When Sinbad returned to Balbadd a month ago, the first thing Ja'far had told him was "Thalia's not well." She had been acting strangely, and Ja'far attributed it to a ritual she underwent while in Attica. Of course, the news was concerning, but there was nothing he could do. He'd promised himself that he would stop meddling in her life. So, he didn't seek her out. He simply had to keep faith that things would improve for her.
He didn't forget her, though. How could he? She'd become such an intrinsic part of his life, he'd begun to take her presence for granted. Like the air he breathed, she had always been there, and now that she was gone, he was suffocating.
At least, that's what it felt like at night, when he was alone and had nothing to distract his thoughts. In reality, he was doing quite well. His company was still growing, and with the election nearing, each day he was closer to achieving his dream. When news arrived that Barbarossa had won, he turned to scoop up Thalia in his arms and spin her around only to find she wasn't there. Then, he remembered she was gone, and suddenly the victory felt hollow.
Fate, it turned out, was an illogical mistress, or maybe the counter-flow he'd created by working against it was simply too strong to right itself immediately. When he boarded a ship to Parthevia to celebrate the election, it was the last place he expected to see Thalia. Yet, when she walked up the gangway, his heart pounded in his chest, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He was staring at a goddess, one whose dress was of regal purple and gold and whose hair was pulled up into an elaborate updo. Her painted lips spread into a polite smile as a crew member offered to carry her luggage.
She looked so natural in the rich fabrics, and Sinbad realized more than ever that she belonged in them. She had reunited with her people, not just the citizens of Attica, but with aristocrats and royalty. She was one of them, and letting her go had released her back into their fold.
As befit someone of her station, she floated by without noticing him or Ja'far. Her placid expression remained fixed straight ahead as though nothing in the world mattered. She showed no interest in her surroundings, no curiosity about the crew. Instead, she and the woman accompanying her settled themselves at a table.
"I wish you would keep something on you for self-defense," the woman said. Sinbad recognized her as one of the women that had accompanied Thalia back from Parthevia. "I know your sister said it's safe now, but I'm not convinced."
"Weapons are the business of men, Sappho, and are better left to them."
"Thalia's not well." The words echoed in Sinbad's mind. Though it wasn't the first time she'd expressed sentiments similar to this, she had seemed to have moved past that. She'd earnestly begged every one of his friends to teach her self-defense, and her sword had been a valued possession. Had returning to Attica brought back her old mindset?
The woman called Sappho groaned and pulled at her dark ringlets. "Please don't tell me common sense is the business of men as well."
Thalia opened her mouth to answer, but paused as she mulled it over. This only caused Sappho to slump onto her elbows and let out an exasperated sob.
"You see it, don't you?" Ja'far whispered. "She makes Mystras's father look open-minded. She won't talk about it, but something happened inside that temple. I know it."
Sinbad tore his eyes away from her, walking in the opposite direction. "It's not my business anymore."
Ja'far made a disbelieving noise. "Since when do you mind your own business? Especially when it comes to Thalia. You used to— "
Sinbad shot his friend a glare, warning him not to ask questions. It wasn't a subject he particularly wanted to discuss. The fact that Thalia had been falling into depravity was a secret he intended to take to his grave.
"Are you going to talk to her?" Ja'far asked from his side. "You're the only one who's ever been able to talk sense into her."
"Maybe. Probably not tonight." He imagined a world where they'd boarded this ship together as perfect strangers. He might bring up the weather, and she might nod politely. He'd probably hit on her— she was his type, after all, and she would tell him she was engaged. That would be the end of it. He wouldn't have to restrain himself from cupping her cheek and kissing her. He wouldn't be afraid of seeing the longing behind her eyes, or worse, finding it was gone.
Ja'far gave him a sour look. "Well, I'm going to let her know we're here. I don't want her to think I'm avoiding her."
Sinbad nodded and turned around, looking for a place to jump in with the crew. If he was stuck with Thalia, he was going to need a lot of distractions.
Over the next two days, he found plenty of odd jobs around the ship, but nothing was enough to keep him from watching her at every opportunity. Between scrubbing the deck or mending a rope, he would glance her way, studying her formal, stiff movements. There were some things even she couldn't hide, though. Every time he looked, her hands were shaking, and the smallest of unexpected noises made her jump. Ja'far was right. She wasn't okay.
The third day, she and the woman with her— Sappho she was called— settled themselves at a table and pulled out a box of fabric scraps.
"We need to choose the material for your dress, Princess."
Thalia stared at her hands in her lap in response, gripping her skirt the way she often did when she was upset.
"I- I can't wear any of these," Thalia's trembling voice was soft, but it stopped Sinbad in his tracks. He glanced over his shoulder to see her in tears gripping a scrap of silk. "There's a stain."
