The Gift
Pairing: Maeve/Sinbad
Rating: M
Setting: Just after Season 1
All standard disclaimers apply
They're in town, combing the small market for repair supplies, when Sinbad feels Rongar's gentle, quiet presence at his back. He turns. The Moor watches him, steady as always, but there's a waiting, expectant quality to his silence, a hint of tension in the set of his broad shoulders, the line of his jaw.
So, then. This wouldn't be Sinbad's choice of time or location to do this, but Rongar isn't easy to sway once he's made up his mind and right now he clearly has. Sinbad looks at him, turns and rapidly counts the number of familiar heads scattered around the market, assuring himself that all is well. Everyone is accounted for, no one bleeding or in the midst of a heated argument. He inhales deeply and turns to his crewmember.
"Well?" One of the many things he appreciates about Rongar—the man never beats around the bush. Never wanders off on tangents like Firouz or gets flustered like Doubar. He's direct. He communicates exactly what he thinks and expects the same in return.
Rongar's dark eyes flick to Talia. She's bickering happily with Doubar as they weigh out a measure of wooden pegs on a shopkeeper's scale. Doubar says something that makes her chuckle and she pokes him in the belly. Rongar deliberately turns enough for his eyes to find Maeve and Firouz inspecting a sample of tar. His gaze returns to Sinbad and he stands expectantly, awaiting his captain's explanation. He's done being patient.
"I know." Sinbad steps forward, shoulder to shoulder with his comrade, pretending to inspect the wares laid out on rough wooden tables and threadbare rugs before them. "I know." He speaks under his breath, low enough the shop minders can't hear him but he has no doubt Rongar's sensitive ears can. "But she has to be protected. Rumina will kill her. You know she will." He clears his throat and raises his voice. "Nails?" he asks the shopkeeper. "Nothing fancy. Pig iron is fine."
The man turns away to dig through stacks of boxes and trays behind his table. Rongar points very deliberately at Doubar and shakes his head firmly.
Yeah, Sinbad knows. "No one's happy," he murmurs, drumming his fingers on the table as he waits for the shopkeeper. "Doubar can join the club." This situation is tearing them apart from the inside out, which he suspects is exactly what Scratch intends. Sinbad and Maeve are miserable. Doubar's miserable. Even Firouz is miserable. He has no idea what's going on but he can feel the tension in the air as well as everyone else can. He knows he's missing something, he just doesn't know what. "What do you want me to do?"
The shopkeeper turns around with a tray of rough, squared-off nails. Sinbad pretends to inspect them, digging through the pile. "She's my world," he says softly. "He's my brother. And the witch is always watching." Even now he's hesitant to speak. Even just a murmur. Even for a moment. "I can't tell him. But she needs a decoy."
Rongar lowers his chin slightly in acknowledgment, but he still doesn't look appeased. He puts his palms together and then tilts them apart, mimicking the opening of a book. He nods in Maeve's direction.
"The library? Where her sister is? She doesn't want to go and I won't make her." Not until he has to. He probably should, but Maeve would see that order as a betrayal and he has no idea what a betrayal of that magnitude, not to mention such a long separation, would do to them. He's not willing to risk it unless he has no other choice. Maeve says she can handle Doubar and Talia, and all Sinbad can do is trust her. She'll tell him if things get too hard. Won't she? She's stubborn, but she knows how much is riding on this child. How much they need her to stay safe and healthy, for everyone's sake. She's not stupid and not usually reckless. If she says she can handle Doubar, he has to believe her.
He pays for a gross of nails; Rongar hefts the coarse sack they're poured into.
"I know you're not happy," Sinbad says, lowering his voice even further, speaking almost into his crewmember's ear. "What would you have me do? I can't force her, but I'm trying my best to protect her." He's resigned to feeling this unsettling, gnawing fear for the foreseeable future—until Samhain at the earliest. If all goes well Maeve will be big with child then, and no one will be able to deny that she's fulfilled the first requirement of the Tam Lin Protocol. On that night she'll challenge Scratch for the right to Sinbad's soul. What that challenge will require of her no one has expressly said, but it's moons away. Sinbad has plenty of time to worry about that as the date nears.
