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The sea is a symphony, and Sophia can listen to its siren song all night long.
She’s missed this, truthfully. She’s been landlocked, as it were, for far too long; her body and soul belongs to the ocean, and now she has returned. And it’s celebrating her coming back with a seething storm.
There’s nothing more exhilarating and adrenaline-inducing than a storm at sea. Sophia loves to navigate the wild waves as though she’s trying to tame a feral beast. The ocean is always up to the challenge, but La Rascasse is not so easily overthrown.
Right now, however, she’s not contesting a tempest. Instead, she’s languishing in her lavish cabin, listening to the lullaby pouring just outside her walls.
The relentless pounding of rain on her cabin’s window harmonizes with the thunderous roar of waves crashing against the ship’s hull. The vessel pitches and rolls, sending vibrations rippling through the timbers, which resonates within the captain’s quarters like the low growl of some slumbering beast. Just like a baby being rocked in a cradle. Relaxing. Peaceful.
And then, the lullaby is interrupted by a strange sound.
It’s faint, muffled by the song of the storm, but Sophia hears it- rushing footsteps.
Is someone awake? Who? And what are they doing stomping around on the deck in this weather?
Curious, Sophia gets up to go check. The moment she opens her cabin door, the storm takes the chance to launch an attack on her, spraying her with hundreds of wet daggers. She squints through the assault but is mostly undeterred as she looks around.
Most people underestimate just how dark the ocean is at night. With no light from buildings or torches, it’s more like you’re in the middle of an abyss, blackness on all sides. Some nights, the moonlight and stars penetrate the blanket of ink, but on nights like this, visibility is near zero.
That being said, Sophia only notices the figure thanks to a perfectly timed lightning strike.
There’s someone hunched over the edge of the ship—and that’s about all she sees of them before the darkness shoves its way back over La Rascasse. But now she knows that someone is up, and if they’re out on the deck in the middle of a storm during the night, then something must be wrong.
Filled with curiosity, Sophia lights a lantern, throws on a waxed leather cloak that will repel the rain, puts on her shoes, and ventures out into the storm.
The rain claws desperately at her lantern, but the flame is safely protected by the four sides of glass covering it. The soft orange glow is still quite weak in the dark storm, but it provides enough light for her to see who is out on the deck.
It’s Amicia.
The girl is bracing herself against the railing of the ship, her head bent over the edge. Her hair is out of its braid and lying askew across her back like limp squid tentacles. She’s absolutely soaked to the bone. What is she doing out here?
Sophia does not wait long for her answer.
Amicia’s head dips low, and she coughs hard, retching.
She’s throwing up.
Sophia doesn’t know the child very, truthfully—they’ve only just met less than twelve hours before this moment—but she’s still a child, and she can’t leave a kid out alone when they’re clearly unwell, especially in the middle of a storm.
So, Sophia approaches, navigating the slippery deck carefully. Once she’s close enough, she sets a hand on Amicia’s back, her mouth opening to speak, but before the words can even come out, Amicia is jerking away violently. The girl recoils to the side as though she’s been struck, which causes her to slip on the slick wooden planks below and fall straight to the floor. She scuttles back a foot, her eyes wide and wild, something manic and feral dancing through her gaze.
Whoops.
Sophia probably should have announced her presence first.
Sophia raises the hand that isn’t holding the lantern up in the air. “Woah there. Easy. It’s just me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Amicia blinks, and that animalistic look in her eyes disappears. Her brow furrows at Sophia. “Sophia…? What are you doing up?”
“I can ask you the same question,” Sophia says, and Amicia looks a touch embarrassed at that. “So. What are you doing out here?”
“Oh, I was just…getting some fresh air.”
Sophia looks around. “In the middle of a storm?”
“…Yes?”
Sophia snorts lightly, then steps forward, extending the lantern to Amicia so she can get a better look at her. “You look pale.”
Amicia stands up slowly, grabbing into the ship’s railing for grounding. “I’m fine.”
