him, too caught in their mutual frustration.

  "I've been nothing but—"

  "Professional?" Thristle laughed, the sound brittle. "Oh, aye, very professional. With your perfect manners, posture and your perfectly crafted half-truths. At least when Vesper lies to me, he's obvious about it."

  The slime in question rippled indignantly at being dragged into their argument but remained uncharacteristically quiet, his bear skull rotating slowly as he observed their exchange.

  "I have my orders," Seraphina said, each word measured carefully. "As do you."

  "Difference is, I don't pretend they're for anything but selfish reasons," Thristle retorted. "I'm here because the alternative was worse. What's your excuse?"

  Neither noticed Vesper slowly edging them toward the ship's small map room until he suddenly surged forward, herding them inside like a sheepdog managing particularly stubborn sheep. Before either could react, he flowed into the doorway, his substantial mass effectively blocking any exit.

  "What are you—" Thristle started, confusion temporarily derailing her anger.

  "Vesper, this is inappropriate," Seraphina stated, her maid's dignity returning full force. "Move aside."

  The slime remained steadfastly in place, his surface shifting to deeper blues that suggested serious purpose rather than mischief. The bear skull oriented toward them with deliberate precision.

  "Fine," Thristle huffed, marching forward. "If you won't move, I'll just—" She attempted to push through, only to find herself gently but firmly rebuffed, Vesper's gelatinous form yielding just enough to cushion the impact before pushing her back.

  "He won't budge," she informed Seraphina unnecessarily, turning back with crossed arms. "Apparently we're being held hostage by sentient pudding."

  "What exactly does he want?" Seraphina asked, her voice carrying careful neutrality, though her eyes betrayed a flash of unease. The map room was small, windowless except for a tiny porthole, and currently contained one frustrated elf, one alarmed maid, and several very breakable navigation instruments.

  "How should I know?" Thristle threw up her hands. "Didn’t Lord Blackbriar's instruction for this?"

  "This isn't funny," Seraphina replied, though her lips twitched slightly. "Some of us have actual responsibilities."

  "Oh, yes, very important responsibility of not telling me anything useful," Thristle retorted, "Critical stuff, that."

  Vesper chose that moment to strike. He surged forward, wrapping around both women before they could react. His mass enveloped them, pulling them together with gentle but unyelding force.

  "Vesper!" Thristle squawked, finding herself suddenly pressed against Seraphina's front, their faces inches apart. "What in the rotting oak are you—"

  "This is c-completely—" Seraphina's voice caught, her usual flawless diction stumbling as their bodies pressed together. She swallowed hard, a flush climbing her neck in a most un-maidlike manner. "Inappropriate," she finally managed, the word emerging slightly higher than intended.

  Thristle's eyes widened at the break in Seraphina's perfect composure. In all their time together, through monster attacks and life-threatening situations, she'd never heard the woman stammer. Not once.

  The slime's only response was to tighten his hold slightly, pushing them even closer together. His surface rippled with patterns that somehow managed to convey both exasperation and determination.

  "I think," Thristle said slowly, suddenly aware of how Seraphina's breath caught when their eyes met, "he's trying to make us... resolve our differences."

  "By forced proximity?" Seraphina's eyebrow arched, though her voice had lost its edge.

  "He's not exactly versed in conflict resolution," Thristle pointed out, her anger deflating like a punctured balloon. "His usual approach to problems is to dissolve them."

  "Let us go," Seraphina demanded, though her voice lacked its usual authority. She shifted slightly, trying to create space, but only succeeded in pressing against Thristle which made her blush deepen.

  "I don't think he's listening," Thristle replied, surprised to find her own voice unsteady. She could feel Seraphina's heartbeat against her chest, far faster than the situation warranted for someone who regularly faced mortal danger without blinking. Vesper's surface churned with frustrated patterns, his bear skull rotating between them as if to say: Work this out.

  "I have my reasons for d-discretion." Seraphina stated, the slight stammer returning, her gaze fixed firmly on a point above Thristle's head rather than meeting her eyes.

  "And I'm not apologizing for wanting to know what I'm walking into," Thristle countered, though her anger had been replaced by a different kind of discomfort. She'd never been this close to Seraphina before—close enough to notice how her eyes weren't just brown but flecked with amber, how a tiny scar curved along her jawline, nearly invisible unless you were pressed against her.

  Vesper rippled impatiently, clearly unsatisfied with this non-progress.

  "Maybe," Thristle conceded reluctantly, "I could have been more understanding about your position."

  "And perhaps," Seraphina replied, her voice carefully controlled, "I could have been more... forthcoming. Where appropriate."

