Maledictus Aether (27 page)

After perhaps a minute –
although it feels like much longer than that – Lucian lies down in
the centre of the bed beside me, and we both look up to the ceiling
in wordless silence.

A line has been crossed. It is
not a simple crossing so much as a leap, and that forces an unsure
silence between us. However, he breaks it.

“Your father had asked me,” he
begins, and I look in his direction. His hair is fanned out around
him, a dark halo against the pale sheets, “if the familiarity with
which we conduct ourselves in around each other meant we were
lovers.”

I almost choke, but when I calm
myself I turn onto my side to look at the older man more fully.
Quietly asking for an explanation.

“You noticed it too,” he
accuses, and at that I sigh, nodding as I look down to my hands on
the sheets between us. “Most men do not act the way we do around
one-another.”

“It is what feels most natural
to me,” I admit, looking up to my friend and finding him looking
back at me with a small smile. “I cannot be formal with you, but
nor can I outright help myself. I… I am sorry, if I overstepped my
boundaries.”

In response to my apology, the man turns onto his side,
facing me, and lifts my face up so that our eyes meet. Blue… like
the moonlight. Forget the sun or the ocean. His eyes are as pale as
moonlight, and just as breath-taking.

“I could fall for you,” he
tells me, and my eyes widen as far as they could. “I will not lie;
the potential is there and I can sense it. It is hard to explain,
and I will not try to, but I know that if I tried, I could fall for
you.”

I take a shaky breath, trying
to keep the nerve to hold that gaze.

“Are you trying to?” I prompt,
and here he smiles at me.

“I will let you figure that one
out, alright?” he questions in response, and I nod after a moment.
It will have to do for now. “How about I get back to you on that
verdict, Kennedy? For now, let’s just leave it as is and see what
happens.”

Once more I nod, seeing his
logic and lowering my gaze, shifting it away from his face so very
close to my own. There is a war being waged within me, and I take a
tremulous breath while trying to mediate this battle.

As if sensing my unease, Lucian pulls my head to his neck
and presses my face to the crook of it, stilling my breath in the
process. My hands, of their own accord, reach for his
button-down shirt and cling to the
fabric – though whether to push him away or not remains to be
announced. I tense up.

He does not speak a word, as if
patiently awaiting the words of my own free will, and for a while
they do not come. Instead, I relax into his hold and only tense up
briefly when his left arm presses its hand to my back, holding me
in place almost completely against him. His right is tangled in my
hair, keeping my face held lightly against his skin.

My eyes close, the scent I’ve begun both of my own
violation and not to call
home
so close to my
nose and overwhelming my senses.

The man himself, too, helps me feel secure despite the
turmoil in my mind. Taught values battle desires and wishes,
selfish things battling societal morals that have imprinted onto my
being.

For an amount of time I care
not bother counting, I lie there in his hold and think, trying to
analyse the situation from both perspectives; but, soon enough, I
toss that aside and ask myself what would make me happiest.

The answer, of course, is
instantaneous.

“Would others wish to condemn us if they saw this?” I
question at last, my words a whisper that ghosts the exposed flesh
of his collarbones just before they disappear beneath the dark
button-down dress shirt he still wears. The hand in my hair,
playing in the strands, stills a moment, before resuming its
mindless movements.

“The
Skylands are all
filled with fugitives,” he begins, his breath ghosting the crown of
my head. “Heretics, Pagans, thieves, those who have been accused of
witchcraft, murderers, adulterers, homosexuals, gypsies; everyone
the Church does not approve of… men and women, who have done wrong
back landside, come up for protection from the Forces and have
adapted to the lifestyle here. Changed their ways to create
societies of equality and peace. Become pirates to take from the
Fleet and give it to the people in the sky.

“At the end of the day,
Kennedy, we are just two men,” he tells me, and I manage to lift my
head enough to catch his uncanny gaze. The Irishman smiles warmly
at me. “Whatever we do is our own damn business.”