Rongar looks one final time at Doubar, a long look full of more than Sinbad can decipher. Sorrow. Regret. He turns to Sinbad, a very clear warning on his face.
"No. Everything will be fine. Eventually. Doubar will see how wrong he was."
Rongar shakes his head firmly. He points to his eyes, then to the first mate. It's a gesture he's made countless times, but never at one of the crew before. Despite his belief in his brother, his insistence that all will be well if they can just manage to plow through some more time, Sinbad feels unease churning slowly in his gut. It's a sick sort of anxious feeling, a heavy sense of foreboding. Rongar never worries for nothing. If he's choosing to speak now, Sinbad needs to listen.
But that's Doubar. His brother. He's angry, yes, and acts on emotion, not forethought. But he has a soft spot for their resident sorceress and always has, ever since she and Dermott led them to the island where Rumina had Sinbad imprisoned with her beasties. He wanted her to bear Sinbad's child, wanted her to be the one to free him from this curse. His anger now stems from his belief that she refused.
No. No, he refuses to believe Doubar would ever hurt Maeve. He's not capable of it. Even Talia would never actually harm her, no matter how much they dislike each other. Talia's a forgive-and-forget kind of girl. Mostly. And Sinbad would never allow anyone to set foot on his ship who would hurt any member of his crew, especially Maeve. Especially now.
He allows himself another glance at her, unable to stop his eyes from seeking out her tall, graceful form. He watches as Firouz hands coins to the stallkeeper and both she and the inventor lift casks of tar under their arms. She's fine, he tells himself. Even smiling. She's strong. She won't let a few comments from Doubar and Talia disturb her for long. Her red hair lifts in the warm wind and she laughs at Firouz's booming prattle.
"He deafened himself with science," she says to the stallkeeper, patting Firouz's shoulder affectionately with her free hand. "Temporarily only, we hope."
"I'VE CONCLUDED THAT READING LIPS IS AN ART FORM," Firouz bellows as they leave the stall. "ONE I HAVE LITTLE TALENT FOR."
"You'll learn if you have to," Maeve says gently, slowing her words so he can follow the shape of her mouth as she speaks. The deaf people they met on the Isle of Bliss needed no such concessions, but Sinbad supposes Firouz is only just learning. "Here, give me that. I'll take this back to the ship while you continue with Sinbad."
"We'll all go," Sinbad says, stepping forward and taking the heavy cask from her instead. "We have what we need to begin repairs. There will be a delivery of lumber to the ship later today."
Lumber was expensive, as he should have remembered it would be on an island, but he's willing to pay any price to complete repairs as quickly as possible. He wants Talia safely settled away from Maeve, wants all the tension on his ship to calm. Life with those two aboard and Doubar so angry will never be pleasant, exactly, and Sinbad's well aware. He can tolerate a simmer. Right now, though, they're all in danger of boiling over. They need some space—in Maeve and Talia's case, quite literally. They need some peace.
As they slowly begin the walk back to the wharves, Talia appears at Sinbad's side. Her eyes squint against the sun and he can tell she's still feeling the effects of her night out, but she knocks her shoulder into his affably enough and she doesn't stumble as she walks. "So, you want to clue me in on what's going on? I thought I knew last night, but now I'm thinking not so much."
He shifts the wooden cask under his arm. He wants to tell her the truth—wants to tell them all the truth. Lying does not come easily to him, and the guilt of all the lies he's had to tell these past moons weighs heavy on his shoulders and conscience. But he has to remember why. Rumina could be watching. Scratch could be watching. They can't know Maeve is carrying. He frowns slightly as he considers how to answer Talia's question. He's honestly a little surprised Scratch hasn't shown up to gloat yet. They've heard nothing from the demon since this whole mess started. That...doesn't seem like Scratch. But Sinbad is grateful for the respite, no matter the reason. They need all the calm they can get.
