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This is what happens: Jester kisses Fjord. Or, Fjord kisses Jester maybe. However it happens, it is a mutually agreed-upon kiss.
Jester pulls back first. Her fingers slide down from where they had been hooked on the shoulders of Fjord’s armour; she traces the faint scars of dozens of battles, the pock-marks of acid and scorching. Drums her fingers against the leather and pushes him gently back.
She presses her lips together, curious.
They’re not tingling. She thought they would tingle.
‘Um.’
Fjord smiles down at her, that very kind smile that crinkles his eyes, washes his eyes out into the loveliest sea-green. There’s a glint of white tusk above his bottom lip. ‘That was…uh,’
‘Really nice!’
‘Yeah, definitely, yeah. Top ten, for sure.’
Jester’s eyes widen. ‘Ten?’ She smacks his arm. ‘Fjord!’
‘Three! Ow! I meant top three! Definitely way up there, really nice.’ His hurried assurances are quick to settle Jester’s prickling pride. She laughs a little and, upon hearing her laugh, Fjord’s smile grows and the worry-harsh planes of his shoulders and face soften.
‘Fjord?’
‘Yeah, Jessie.’
‘It was nice. Really nice,’ she assures him. ‘But—it didn’t really feel…’
‘Yeah,’ he says before she can finish. ‘I get it.’
‘You do?’
There’s a melancholy to the question that mixes with faint hope—do you know why I feel this way? Do you understand?—but if he hears the questions buried under it, he doesn’t speak to them.
‘I mean, please don’t misunderstand, it was lovely,’ he says, and puts his hands between them, almost surrender. ‘But—’
‘Oh yes! Lovely!’
‘—and you’re one of my best friends. Which is why—that kind of felt like,’ his forehead creases. ‘Kissing a friend.’
‘It really did.’
‘It really did.’
‘Hmm. Weird. I was so sure too.’
‘Me too, Jessie.’ He shrugs, and the look is easy on him. He’s come so far from the rigid—Jester can’t help but crack the tiniest smile when the word pops into her mind—and falsely confident man he’d pretended to be. The one who wanted a plan, a direction at all times, the right answer for everyone all the time. It’s funny that the thing that has made him happiest is to discard everything of that life that he could—the voice, the ideals, even the sword.
Jester squints up at him. The sun is falling behind him and it stings her eyes. ‘Maybe it’s because I saw you vomit up a ball.’
He laughs. ‘Yeah, could be. No coming back from that, huh?'
They stand for a moment. Fjord hooks his thumbs into his belt, rocks back onto his heels. Jester pushes up a smile, hums.
‘Well. Thank you.’
‘Sure. Any time?’ Fjord says thoughtlessly, the words pitching up in a question as he hears what is coming out of his mouth. He’s already shaking his head when Jester wrinkles her nose.
The moment settles between them. It’s nice, in a way, a quiet confirmation of a kind—it’s been months since they met and made their way, just the two of them, into the Empire and this thing Jester had harboured for Fjord…had grown, and stagnated as he had changed so much. But hadn’t she as well? As close as they are, Jester thinks she shouldn’t really be surprised; everything changes, so why not that as well?
Fjord clears his throat. Points back over his shoulder, demonstrably awkward. ‘I’m gonna. Go. Over there.’ He lifts his brows, perks his ears up like he’s hearing something. ‘What was that, Orly? You need my help? What a coincidence!’
‘I didn’t hear Orly,’ Jester teases, grinning.
‘It’s – Captain’s hearing,’ Fjord lies cheerfully. ‘Very astute.’
She watches him go fondly, still smiling. Seeing him take his space there behind the wheel of the ship, Jester feels the fondness double, consuming the tiniest spark of something more. As it does, the little warmth it was providing goes as well, and Jester feels herself deflate. Sits back atop the netted crates with a miserable little sigh.
Her eyes drift over broad shoulders, well-fitted armour, the pants snug around his behind. He’s very handsome. So why hadn’t kissing him felt right? Just because they’re good friends? Or…
The cold in her chest feels very cold now, without that spark of warmth.
Turning to look for Veth—that hadn’t gone at all the way she thought it would, and Veth has given her very good advice in the past and is married so of all her friends, Veth would know best what she should do—she can’t see her little friend anywhere on deck. But not too far from her is the door below deck, and standing within its frame, one hand clutching white-knuckled to the handle, is Beau.
‘Beau!’