For a moment we only look at one-another, eyes searching
the others’ for some sort of unspoken word. In that moment, I
believe I come to understand his claim of a potential love; how, if
he tried, he could fall for me.

Right now, it does not sound
very hard to do at all.

“Could I ask for a favour?” I
question, and in response he arches an eyebrow, prompting me to
continue. “If I requested that you remain here until I sleep, would
that be too selfish? I have asked many things from you, I know
this, but one thing you should know is that I am inherently so, and
I will never claim to be otherwise.”

Lucian chuckles lightly,
shaking his head in response with a merry smile on his lips. I
watch him, waiting carefully for his response.

“If you were not selfish, I do
believe the pirate life would not suit you; you are a right thief,
you know.” I look at him, confused; I have no recollection of ever
stealing, not ever. Foregoing the elaboration, he proceeds with his
response. “I am okay with selfish. Sometimes, it is not as bad a
quality as it is painted to be.”

Then, he places a chaste kiss
to my lips, placing my head back where it was.

“I will remain,” he vows, and I breathe a sigh of relief,
whispering a thank you to my companion as my hands, still on his
shirt, shift. My right drapes itself over his waist and my left
remains useless between us, and I selfishly relish the warmth of
his person, warmer than that which I am accustomed to. Having metal
limbs, I often am not as warm as I could be. “Wait, though; change
first, okay?”

I do as he instructs, slipping somewhere private in order
to do so, and when I return to my chambers I
find the man pulling aside the covers and
frowning at the old yet lavish setup of the bed, before looking at
me and offering me a smile I cannot help but return. When I reach
his side Lucian pulls me into an embrace, one that surprises me,
and I cannot help but cry out in surprise when he rolls us both
onto the surface, clutching him desperately until he stops near the
centre, on his back and I to his left.

Despite the excitement, I fall
asleep relatively quickly, cherishing the warmth I usually do not
have at my disposal. I do believe he does as well, perhaps
unintentionally, but as I give in to sleep I smile at the fact, and
succumb to the promise of slumber.

We do not speak of it
afterwards.

Something has changed, that much is obvious, but never
again does the topic come up during the month we await the other
pirates, who fly from all around the known world to see Tier for
themselves. For the next few weeks the ship is alive with activity,
running smoothly as we circle around Aeon and ships dock one behind
the other. When each comes I meet with their Captains and Quarter
Masters, in the common room once used by the first
families.

I lost count how many of those
talks I have had; regardless of this, I dutifully answer all their
inquiries and pose some of my own, Lucian standing beside my perch
as if he is simply doing his job, and we have not gone through all
the things we have together. Of course, it goes without saying that
their Quarter Master does likewise, but I mourn the loss
regardless. That same intimacy.

Those that dock offer their
services in the oncoming battle, so I gladly assign them a room
that is worthy of their rank, the rooms of the first families –
Watkins, Andrews, Rawston, Fletcher, Jackson, Richard and Carpenter
– only being filled by those who claim to be descendants of the
ones who built the ship; to keep with the tradition. I verify all
these claims, finding none false.

The crew of these ships are
given quarters in a different area of the ship, in the same one my
crew rests in as well. These quarters span more than one level,
which is understandable.

I send for my aunt, as promised, and once she arrives she
immediately offers her services as our personal smith. Lucian
requests that she show him her trade, to which she gladly agrees,
and the duo are often in the metalworking rooms, talking and
creating.

I myself am kept too occupied to feel the loneliness
crawling back through me, leaving a horrid taste in my mouth
whenever I think about it for too long; so I immerse myself in
work, building and repairing weapons and explaining to the
engineers how the engines run, and how to tend to them correctly.
Father and I also spend time fixing
Tier
, spending hours
on end in those rooms and specifically asking to not be
bothered.