"I don't know what Doubar told you last night," he says, glancing over his shoulder at his brother, who's attempting to speak with Firouz. Considering Doubar's bushy facial hair obscuring his mouth and his famous lack of patience, they're not getting very far.
"Listen, I'm not stupid. Okay? My brain is nowhere near your scientist's level, but I'm not stupid. I thought the story Doubar told me last night was pretty believable—I mean, by your standards, you know? Crazy, but believable. You made a witch mad, got your soul stolen by a demon, and now you need a pregnant girlfriend to bail you out of trouble. If it were anyone other than you, I'd say you ate some bad berries and tell you to sleep it off. Maybe turn the fever dream into a great tavern tale once your head's back to normal. But it's you. And because it's you, I believed the big guy. You're very good at finding trouble, especially lady trouble. But after last night I don't know what to think."
Sinbad inclines his head to her respectfully. She has every right to be furious with him this morning after he kicked her out of his bed, especially if Doubar gave her the impression she'd be welcome there. Her sober reaction to the events of last night is actually much calmer and more rational than he deserves. He refused her, kicked her out of his bunk, and made her fight with Maeve over the tiny sliver of female space on his ship. He honestly hadn't thought through the ramifications of that choice, just assumed she'd be more comfortable bedded down with one other woman than with the rest of his men in the crew's cabin. Judging by where he found Maeve this morning, that turned out to be a bad call. His sorceress chose judicious retreat rather than to knuckle down and fight, but that choice isn't like her. It isn't like Talia, either. He's probably lucky their disagreement last night didn't end in some measure of injury.
He glances at Talia as they walk. She has a pink scarf tied around her head, and she wears close-fitting trousers like a northern man, as is her habit. She's not particularly pretty, but she doesn't need to be. She has such self-confidence that it doesn't matter. People stare at Maeve because of her exotic, fiery beauty...and that very big, very blatant broadsword she carries. They stare at Talia because of her swagger.
"It's...complicated," Sinbad says slowly. He weighs each word before it leaves his tongue. He has to be vague enough not to compromise Maeve's safety, direct enough not to irritate Talia.
"Things are always complicated when you're involved." Talia shrugs this off.
"More than usual this time."
"More complicated than our sweet Doubar was able to convey, huh?" Talia looks back at the first mate affectionately. "That much is very clear."
"So much more." She doesn't know the half of it. Neither does Doubar.
"So let's just start at the beginning. Is there really a price on your soul?"
Wordlessly he pulls open the flaps of his shirt with his free hand, exposing the skull-shaped mark over his heart, a scar that will not heal.
"Hey, we match now!" Talia rubs her thumb over her own tattoo—an ordinary ink tattoo, starkly black against the tan skin of her left breast, which she very much enjoys showing off.
"I'll take one like yours over this any day," Sinbad says tightly. He wants the thing gone. Maeve vowed she'd sear it off if it doesn't disappear on its own and he's only too happy to let her. He'd rather bear a scar borne of her love than Scratch's ownership.
"What's the going price for a soul these days?" Talia's hand drops from her tattoo and she looks at Sinbad's brand speculatively.
He opens his mouth to chide her, warn her against whatever it is she's thinking, then stops. "You know, actually, I don't know."
"Your soul was sold, but you don't know what for?"
"Not really." He frowns. "I'm still not entirely sure she had the right to sell it in the first place, but I have to act on the assumption she did. If I don't and it turns out I'm wrong…" His voice trails off. This isn't a fate he wants to think about, and it would be even worse if his own negligence caused it to happen. He can't just sit back and do nothing.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Hedge your bets. Practically the first rule any pirate learns. But...so you're saying people can just...sell other people's souls to the devil? Randomly? Since when?"