Of course she can help, she’s kissed people before and—no offence Veth—Beau gives the best advice out of all of them.
Looking more closely at her friend, Jester sees that Beau’s eyes are fixed on the deck in front of her. One hand clutches white-knuckled to the handle of the door and her shoulders are held tight, elbows close to her body. She looks like she’s about to puke, actually.
Jester leans closer, holds a healing string on the tip of her tongue in case Beau needs it. Does Beau get seasick? They hadn’t really talked about it, and she thinks she wouldn’t want to be on the ocean all the time or come back if she did get seasick, right? Maybe she’s just ordinary sick.
‘Beau?’
The other girl lifts her eyes from the deck to her and she smiles, but there’s nothing to it. Her eyes are blank—controlled, becalmed—and the tension sloughs off her like water. She climbs the last of the steps up onto the deck and saunters over to join Jester. By the time she arrives at Jester’s side, there is no sign of the sickness, no sign of strangeness. Arms folded, she leans her hip casually onto a crate one down from where Jester sits and looks for all the world relaxed, at ease, comfortable. It’s funny, though. It almost looks like if Jester nudged her, Beau would explode into seafoam like those monsters who had looked like people.
The thought makes her shiver, her stomach flip, and she tucks her feet close and tangles her tail around her own ankle. Best not to test it.
‘Do you get seasick?’ Jester blurts.
It isn’t what Beau expected to hear because her face falls and she blurts, ‘Huh?’
‘Seasick. Do you puke, Beau.’
‘Uh. No. No, I like boats ‘n shit.’
Jester giggles. ‘You like shit?’ It makes Beau roll her eyes and that’s such a familiar expression that Jester relaxes. ‘Hi.’
‘Hey, Jes.’
‘Did you see that?’
‘See what?’ the girl asks archly, eyes distant and—Jester realizes—with very little warmth in them. She hunches, fingers twisting in her lap; she wouldn’t have noticed that but Beau seems to notice everything, and Jester watches as blue eyes flicker down lightning fast to her lap. When they lift to meet Jester’s once more, something flickers in those blue eyes.
Beau quirks a smile. ‘You mean the kiss?’ she guesses. There’s no real question to the words. ‘Yeah, I saw. Congrats.’
Jester hums. Twists a heavy ring around her thumb.
‘How did it…look?’
Jester isn’t looking at Beau when she asks; she wishes that she had been when her friend makes a small, garbled sound. There’s no expression left on her face when Jester’s eyes dart back to her.
‘Huh?’ Beau asks. Grunts, more like. ‘What?’
‘Is that a weird question?’
‘I mean,’
‘I just—how did it look? Was it—did it look,’ Jester cuts herself off with a displeased sound. She doesn’t know how to explain it and she looks to Beau with wide eyes, wishing the girl would understand. Answer her in that way she does sometimes like she’s reading Jester’s mind.
‘That’s not really what I’m into,’ Beau jokes instead, not hearing Jester’s mental plea. ‘But,’ she continues, ‘you make a beautiful couple.’
‘Well. Fjord is very handsome.’
Beau shifts so she’s side-on to Jester, looking out over the sea. ‘A-yup.’
‘And I am very beautiful.’
‘Yeah,’ Beau agrees, very quietly.
Jester beams happily at the extracted compliment, flush with success. Then remembers what they were talking about and frowns. ‘It didn’t look…awkward?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It…felt awkward.’
Beau glances sidelong to her. Hums. ‘Oh. Well, y’know. First loves and all that. I’m sure it’ll feel less awkward going forward if you give it a red hot go.’
‘What? Beau,’ Jester says, recoiling.
‘Ah, fuck – no – ignore that. That is really bad advice. Don’t –‘ Beau holds a hand out toward her, shakes her head hard. ‘Don’t do things that make you uncomfortable! Fuck! Sorry, I’m sorry.’
Beau drags her hands over her face, scrubs at it for a moment before she adjusts her position; shifting so she is seated on the crate, legs pulled up so one is folded underneath her and the other dangling off the edge, Beau leans toward Jester with a frown of concentration. Jester feels her world, rocked a little, right itself ever so slightly. She might not have figured out what to do about Fjord, or what had made what she was so sure was going to be the most perfect best first kiss ever with someone she truly loves into…something so banal, but for the moment, all of Beau’s considerable attention is focused directly on her and Jester feels—seen. Listened to. Like the most important creature in the world, worthy of an Expositor’s attention. Worthy of Beau’s attention. And with all of the cleverness of that mind on her side, it won’t be long until the problem is solved.