Sophia arches an eyebrow, unconvinced by Amicia’a response. “You don’t look fine, and throwing up over the edge of the ship doesn’t exactly scream ‘fine’ either.” She puts her free hand on her hip, a small smirk teasing her lips. “Try again, hon.”
Amicia’s expression hardens as she steels herself. “I appreciate your concern, Sophia, but really, I’m fine. I can handle it. I’ve been through worse.”
Sophia chuckles softly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Oh, I have no doubt about that. But there’s no need for you to prove your resilience in the middle of a storm. Especially during a night as dark as this. The last thing any of us want is for you to slip and fall overboard.”
For a moment, Amicia’s young age betrays her, and she briefly looks genuinely worried. “Has that…happened before?”
“Oh yeah,” Sophia nods. “Happened in my early days of sailing. One of my crew mates, the poor soul, went careening right off of the deck and into the ocean. It was like he fell straight into a lake of ink- the water was as black as the sky around us, and our torches barely brushed the waves. May he rest easy wherever he is now. If the sea even released his soul to the world beyond. Sometimes it doesn’t.”
Amicia opens her mouth to respond, but a sudden wave of nausea seems to overtake her, and she clamps her hand over her mouth, doubling over. Sophia moves closer, carefully maneuvering Amicia so she’s facing the edge of the ship.
“Don’t hold it in, kid,” Sophia says. “It’ll only make you feel worse. Get it out of your system.”
Amicia’s resolve does not last long- a second later, she’s vomiting again. Sophia sets down the lantern so she can rub Amicia’s back with one hand and lift her wet hair out of the way with the other.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” Sophia coos. “Get it all out.”
“Don’t—” Amicia coughs. “—patronize me.”
“I’m not,” Sophia says. “I’m being kind. When was the last time anyone aside from your brother has been that way to you?”
Sophia had been teasing with that comment, but then she feels the way Amicia’s shoulder blades tense beneath her hand, and she wonders if maybe she’s accidentally touched on a sensitive subject.
“I’m—” Amicia struggles for a moment. “I’m fine.”
“Of course, of course,” Sophia hums.
Amicia finally pulls her head back and sluggishly wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. As much as she’s trying to hide it, she looks exhausted and uncomfortable.
“Feeling any better?” Sophia asks.
“Mmmnnnggg,” Amicia mumbles, sinking down to the floor. She looks so defeated, like a little French puddle pouting on the deck. Then, firmly, she adds, “I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you will be,” Sophia says, kneeling down next to her. “It just seems to be a classic case of seasickness.”
Amicia looks up at her, blinking. “That’s a thing?”
Sophia laughs a little. “I presume you’ve never been on a ship before this?”
“Does a rowboat count?”
Now Sophia laughs fully. “No, a rowboat does not count.”
“Then no.”
“Figures,” Sophia says. “Don’t worry, this is completely normal. It’s caused by the boat’s rocking. Tons of people go through it.”
“Even you?” Amicia asks.
“Oh, no. I’m too strong for seasickness to affect me.”
Amicia’s face scrunches up as she glowers at Sophia. Sophia pats her shoulder.
“The seasickness will pass, but standing out in this rain certainly won’t help,” Sophia says. “Here, come into my cabin. Lucky for you, I have a remedy for the nausea.”
Amicia hesitates for a moment, her eyes flickering with a mix of vulnerability and stubbornness. Sophia can tell that she’s not used to accepting help from others, that she’s accustomed to shouldering her burdens alone.
And then, she nods very slowly, as though still on the nose even as she’s agreeing. “Alright.”
“Wonderful. Come on, let’s get out of this storm before we catch our death.”
Amicia stumbles when she moves, so Sophia uses her free hand to support her and guide her to the cabin. Once inside, she lights another candle and has Amicia sit on a chest in front of the window. Amicia sits stiffly, looking terribly awkward, dripping rainwater all over the floor. Unfortunately, Sophia has no spare clothes for her, but she does have a towel, so she tosses it over.
It hits Amicia right in the face.