"No," Sinbad says, very swiftly and very firmly. He doesn't want Talia getting any ideas about that. "You can't. It's complicated, I told you. I reneged on a deal, I think, which gave Rumina leverage. We won't know whether the bargain she struck for my soul is legitimate until Scratch tries to collect."
"As summer turns to winter, yeah, I got that part." She scratches her nose. "So you went back on a deal, huh? I never thought you had it in you."
Sinbad feels the beginning of a headache coming on. "I told you, it's complicated. The whole mess is complicated."
"I'm beginning to see. You may need someone slimier than a pirate to bail you out of this one, my friend. Do you know any lady lawyers?"
He snorts. "No. The closest, I think, was a harpy named Alana, but I killed her." Are harpies and humans even biologically compatible? He opens his mouth to ask Firouz, then quickly shuts it again. He doesn't actually want to know, and he especially doesn't want to start a shouting match about it.
"Mm. I don't know if harpies are slimier than lawyers." Talia shrugs this off. "A she-troll maybe. Maybe."
Sinbad feels his gorge rise. "No more suggestions, please." Especially not with Maeve so close. Talia seems to find this thread of conversation amusing but he doubts his sorceress would. Although, considering her reaction last night, what does he know?
"So here's the kicker. Unless Doubar was wrong, you need a girl. You specifically came looking for me. But you, dear captain, kicked me out of your bunk last night." She stares at him as they walk, steady and even. "Explain that. And I mean really explain it. Don't just tell me it's complicated."
He wants to. He wants to tell her everything she wants to know—everything she needs to know. It's not fair to ask her to do this without giving her an honest account of what she's in for. As Maeve's decoy she's in just as much danger as Maeve is.
"I can't tell you everything," he says quietly. "I wish I could, but I can't. Rumina warned us that she's watching. Spying. I don't know when. I don't know how often. But I'm not willing to risk her overhearing anything she shouldn't."
"Watching you?" Talia's eyebrows lift in surprise. "All the time? That's pretty kinky."
It absolutely is not. "It's not okay, and my patience ran out long ago. But there's nothing I can do until All Souls Night. Nothing except be careful and watch my tongue." He hefts the cask under his arm and looks at her. Looks at Maeve and Rongar in front of them, listens to Doubar's rising impatience with Firouz behind. "You said last night that you should probably be running the other way. You weren't wrong. This situation's a mess. I know it; you know it. But I need your help, and in return I'll do whatever I can to help you get your ship back." He'll try talking to the authorities in Attalia. Using his name or flashing Omar's medallion often gains him favors from otherwise indifferent authorities. He'll even buy her ship's release if need be. Both Omar and the caliph owe him quite a bit, and even if the rescue of Talia's ship costs him all of it, he'll consider it money well spent. He's not just doing a favor for an old friend. He's buying Maeve's safety—his child's safety. That consideration comes before all others.
"I'm listening." Talia folds her arms over her chest, obscuring that tattoo, and waits expectantly.
"Just...just stick around for a while. That's all I'm asking. I know you and Maeve don't get along. I know Doubar's angry and he's only going to get worse as time passes. Rumina doesn't like any woman near me, and she's already poisoned Maeve. I won't lie to you. What I'm asking is dangerous, and there's no fun to offset the risk. It'll be miserable and probably boring as hell. But I need you."
"You need me, huh? To just stick around?" Talia looks at him doubtfully. "That's an awfully high price you're willing to pay just for the pleasure of my company. Admittedly, I'm great company. But still."
"That's it." Sinbad glances around at the scattered buildings and trees. He knows Rumina isn't literally there while she spies on him, but he can't help his wary eyes. "I can't say any more. I'm sorry."
"Yeah, yeah, the kinky witch is a voyeur, I heard. I'm just trying to understand. You want me to...what? Be part of your crew for a while?"
"Yes," he says, watching as she mulls this over. "Exactly that."