‘Right,’ she says. ‘Start again. I can give better advice than that, I promise. Why are you lookin’ at me like that?’ she demands. When Jester just shrugs and smiles, Beau lets it go. ‘So,’ Beau prompts. ‘It felt awkward? How so?’
‘I don’t know. I thought it would feel different. Special? It was nice, I guess, but I kept thinking—‘ She bites her lip, wonders whether Fjord might be upset that she’s telling Beau this. But Beau nods encouragingly, and her eyes are wide and attentive and warm again, finally, and Jester finds the words tumbling out. ‘I kept thinking about how long it was taking and if my breath smelled weird and whether I should move my hands and where and…I don’t know. Don’t laugh at me, Beau, but in the books—don’t laugh,’
Jester doesn’t know what the expression is that sweeps over Beau’s face, then, but it transforms her eyes alone. All the weight of her examination isn’t gone but it loses any harsh edge it might have had. Eyes soft now, Beau says,
‘D’you hear me laughing? Go on, Jes.’
She ducks her head. Twists her rings on her pinkie finger.
‘Okay. Well. In the books, they talk about how—you stop thinking when the right person kisses you. Like the whole world disappears.’ Beyond her hands, Jester can see the edge of the deck and the alternating pillars of wood and blue, wood and blue, the sea within the gaps of the railing. ‘It—I didn’t feel that at all.’
For a moment, the two of them sit quietly together.
‘Do you think I’m doing it wrong? Do you think I’m bad at it?’
‘Nah,’ Beau says instantly. ‘There’s not a thing in the world you can’t do right if you put your mind to it so—no offence, Jes—but that’s, nah, not a thing. Feel free to throw that idea overboard. Do it. Go on, throw it.’
She chucks her chin toward the railing, mimes throwing something, and Jester laughs. Shakes her head—it’s a silly idea to throw nothing—but obliges. Closes her hand around empty air and tosses it out into the sea. Next to her, Beau makes a splashing sound as it impacts the water. Badly.
‘Great! So now that idea is gone…’ Jester looks over, expectant. Her friend looks deep in thought and finally, after a minute, Beau sighs and says, ‘Honestly? Maybe it’s just—sorry Fjord—but it sounds…like you’re…kissing the wrong person.’
‘I think you’re right.’
Beau, holding herself stiff, tense, with a slight grimace like she’s afraid of what Jester’s reaction might be…blinks.
‘Oh. Okay.’ She scratches at her undercut. Waves a hand. ‘Well, there you go.’
They sit together for a time, watching as the sun continues to set. The water begins to bleed gold, then pink, then red.
‘Beau?’
‘Mm.’
‘Have you ever kissed someone like that? Like the whole world stood still? Any of that romantic…nonsense?’
‘It’s not nonsense, Jes. Not if you want that. You deserve that. Every bit of it.’
‘Bo-wuh,’ Jester says in that cajoling way of her, taking her time with Beau’s name. She smiles sweetly over at her friend, who looks so very serious about the assurance. ‘Thank you, but—‘ She waggles her brows. ‘Have you?’
The moment she asks, Jester is struck by a strange sensation. A force in her chest that tugs her in two directions—one she recognizes as curiosity. The other… Maybe she’s getting seasick too.
Weird.
Beau hasn’t seemed to notice, with her attention turned away from her to the sunset. Jester misses it. The way she looks at Jester. The way she notices her. She thinks, maybe, that if Beau had ever had cause to come to the Lavish Chateau years ago, that she would have seen her, and the thought makes something molten burn and steam in the cold chamber of her chest.
But Beau isn’t looking at her. She is looking at the water and turning her jade necklace over and over in her hands—when had she taken that off? Why hadn’t Jester noticed that about Beau?
‘Do you wanna throw that?’
‘Huh?’
Jester nods to the necklace. Beau follows the line of her sight. Her hand closes around the necklace reflexively, pulls it toward her gut and away from the edge of the ship.
‘Not yet. Maybe later. Maybe. It’s—a lot.’ She sucks in a breath. Shakes her head hard and pushes the jade necklace into one of her pockets. Then she says, ‘Maybe.’ Beau looks over at her when Jester says nothing. ‘You asked about – me having a romantic kiss. That’s my answer. Maybe.’