Soon enough, nearly ten ships
have docked on Tier and more are nearby, awaiting the promised day
tethered to Tier but not boarded. Countless others. It is a sea of
ships of all styles in the air.

That day is tomorrow.

The nights are becoming
warmer.

The metal of my leg is chilly,
biting at the skin of my shoulder mercilessly, but I care not
enough to pull the shoulder of my nightshirt back up. Instead, I
keep my arms wrapped around my right leg and watch the sea of
stars, the golden exhaust trailing behind us as we circulate. From
my chambers, I cannot see the other ships, but I know they are not
far.

Such a wonderful sight. I do
not think I could ever tire of the beauty of the sky, be it during
daytime or not.

I will get back to you on that
verdict.

The words echo in my mind, forcing a sigh from my lips as I
press my cheek to my knee, covered with the thin cotton of my
trousers
. I thought the sight
of the night sky would chase my thoughts from my mind, but every
shining star only seems to make it harder to bear.

The moon’s shine goes without
saying.

I have enough pride to feel
shame and disgust at my current actions, but I also know I could
not simply help myself even if I tried. That one night of warmth,
well… never again have I slept so well, so peacefully.

Pressing my left hand to my
chest, I grasp the cloth of my nightshirt as the pain burns up, as
if a hand holds my heart that is not even an organic part of me
anymore and tears at it. My eyes shut of their own accord, tightly,
and I grit my teeth against the ache.

I am a very selfish man. I
cannot even be satisfied with the things he has already given me; I
must have more.

It is not enough that his
friendship was given to me; that he was willing to save my life
when a weaker man might have turned away at what he had to do; that
he so readily offered the words I needed to hear, even without me
informing him of such; and, of course, encouraging me to be
selfish.

If I do not have a heart, why does it still
hurt
?

I whisper this phrase aloud to
the darkness, feeling the warm tears forming in my eyes. I am
shaking where I sit, and surely this must be what it feels like to
have a part of you attempt to destroy itself – because perhaps
destruction is less painful than dealing with the burning,
breath-stilling pain.

If I tried, I could fall for
you.

Did you? Did you try – because
I did not.

I had no need to.

Feeling sick at my emotions, I
rub the spot to try and soothe the ache, to little success. I hear
my chamber door close softly, feet pausing just inside, and I close
my eyes while removing my hand from my nightshirt, holding my leg
again.

I sense a presence at the door, but I do not acknowledge it
– as if by doing so, their presence is not true. It’s childish, I
know.

Dimly, I remember the
conversation I had with my aunt a few days ago in her workshop,
while Lucian was out on a delivery run. Frowning at the memory, I
lower my head a little more and my fringe provides the cover for my
eyes, so that whomever that is cannot see my expression.

“So,” he begins, the word a
heaving sigh as that same presence sits down to my left and shifts
to a more comfortable position. I do not turn my attention to him,
though I want to, “are you going to ignore me for long? You’ve been
avoiding me for a while, Kennedy.”

This part is an accusation –
one that holds true, mind you – and I wince slightly at the words,
shaking my head in denial of either or. This time the sigh is
almost irritated, and Lucian does not try to pull an explanation
from me this time, instead falling back onto the ground by the
sounds of it. I do not make a step to move or to even acknowledge
his presence, remaining childish in my behaviour.

Then… my thoughts spill out.
Once they start, I cannot stop the flow.

“I cannot do it,” I whisper, my body convulsing once as a
shudder rips through my being. I hear him make a small noise, one
of confusion, but I still refuse to look at him. “I cannot lead all
these men and women. Have my father do it,
you
do it – just
do not make me stand in front of everyone the way I must, and let
me not lord over so many lives, deciding the fate of
others.”

He sits up, yet I remain curled
against my right leg, hugging it to myself the way a young child
clings to his mother’s skirts. My entire body is shivering, the
fear finally being voiced, and my throat is constricting with the
thought of being the one to condemn so many people to death.