"Because your looky-loo doesn't like other ladies around you." She nods slowly as she processes this. "I'm not the motherly type—you already know this. But are you sure we can't throw captain's-cabin privileges into the bargain?"
Sinbad snorts lightly. "You want my cabin? You can have it. I'll happily sleep with the rest of my crew until the spare's fixed, I don't care."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know." He knows exactly what she meant and it's why he has an iron bolt in his pocket, about to be affixed to his door. He's never needed to lock his cabin before, but it will make things infinitely easier while Talia's aboard. Last night won't be her only drunk night, and he's unwilling to be woken up like that again. Maeve thought it was amusing this time. He doesn't know how long her patience will last. Or his own. "But I told you, I can't say any more."
Talia huffs, irritation decorating the slant of her mouth, the tilt of her hazel eyes. "I don't like these cryptic games, you know. Skullduggery is one thing. Having to speak in fucking code every second of every day is different." She rubs her thumb over her tattoo idly as she thinks. "So you want me to hang around because I'm a woman. Because your peeping tom—er, thomasina—doesn't like other ladies around you. Are you trying to piss her off?"
Is he? Sinbad considers this. He wants to confuse her. Keep her guessing—take some of the pressure off Maeve. Making Rumina angry isn't his first consideration. "I don't think so? But if I do, I'm not sorry."
The pirate chuckles. "Well, whether you mean to or not, collecting women is going to make that bitch angry. I hope you know what you're doing."
He doesn't. Not the way she means. But what else can he do? Maeve must be protected, and misdirection seems the best way to go about it since she will not leave the Nomad.
"Okay. Okay. Before we shake on it, let me make sure I understand. You want me to hang around even though it's dangerous. Because it's dangerous, really. To be like your pretty hothead, bait for the evil witch just by being around you. Even though neither of us is—" Her mouth snaps shut.
Sinbad freezes.
Talia blinks. She looks at Maeve and Rongar, walking quietly ahead. Her head slowly turns and she stares at Sinbad. A broad, knowing smile curls her mouth, exposing very white, slightly crooked teeth. "You know what, Sinbad? I take back all that cryptic-nonsense shit. You're actually pretty good at saying a lot without saying anything."
Panic fires through his veins as if Firouz lit an exploding stick inside his belly. Not Talia. Rongar is one thing. Rongar will never breathe a word to anyone, even under torture. Rongar is loyal to the grave. Whatever knowledge Talia has is for sale to the highest bidder.
"Don't," he says, his voice dropping low.
"Take it easy. It was just an observation. A compliment even, maybe." She laughs and pounds his shoulder like a brother.
Sinbad doesn't laugh with her. "Don't," he repeats. "I threatened to feed you to a giant spider before. I still consider that an option."
"Calm down, big boy. You know, your hothead is really uptight and she seems to be rubbing off on you. You both need to learn how to relax a little."
They do not. They can relax just fine when the situation calls for it. Right now, it doesn't. "I'm not laughing, Talia."
"I can see that. I can see a lot, in fact. Much more clearly than I did a minute ago." She chuckles. "You know, though, what I've been thinking?"
"No, and I'm afraid to ask." He'd very much like her to stop talking. Rongar doesn't accidentally let things slip. Talia does. He starts walking again as Doubar and Firouz catch up with them, anxious to keep Maeve and Rongar in sight. Looking for Talia was a terrible idea, he decides. A painfully terrible idea. He may have sealed their fate by trusting too much in a pirate, despite not really trusting her at all. He knew she was smart, but he didn't know how quickly she would figure it out. Doubar hasn't. Firouz hasn't.
"Just hear me out. Your witch. The voyeur, not your hothead."
"Rumina."
"Bless you. Listen. I've never known witches to be entirely moral creatures."
Maeve and Rongar are getting too far ahead for his liking. He frowns and speeds up his steps. "She sold my soul to the devil! How much more immoral can you get?"