‘Oh. Maybe?’ she asks. Beau nods. Shrugs. ‘You don’t remember?’
‘It’s been a long time. I dunno. Maybe not. I was usually tipsy.’
Beau is smiling, for some reason. Jester wishes that she wouldn’t. The expression is very sad and, worse than that, it sits well on her face. Like she had been made for misery. Jester stares at her, tries to notice the way that Beau does for her; she doesn’t think she sees anything new, just that Beau looks carved from oak she is sitting so very, very still. They could sling her up as the ship’s new figurehead, Jester thinks, in place of the one they have now—a woman wearing a terrifying snarl, clouds gathering in her hands and streaming down to cover the rest of her. Then Jester thinks about all the other ships she has seen and their figureheads—the pretty woman, many of them naked.
Jester flushes.
‘Um. Why were you drunk?’
‘Because I was young and angry? Because life sucked and I had nothing but wine?’
‘I’m sorry, Beau.’ Beau glances at her, brows raised in a question. ‘That your childhood was like that.’
Beau softens. That looks shifts from questioning to utterly fond. ‘I said it before and I’ll say it again. I coulda made something. I coulda been creative and kind but I chose to wreck shit instead. Coulda been more like you.’
‘Maybe…those things deserved to be broken.’
‘Hm.’
‘Maybe, Beau, you did the best you could with a really shitty situation.’
Jester knows this is true, truer than anything else in her life right now. And as it clicks, as she knows this to be the case—when Beau’s eyes flutter, fill with sudden warmth and water, like no one has ever said that to her before—as Jester realizes that it is true, she realizes too that she hates it. The fury of it is no longer entirely unfamiliar to her. Jester has hated many things now, those things that dare to threaten her friends, hurt them, take them, control them. And apparently she can hate Beau’s past like it’s a real thing, something that makes the anger splinter in ice in her gut, over the backs of her hands as she closes them together tight.
She crunches her teeth down on cold shards and fights to control her voice. ‘If I could go back in time, I’d help you.’
Beau blinks away the last of the moisture in her eyes. Kicks back on her crate, juts her chin up with a cocky grin. ‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah! We’d steal from your dad and we’d—we’d—I don’t know. What else did you do? Kamordah sucked.’
‘Kamordah sucked,’ Beau agrees. ‘We threw snails in the geysers.’
‘Oh yeah. Well, I wouldn’t do that. But other stuff.’
‘Would you’ve gotten drunk with me?’ Beau asks. There’s something off about her tone and when Jester peers over at her, the smile has slipped a little. ‘Got in a fight with me? Have my back?’
They had, at some point, shifted closer than they had been at the start of this conversation. Not by a lot, not enough to touch, but they are drawn together toward the edges of their separate crates and if Jester wished, she could touch her foot to Beau’s with no effort at all.
Jester smiles, fills it with fondness. ‘Did you get into fights a lot?’ she teases. ‘I bet you did.’
Beau laughs, a harsh bark of a laugh. ‘Yeah. Wasn’t any good at fighting back then, I hadn’t got any training or anything. Didn’t know when to quit, though, which kinda seemed like the same thing to eighteen-year-old Beau.’ She reaches up. Touches her brow where the scar runs through it.
Jester doesn’t have to move much to reach up, press her fingers right next to Beau’s. The other girl sucks in a sharp breath.
‘Sorry. Cold hands.’
‘S’fine,’ Beau assures her. Moves a little closer still so Jester doesn’t have to reach and lets her own hand drop away, giving Jester free reign.
‘I would’ve healed you.’ She tilts her head to the side. ‘Maybe not all the way.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s very striking.’
Beau smiles a crooked smile. ‘Oh, you think?’
‘Very.’ Jester returns her smile. A thought occurs to her. ‘Did your – your girlfriend,’
‘Tori.’
‘Tori. Did she look after you? When this happened?’ Jester traces the starburst origin of the scar where something had impacted hard, down over the hook of Beau’s brow to its end. It’s a messy scar, if thin and faint now after years of healing.
‘Nah. We weren’t like that.’ At Jester’s look of confusion, Beau explains. ‘If I couldn’t take care of myself, I shouldn’t be there, y’know?'
Jester frowns. ‘That doesn’t sound very nice.’
‘Maybe not. But back then, it made me feel… I dunno. Important? Strong? I dunno.’