"These are just samples, Princess," The dark-haired woman leaned in to wipe her cheek. "The real thing won't be discolored." When Thalia didn't respond, she held up a different scrap of fabric. "What about this chiffon? It's well-made and—"
"I can't do this right now." Shaking, Thalia rose from her seat. "I'm tired. I want to rest."
Sappho placed a hand on her hip. "You'll still be engaged when you wake up. You can't keep putting this off."
Thalia opened her mouth as if to speak, but only a strangled noise came out. She slumped defeatedly back into her seat.
She spent the entire day tugging at her hair, still indecisive about which fabric to make her dress from. Sappho suggested postponing the wedding so that she would have more time to prepare. The advice only served to drain the color from Thalia's face, and from then on she was frantic, inspecting cloth after cloth, growing more agitated as each one failed to satisfy her.
All this, Sinbad ignored. It simply wasn't his responsibility or his place. Fate would set her back on the right path, and then she would be happy. Just give it time, he told himself. Just give her space.
That night, he lay in bed staring at the ceiling as he let the gentle, rhythmic patter of rain ease him into sleep. He was almost out of it when another sound nearly too quiet to notice, jerked him awake— bare feet rushing past his door. Their gait couldn't have been one of the sailors. The feet were too small, the weight they carried too light. That left Thalia and Sappho, but Sinbad didn't need to do much detective work to know who it was. He'd recognize Thalia's footsteps anywhere.
He'd been going to ignore her, but again, Ja'fars words echoed in his head.
"Thalia's not well."
He could still see her digging through those scraps of cloth, tugging at her hair with such force it nearly ripped out of her skull. Her trembling voice haunted him, her eyes so devoid of light or life. She wasn't okay.
Damn it. He couldn't stay away, not when she was like this. He threw on a robe, dashing out the door in the direction the footsteps had headed. His legs carried him onto the deck, where he found her leaning precariously over the gunwale.
She was planning to jump— that was the first thought that ran through his mind, his worst fear. His mouth ran dry, and he lunged forward to catch her. Then, he skidded to a halt, realizing that his fears were unfounded. Her body heaved with gut-wrenching sobs, as though she were trying to purge unspeakable sorrows into the water below. Without making his presence known, he watched her pour her lamentations out into the ocean. Her fine silks quickly became drenched, hanging limply on her small frame. She no longer looked regal. She looked pathetic and broken, like the girl he'd met in the amphitheater. Was this the destiny he'd been pulling her away from? One where that broken girl never learned to fight for her own happiness, one where she was willing to tear herself apart to meet others' expectations? Was it possible depravity would have been better than this?
Finally, he opened his mouth. "Thalia."
She whirled around, her wide eyes fixing themselves on him. Confliction clouded her tear-stained face as her hand reached out for him, pausing in mid-air before pulling it back to her chest.
"Sin…" With her sleeve, she attempted to wipe away the snot and tears dripping down her face. "I didn't think you— I'm sorry. I didn't want you to see me like this."
Sinbad's response was to pull her into a tight embrace. It wasn't romantic— she didn't need that right now. This was a hug between friends. "If I ask you how you've been, will you be honest with me?"
Instead of answering him, she clung to his back, sobbing uncontrollably into his chest. As he waited for her to calm down, he stroked her hair, whispering words of encouragement in her ear.
"You're going to get through this." "I'm here now." "There's nothing we can't handle together."
With each whisper, she grew more distraught until she collapsed on the ground. Sinbad lowered himself to her side and held her until her sobbing died down and she looked up.
"Sin, if you could save a ton of people by becoming someone you never wanted to be, would you?"
Her question struck him as odd, but he answered anyway. "I wouldn't compromise. I'd find a way to save those people while remaining true to myself."
"I should have known." She frowned, pulling away. "You've always been so idealistic. How would anything get done if everyone thought like that? We can't all have our way all of the time. Without compromise, nothing gets done."
He gave her a small smile. "You were the one who said that if there's no third option, someone should make one. I was willing to compromise my morals back then, but you didn't give up. And Thalia…" he took her hand in his, stroking her palm with his thumb. Her eyes widened as she met his gaze. "I'm done compromising."
If she wasn't happy with her destiny, he would drag her into depravity. He would make a new destiny for her, one where he could see her bright smile every day. He would never let her go again.
Thalia tugged her hand away and stood up, hugging herself tightly. "I should head back to my room. My fiance would worry if I caught a cold."
"Goodnight, Thalia." He stood up as well, wringing the water out of his jacket. "I'll see you tomorrow… as your friend, if you'll have me."
Even in the dark, he could see that telltale hint of a blush dust across her cheeks. "I'll have you… as a friend, of course."