"Pay attention, Sinbad. I'm just saying. It sounds like she's pretty pissed at you, yeah, but she's still watching you and getting up to who-knows-what while she does. I think it sounds like she could potentially be...reasoned with."
Once more he stops walking. "You'd better not be suggesting what I think you're suggesting."
Talia smiles sweetly. "Is she pretty?"
"Don't you dare. Don't say it."
"It sounds like she likes you. I think it sounds like she might be willing to double-cross the demon. You know, if you made the option sweet enough." She pokes his chest. "It never hurts to have a backup option. Hedge your bets, remember?"
Now he really feels sick. He wants a hard scrub with salt and pumice, just as they're going to give the scorched Nomad this afternoon. Rumina suggested the same thing—it was her original intent. She'll let Scratch claim his soul if she has to, but she'd prefer Sinbad chose her instead. She gave him the option, and she's waiting for him to accept...which he never will. "I'd rather be eaten alive by killer ants."
"Not up for the challenge, huh? You prefer a...fierier prize these days?" Talia's eyes cut swiftly to Maeve, then back to Sinbad. It's so quick Doubar might have missed it, but Sinbad sees.
"If I have to find another giant spider to feed you to, I will." His voice drops dangerously low. No more words. He can't take back the fact that she knows, but he can try to keep her big mouth shut.
She snorts. "Calm down, you big sea slug. You're no fun these days, you know? Like I said, she's rubbing off on you. Your choice is your choice. It wouldn't be mine, but it's not my call and I don't have to deal with the aftermath. Don't worry. I get it now. I can hang around, especially since I don't exactly have alternate means of transportation at the moment. I still get my ship back, right?"
Sinbad feels the tiniest fraction of his tension begin to lift. "If you can keep your mouth shut. About everything."
"Sure, sure." She waves this away. "Though you really should clue your big brother in, you know. He was blubbering like a baby into his cup last night. His heart's breaking. And he's pissed."
He knows. He knows. "I wish I could. He doesn't have your skill with the unspoken."
"Well, to be fair, he's not a woman. The signs were right there; I just needed a hint. He's wallowing. Running scared. I don't know if he could see and understand even a fully-ripe belly staring him in the face right now."
Time. They just need to survive a little more time. Then Doubar will have his answers. When he holds his niece or nephew in his arms for the first time, all of this pain will have been worth it. Sinbad has to have faith that it will work out. Maeve is strong, and everyone is doing everything they can to protect her. Even, it seems, Talia.
"Help him, will you?" Sinbad requests as they reach the docks. "If you can stand to. Don't drop hints, that's too dangerous. Just...make him laugh. Ease his mind. If that's even possible."
She grabs a line and swings aboard, then graces him with a cocky salute. "Aye aye, captain! And don't worry. I won't show up in your bunk again until you ask me to. Probably. We'll see. That new ale in your stores is really good."
That "new ale" is Antoine's cider. Despite resigning himself to the chaos Talia will bring, Sinbad finds one side of his mouth attempting to curl into a smile. The Black Rose is annoying as hell and can't be trusted, but he can't help it. He likes her. Sure, her moral compass is a little cracked. Off-kilter. But she's not evil. There's no malice in her.
"Just remember you owe me my ship back," she calls as she steps down from the railing, heading below.
How could he forget? If she can play decoy for Maeve without one of them killing the other, and ease Doubar's tension on top of it, she'll have beyond earned her price.
They're up to their elbows in a slurry of soot, pumice, rock salt, and seawater, scrubbing and chipping away the blackened parts of the interior of the Nomad, when determined footsteps sound above. Sinbad immediately lunges for the rack where his saber hangs, Rongar and Doubar an instant behind.
"SOMEONE'S UP TOP," Firouz says, slipping on the slick floor. "I CAN'T HEAR, BUT I CAN FEEL IT. FASCINATING! YOU KNOW, I'VE LONG HAD A THEORY THAT SOUND IS NOTHING BUT VIBRATION? PYTHAGORAS STATES THAT IF YOU OBSERVE A VIBRATING STRING CLOSELY—"
No one is listening. Sinbad reaches for the door, but it slams open before his hand can touch the latch.