Amicia jolts as though she’s just been awoken from a nightmare. She yanks the towel off of where it’s draped over her head and gives Sophia a withering look. “Thanks,” she says dryly.
Sophia can’t help but laugh. “Sorry about that,” she says. “You doing alright, hon?”
“I’m fine.”
“Is that all you know how to say?”
Amicia puffs out her chest a little. “Maybe.”
Sophia chuckles. “Dry off with that. You’re shivering.” She then begins to sift through a shelf of colorful vials. “Where is it…? Ah, here!” She plucks up a green jar. “This is a special remedy that I’ve perfected over MANY y— Amicia? Are you alright?”
When Sophia turns back to Amicia, she finds the girl doubled over, her arms wrapped around her stomach. Long tendrils of wet brown hair are dangling limply in front of her face, and she’s breathing shallowly.
“What’s wrong?” Sophia asks, concerned. “Are you going to throw up again?”
Amicia shrugs weakly, not raising her head. Sophia goes to her side, moving an empty pot in front of Amicia in case she does spill her guts again. She sets a hand on her back, and she can feel that the girl is trembling in exhaustion.
“Easy now, take slow, deep breaths,” Sophia advises. “You’re going to be alright.”
“This is…the worst,” Amicia forces out, her voice filled with strained frustration. “It’s so pathetic.”
“It’s not pathetic,” Sophia says. “It has nothing to do with strength, Amicia. Your body just needs time to adjust to the motion of the ship.”
Amicia grumbles something in irritation, and then she’s lurching forward a moment later, grabbing the pot and emptying what’s left inside her stomach into it. Sophia cops sympathetically and rubs her back, hoping to comfort her.
“Better out than in, hm?” Sophia says.
Her answer is another retch.
Soon, there’s nothing left in Amicia’s stomach; she’s been completely scooped dry. Amicia slumps back, drained—figuratively and literally. Like this, with her eyes depleted by fatigue, shadowed by bags that are evidence of several sleepless nights, and her sallow face etched with lines of exhaustion, she looks like a far cry from the tough, fiery girl Sophia had first seen back in her hideout. Now, she just looks like a miserably sick child.
Sophia gives Amicia’s shoulder a light pat. “You’ll be alright,” she says. “It’ll pass, I promise.”
She then grabs the pot and goes to dump it into the ocean. She leaves it outside so the rain can clean it out naturally and so the won’t permeate her cabin. When she returns inside, she picks up the green bottle she had put aside earlier. After pouring a glass of water, she adds some of the clear, pungent liquid in the bottle into it, then offers it to Amicia. Amicia regards it with wary skepticism.
“It’ll help, I promise,” Sophia tells her. “It will settle your stomach and ease the nausea.”
After a second longer of hesitation, Amicia tentatively takes the glass from Sophia and sips slowly. Her nose scrunches up at the bitter taste. Sophia chuckles.
“That’s the price of medicine,” she says. “An awful taste.” She corks the green bottle, putting it back in its place on her shelf, then grabs a blue jar. “I also have this.”
She removes the lid, and a strong, herbal scent immediately wafts out. Dipping her fingers into the jar, she scoops out a small dollop of a slightly translucent green paste. Amicia looks even more suspicious of it than she had been toward the drink.
“May I?” Sophia asks, extending her hands toward Amicia’s head. “I’ll only be putting it on your temples. Or you can do it yourself, if you want.”
Amicia looks her up and down several times (she’s being sized up, Sophia realizes), and she expects the girl to ask to do it herself or refuse the ointment entirely, but then, to Sophia’s pleasant surprise, she nods softly and leans her head to Sophia’s awaiting hands.
“Be gentle, please,” Amicia whispers, and there’s a fragile vulnerability quivering in her voice. “My head still hurts.”
Sophi glances at the scar on Amicia’s crown. The area around it is a mix between red inflammation and indigo bruises, but it seems to be healing just fine. Even the suturing is neat and precise.
“I will be, I promise,” Sophia assures her.