  The slime's hold loosened fractionally—encouragement, not release.

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  "I do trust you," Thristle admitted, the words feeling like pulling teeth. "Even when I'm furious with you."

  Seraphina finally met her eyes, something vulnerable flashing briefly behind her professional mask. "I—" She paused, seeming to struggle with words that usually came so easily. "My duty is to protect you. Not just physically."

  "I know," Thristle replied softly. "Even when you're being impossible about it."

  A slight smile tugged at Seraphina's lips. "I prefer 'thorough'."

  "Course you do," Thristle grinned, feeling the tension between them ease slightly.

  Vesper, sensing the shift, gradually loosened his grip, though not fully releasing them. His surface churned with patterns that suggested cautious optimism.

  "If you're quite finished," Seraphina addressed the slime, her composure partially recovered despite the lingering flush across her cheekbones. "We have actual work to attend to."

  Vesper's surface rippled with what could only be described as stubborn skepticism, clearly unconvinced their reconciliation was complete.

  "Look," Thristle sighed, realizing they'd need to make more explicit peace to escape. "I promise not to storm off in a huff, and Seraphina promises to actually tell me if we're walking into danger. Right?" She raised her eyebrows at Seraphina, who gave a terse nod.

  "Acceptable compromise," Seraphina agreed, though her voice still carried a slight roughness that made Thristle's ears perk up.

  Vesper held them a moment longer, as if assessing their sincerity, before finally withdrawing. His mass flowed back from the doorway, freeing their path.

  "Don't," Thristle warned him as she straightened her rumpled clothing, "ever do that again. Next time we argue, let us handle it like adults."

  Vesper's surface patterns suggested he found this proposal highly unreliable based on prior evidence.

  Seraphina adjusted her uniform with precision, her movements almost mechanical as she struggled to regain her usual composure. "We should... return to our duties." She cleared her throat, studiously avoiding Thristle's gaze. "There's much to prepare"

  "Right," Thristle agreed, though her eyes lingered on the flush still visible along Seraphina's neck. "Duties. Very important."

  As they exited the map room, Thristle caught Vesper forming a distinctive ripple pattern—one that looked suspiciously like smug satisfaction. He might not have achieved perfect reconciliation, but he'd certainly discovered something interesting about Seraphina's carefully maintained facade. And judging by the way Seraphina practically fled, she knew it too.

  "Don't get used to it," Thristle warned the slime as they emerged onto the deck, still slightly flushed. "Next time you try that, I'm filling your bowl with salt."

  Vesper's only response was a pattern that looked remarkably like laughter, his surface dancing with colors that suggested he found both their embarrassment and their reconciliation thoroughly entertaining.

  ---

  After the map room incident, the slime remained unusually attentive to both Thristle and Seraphina's movements. His surface patterns had taken on a particular watchfulness—deep blues swirling with occasional flashes of determination. Thristle caught him watching her, his bear skull rotating to follow her movements across the deck. "I think he knows," she muttered to herself, guilt flickering across her features. Perhaps he had recognized their careful verbal maneuvering earlier, how neatly they had constructed promises that sounded meaningful. She was so absorbed in peering around the corner that she didn't notice the familiar blue glow until Vesper's massive form loomed beside her, his bear skull tilting with apparent curiosity at her work.

  "Just maintenance," she explained. "Wood tension's been off since—"

  Her words died as Vesper suddenly wrapped around her. Before she could even yelp, the slime had lifted her bodily from the deck, cradling her with unexpected gentleness despite his obvious intent.

  "Put me down!" she hissed, mindful of sleeping crew members. "Vesper, I swear by the rotted oak, if this is another intervention—"

  But the slime was already moving, carrying her across the deck with purposeful ripples. His destination became horrifyingly clear as he approached the galley.

  "Don't you dare," Thristle whispered, struggling ineffectively. "This isn't funny!"

  Vesper's surface patterns suggested he found her protests entirely irrelevant to his mission. He carried her down with surprising dexterity for a creature with no actual limbs, his mass contracting and flowing to navigate the narrow space without banging her against the walls. The door loomed ahead. Thristle's last hope that Seraphina might be elsewhere died as she heard movement inside Vesper didn't bother knocking. He simply pushed the door open, his mass stretching to accommodate the passage while still firmly grasping Thristle.

  "What in the—" Seraphina's voice cut off as she looked up to find Vesper, Thristle suspended helplessly within.

  "This isn't my idea," Thristle said quickly, wishing she could sink into the floor as Seraphina's eyebrows rose toward her hairline. "He ambushed me on deck."