Humming, Jester switches from index finger to thumb. She swipes over the scar one last time before pulling away. Loads it with a spark of healing that does absolutely nothing at all to a scar.
Beau smiles. ‘Thanks, Jes.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘So you’d get drunk and get into a ruckus and then kiss Tori?’ Jester tests the name out again.
It doesn’t have the right ring to it. No, Tori wasn’t Beau’s true love. Her first maybe, but it would never have worked out, she decides then and there.
Beau laughs. ‘Sure, yeah. Sometimes. We didn’t – I don’t think we kissed a whole heap? We had more important shit to do,’ she tells Jester, shrugs.
Jester nods sagely. ‘Sex.’
The burst of laughter that surprises from Beau is bright and light. It’s Beau who closes the distance between them, knocks her foot into Jester’s with a teasing smile, still too-wide from laughing.
‘I was gonna say, like, stealing stuff,’ she chuckles. ‘But yeah, sure, I guess.’
‘What was that like?’
‘Sex?’
‘Yeah!’
‘Gods, okay.’ Beau drags a hand through her hair, scrapes loose wisps back from her face. ‘Uh, I don’t know. Bad? It was bad in hindsight. I’ve gotten way better,’ she confides with a too-broad wink, intended to make Jester laugh. She almost forgets to laugh, busy thinking about it. Does practice make perfect? How much practice has Beau had? She must be pretty near perfect. ‘It felt good, though,’ Beau continues, and Jester drags her thoughts back to the here and now. ‘We liked each other, we were hot, we worked well together. That seemed like the most important thing at the time. We were both kinda fucked up, I guess, and it was…it was nice to have each other. Even if it was just sex.’
Jester’s stomach swoops, a heavy ball of ice in the pit of it. Maybe she definitely has a skewed idea of love from her books, but she doesn’t think that it should be about being fucked up together. Should it?
‘That’s kind of nice.’
Beau tilts her head. Squints a little like she’s calling Jester on her bullshit. ‘It’s kinda sad.’
‘Well a little, but I didn’t want to be rude, Beau!’ Jester says, voice pitched high as she gets flustered.
It makes Beau laugh again. ‘It’s fine, I’m not precious.’
‘What? You’re precious, Beau!’
There’s a moment of silence as Beau stares at her. Then, ‘Precious means sensitive. About stuff like that. Delicate.’
‘Oh. Right. I knew that.’ Beau nods easily. ‘But you are, you know. Precious.’
Beau smiles at her then in that way she does. Tilts her head, smiles so warmly at Jester it’s like she has a bit of the sun secreted away, tucked away behind her eyes. Master thief. Better even than Veth to have stolen the sun.
It’s even more enchanting right now, with the sun having slipped fully beneath the horizon.
‘I hope…I hope you find someone, Beau. Who you know for sure makes the world stop. Or spin, or disappear, or whatever actually happens when you kiss the right person. You deserve that too.’
That sun-bright smile stutters and goes dark. Beau stares at her and for a moment, Jester thinks she has said something wrong.
Beau opens her mouth.
Closes it without saying anything.
Licks her lips, casting her eyes away and down. Then, small and gruff, Beau says, ‘Thanks.’ The word is rough, like she’s had to force it out. The words that follow come easy for some reason. ‘I don’t know anyone in the world who deserves that more than you do, so. Right back atcha.’ Before Jester can say anything to that, so very sweetly spoken, Beau continues.
There’s a crease between her brows, Jester notices. Not a frown but a sign of that intense focus, that intense attention, as Beau continues carefully, laying the words out in front of them not like a reading of the fates but like curated evidence. An offering of something solid, something certain.
‘I think,’ she says, ‘that each time you kiss someone new, you kinda get a first kiss again. Maybe it’s not the first kiss but it’s a first and…they can be pretty special.’ Beau scratches at the back of her head, and loosely clasps her hand around the back of her neck, palm resting against her tattoo. ‘So, y’know, I get it if - if you’re feeling a bit down that it wasn’t perfect. But if I were you, I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ll get another try.’
‘You think so?’
‘Not a doubt in my mind,’ Beau assures her.
Beau reaches up casually then, grabs at one of the ropes overhead. Stepping down from her crate, Beau twists her hand in the rope as she turns toward Jester. Rocks forward and presses her lips to Jester’s cheek in the gentlest and briefest of kisses. She pulls back. Looks like she is going to speak before she just shrugs, smiles, and climbs swiftly up into the rigging.