With careful hands, understanding the amount of trust Amicia is putting in her, Sophia begins to apply the ointment. Her fingers move in slow, circling patterns as she rubs it into Amicia’s temples, making sure not to press too hard and accidentally hurt her.
“There we go, sweetheart,” Sophia murmurs. “Just relax.”
Slowly, the tension in Amicia’s body begins to dissolve, and she actually melts right into Sophia’s touch like butter on a hot pan. She leans back, resting against Sophia’s chest without even realizing, and Sophia lets her. The kid clearly needs a little relaxation in her life.
For a brief period, there’s a comforting silence in the cabin, broken only by the sound of rain drumming against La Rascasse and the distant snarl of thunder. It’s peaceful; in moments like this, far away from the shore, it almost makes Sophia forget about everything that’s going on back on the mainland- the plague, the rats, the death.
Almost.
But not quite.
Amicia is the first to break the quiet.
“I didn’t take you for an alchemist,” she says.
Sophia snorts. “I wouldn’t call this alchemy. It’s just basic medicine. You gotta know how to use herbs when you’re out at sea without a physician available.” She finally pulls her hands back and wipes her fingers clean. Is that a touch of longing she sees flash through Amicia’s eyes when she stops? “Keep breathing in deeply. The smell of the cream should help.”
Amicia nods. “Thank you, Sophia. Really.” She fiddles awkwardly with the hem of her tunic. “I don’t usually let people help me like this.”
Oh, Sophia can tell. It’s obvious that this girl’s trust is hard-won and easily shattered. But somehow, Sophia has managed to win it over, at least for now.
“You’ve had to rely on yourself,” Sophia says. “I get it.”
Another nod, this one fainter. “I wasn’t always this way. This is…new.” She runs a hand through her soggy hair. “So much has gone bad in such a short amount of time…” Then, she shakes her head, sitting up straight. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m talking about this or even telling you about it.”
“No, it’s alright,” Sophia says. “I understand what you mean. If, three years back, you would have told me that we would be dealing with giant swarms of man-eating rats, I probably would have laughed you right out of existence.”
Amicia’s pale lips pull back in a tight, sort of smile, but there’s a look on her face that says that isn’t what she’s talking about. Not quite. No, what’s troubling the girl is much more personal.
“Yeah,” Amicia says. “It’s…crazy.”
Sophia gets the sense that Amicia doesn’t really want to talk about what’s on her mind right now, so she decides to switch subjects, asking, “How are you feeling?”
“What? Oh,” Amicia says. “Better. Much better. Thank you again.”
“No problem,” Sophia says. “Just so you know, you took seasickness much better than some grown adult men I’ve known.”
Once again, silence befalls the cabin. Sophia waits for Amicia to excuse herself, but she doesn’t. The girl doesn’t seem like she wants to leave, not that Sophia minds.
“So…” Amicia says idly. “What’s it like being a sailor?”
“Freeing,” Sophia says. “Very freeing. The vastness of the ocean, the ability to explore new horizons without anything holding you back… It’s amazing.”
Amicia leans in, her curiosity piqued. “Do you ever get scared? I mean, with all the dangers out there?”
“Of course,” Sophia says. “Storms are ruthless, and the ocean can be unforgiving. But there’s also a sense of camaraderie among the crew. We look out for each other, support one another. It helps to know you’re not alone.”
“It sounds different,” Amicia says. “But nice. A whole new world from what I’m used to.”
“I’m sure it is,” Sophia agrees. “Sometimes, when the night sky is clear, and you’re sailing under a canopy of stars, it feels like you’re part of something greater. Like you’re not even on the planet anymore. It’s a feeling I can’t quite put into words.”
Amicia’s eyes widen at Sophia’s words, enraptured and captivated by what she’s saying. “That sounds beautiful.”
“It is,” Sophia says. “Perhaps one day, when all of this is over, if you ever want, I can take you and your brother on a proper journey at sea. Then you can experience it for yourself.”
Now, Amicia smiles fully, her eyes aglow like the stars Sophia speaks of.
“I would love that, Sophia. Thank you.”