Spring the 35th, 519 AV
Steel. She had to be harder than that. Harder than stone, harder than the black nails that tipped her fingers, harder than anything she knew of. She could not be shaken. Otherwise, she would falter and all the work of the past nine days would be for nothing. All her hunger would have been useless. It had been nine days since she had forced herself to stop eating.
Leo had asked her for seven days, for one week of starvation to make her venom more potent. She had gone to him two days ago, expecting thanks and congratulations for her efforts. Instead, the poisoner had taken one look at her, decided something in his mind, and told her he was confident she could go longer. That day, her mind had already been rife with ideas of the many things she would eat to break her long fast, and she was prepared with trinkets and favors to get what she wanted. Oresnya had already been so close to breaking that day, and the thoughts of food only made her more ready to give up.
But she had remained strong and used work to distract herself. She had tried to use work to distract herself again, but Felicity had sent her away, not wanting the ravenous looking Symenestra hanging about in her place of work.
Which was why Oresnya was sitting on the stone floor of her room, attempting to meditate. It was something she had only dabbled in before under the careful and oddly wise instruction of the youngest sailor aboard The Dot. Perhaps it was Eleazar’s upbringing among the tents of the Benshira, but he was wise beyond his years, wise beyond most people’s years.
She did what he had always told her to do. Empty the mind of as many thoughts as one could. He had never told her to empty her mind completely, because in his words, only idiots thought that was possible. But if one could clear away as many extraneous thoughts as possible, then they could focus on the ones they wanted to. In times of trouble, Eleazar had said, one should focus on the things most important to them. To that end, Oresnya let thoughts slips slowly away until a single face filled her mind’s eye.
Jon.
As much as Oresnya’s faith and beliefs had taught her to value family above all, she had done what most unfortunate people do and had fallen in love. Love was what had driven her to leave her home in Kalinor, love for her sister. She had left to return to her sister’s home here in Wind Reach. But love was dangerous, and it was what had almost caused her to abandon her silly attempts to come to the mountain city.
Jon was perhaps not the most handsome man in the world, but he was not not good looking. There always seemed to be a smattering of stubble along the angle of his jaw, and though it was not impressive as far as beards went, it was always well-groomed, especially for them being on a boat. Sailing and the many vigorous chores it required had made him strong. His shoulders were broad and dropped into the well-defined muscles of his arms. There was a warmth in their embrace that she had never felt elsewhere. As much as the work aboard a ship kept him strong, his primary role as the boat’s cook always kept a small gut on him. She liked the way she squished into him when he hugged her.
But it wasn’t just his looks that had drawn her to him and kept her infatuated. He was a bright personality, usually optimistic and smiling. Only Eleazar was brighter, but even the Benshira’s happy laughter couldn’t match Jon’s.
But perhaps her favorite part of him was his scent. As the ship’s chef, he always smelled like the food he cooked. Herbs, exotic and ordinary both, laced the ever-present smell of the briny ocean whenever he was about. It was even enough to overpower the scent of sweat and hard work that everyone aboard the ship seemed to share. He always smelled like whatever it was he was cooking, and like any good chef, he always sampled his dishes. Often, his breath carried little hints of certain herbs, and when it tickled at her neck or her ear, the different scents there each time each brought different desires.
Sometimes his breath was so strong from one herb or another that Oresnya could practically taste it. Her favorite was cinnamon. God, how she loved cinnamon. Its warm sweetness always seemed to-
Oresnya’s belly growled. It took her a moment to realize that she had slipped into thoughts of food. Her washing basin was sitting in front of her as she had washed her face before she had begun, and in a fit of frustrated rage, the starving Symenestra screamed and threw the basin at the door to her apartment. Muscles coiled in her shoulders as she readied herself to lash out at something, the clattering bowl not being enough to satisfy her anger.
There was a shuffle outside her door, a soft knock, and then, “Is everything already, Widow?”
The next words were barely comprehended through the shriek with which they were delivered. “Petch you, Bob!”
The steps quickly retreated from her door, and Oresnya felt her muscles begin to relax. She sighed. That had been exactly what she had needed whether she had known it or not. Viratas bless Bob. He always was there when she needed him, though that was through no want of either of theirs. She didn’t want to be watched, and he didn’t want to watch her, but it was the arrangement they had to live with.
Gathering herself and sitting up straight, she breathed deeply through her nose, then whispered at the door with a grateful smile, “Petch you, Bob.”