  "Indeed." Seraphina's voice was carefully neutral as she set her rifle aside. She wore only her shirtsleeves and trousers, her usual immaculate uniform jacket hanging neatly by the door. "And his purpose would be...?"

  "How should I know?" Thristle's frustration spilled over. "Ask the pudding!"

  Vesper's surface rippled with what might have been indignation or amusement—possibly both. His hold remained firm but gentle as he deposited Thristle on the floor, then promptly flowed to the door, blocking it completely.

  "Not again," Thristle groaned, recognizing the strategy from their previous encounter. "Vesper, we talked about this. You can't just trap people together when you think they need to resolve something."

  The slime's surface patterns conveyed profound disagreement with this perspective. His bear skull rotated slowly, evaluating both women with eerie deliberation.

  "We've already decided to discuss our professional differences..." Seraphina stated, her perfect posture somehow even more rigid than usual.

  "Tomorrow," Thristle finished with a nod.

  The word hung between them for a moment before Vesper's surface suddenly darkened, deep crimson patterns blooming across his translucent mass. His gelatinous form spread wider, flowing outward until he occupied the corridor fully. A low vibration began within him, just strong enough to make the nearby cups rattle slightly against their saucers. The bear's skull rotated sharply, its empty sockets somehow conveying profound disapproval. Small tendrils formed and dissolved rapidly across his surface—each movement sharper, less controlled than his usual fluid grace. The temperature in the cabin seemed to drop as his colors shifted further toward those dangerous reds they'd witnessed during combat.

  "He's... upset," Thristle translated unnecessarily, her voice smaller than usual.

  Seraphina didn't back away, though her hand moved fractionally closer to her rifle. "I can see that." Her face drained of color.

  "Stop that," she commanded, her voice uncharacteristically sharp. "Immediately."

  The slime's surface churned with patterns that somehow conveyed both sympathy and absolute refusal.

  "This is ridiculous," Thristle finally said, breaking the tense silence. "We're both hidin' things, and it's making everything harder than draggin' a drunk goat uphill." She sighed, meeting Vesper's empty eye sockets. "Fine. Let's just... get it over with."

  Seraphina's perfect posture didn't waver, but something in her expression softened slightly. "That would be... efficient." She hesitated, then nodded toward Thristle's arm where her sleeve covered the marks. "Perhaps we could start with those. I've noticed how they... react sometimes."

  Thristle's fingers automatically found the hidden patterns, tracing them through the fabric. "These? Not much to tell. Just a childhood mistake that follows me around." She tried for nonchalance, but her voice tightened against her will.

  "Most childhood mistakes don't change themselves," Seraphina observed quietly.

  Thristle sighed, shoulders slumping as resistance drained from her. "No, I suppose they don't."

  Slowly, hands shaking, Thristle rolled up her own sleeve, revealing the green patterns that spiraled across her skin like frost patterns on winter glass. "I didn't always have white hair, you know. Or these. Used to be a perfectly normal village brat with red hair and the common sense of a concussed squirrel."

  "What happened?" Seraphina asked, her voice gentler than Thristle had ever heard it.

  "Ran away when I was eight," Thristle replied, her gaze fixed on the patterns rather than meeting Seraphina's eyes. "I don't even remember why I was angry. Something stupid, probably…

  Seraphina remained silent, allowing her to continue at her own pace.

  ---

  "...my hair turned white," Thristle explained. "Started scarin' people with just a smile after that, all pointy bits make eatin' apples a proper adventure. And these marks appeared, burning like brands wherever it had touched me. Mother mixed poultices for days, trying to ease the pain. Finally found something that worked - turned them green and stopped the burning."

  Seraphina's eyes widened slightly. "She neutralized fae magic?"

  "She is the best healer in Blackbriar domain for a reason," Thristle replied with a hint of pride. Her expression darkened. "But she couldn't undo what had happened. And it wasn’t enough, so in time we left - to search for a cure"

  "And now the marks react to certain situations," Seraphina observed. "I've seen them slowly change shape."

  "They're... connected to something," Thristle admitted. She finally looked up, meeting Seraphina's gaze with challenge in her eyes. "So there it is. I'm fae touched. Not quite a common elf anymore. Is that what you wanted to know?"

  Seraphina was silent for a long moment, her face unusually still. Then, with deliberate movements, she rolled up her own sleeve, revealing a pattern of scars too precise to be accidental. "Order marks," she said quietly. "From before I became a maid."

  For a moment, neither spoke. The sounds of the harbor gulls crying, sailors calling, waves lapping against, hull seemed impossibly distant, as if the three of them existed in a bubble of silence.

  ---