It's Keely. Sinbad doesn't know who he expected, but from the heavy footsteps he didn't anticipate someone so small, or barefoot. For such a tiny woman, she makes a lot of noise. She's also currently feuding with her sister, so he's doubly curious to see her. He returns his saber to the rack and looks at her cautiously. She's not happy at all. Her eyes dart swiftly around the dark galley as she pauses just inside, arms clamped tightly to her sides and hands curled in tight fists. The brilliant green of her forelock glows even in the dim light below deck.
"You know, you're supposed to ask a captain's permission before coming aboard," Talia says, watching this new development with interest.
Keely's glance is scathing. "I don't need anyone's permission." She doesn't ask who Talia is, or what they're doing covered in wet black sludge. She ignores Maeve entirely, those unnatural green eyes settling firmly on Sinbad. "Is he here?"
"Is who here?"
Her lips press together tightly. "Declan. Wren's secondborn. He's been missing all day, and his brothers haven't seen him. Niall's afraid he got into the opals and went somewhere, though hell if I know how. We're checking everywhere we can."
Maeve pushes forward, and Sinbad can see the instant concern in her. That kid's her special favorite, though as an honorary aunt she probably shouldn't have one. "Are you sure he disappeared?" she asks, addressing her sister for the first time since Keely took her to Breakwater without her permission. "Did you check everywhere? On top of the bookcases? Behind the brewshed? You know he climbs—"
"I know that kid far better than you do," Keely snaps, rounding on her sister, "so don't go acting all superior! You're a good half a year out of date on his hiding places, which you'd know if you weren't so gods-fucking-damned neurotic about ever coming home!"
Maeve turns instantly red, which Sinbad has never seen before. Not warm. Not pink. She's the color of a radish, and he's not sure if he should worry more for her health or the safety of his ship. "Don't you dare lecture me about being neurotic! I'm trying to keep everyone safe! You shouldn't even be here—or do you just not remember the agreement we made about any of you coming south? Ant's been showing up regularly, and now you? It's like you don't even recognize the danger!"
"I don't want to be here!" Keely screeches, her pitch rising with her volume. Maeve can bellow when she chooses to, her voice dropping fairly deep for a woman's, loud and resonant. Keely's is the opposite. She almost sounds like a child as her intensity rises. "Declan is missing—what part of that do you not understand?"
Talia is watching all of this as if it's the best play she's seen in a while, far better than any Greek classic. Maeve opens her mouth to shout back at her sister, but Sinbad cuts her off. Letting them keen at each other like banshees won't solve anything, and while he knows better than to get in the middle of this, there's a small child missing. They can scream at each other later, after they find the kid.
"How could such a little kid manage that magic?" he says, hoping to pull at least one of them back on subject. "The one time I tried it made me sick, and I almost didn't make it." He still remembers that terrifying feeling of being stuck between two places, two realities. He doesn't know how long he lingered in-between, but he suspects if something goes very wrong it's possible for a person to remain there permanently.
"You used that weird bracelet, not your own power boosted by our opals," Keely snaps, but at least she's speaking to him instead of yelling at her sister. Her body moves, weight shifting from one leg to the other with impatience. "I felt you barreling towards us like a falling star about to crash and had to open our protective shields so you wouldn't be bounced away or burnt to cinders. You had no idea what you were doing, and it served you right that it made you sick. Dex knows better." She considers. "Maybe not much better, but he's six years old. Seven, I forgot. He just had a birthday." She scowls at the rainbow band on Sinbad's arm. "Do you even know how to use that thing properly?"
She's in a terrible mood, even for her. Sinbad swallows his own irritation. She's worried about her nephew, so he can give her a little grace. "I don't even know what it is or where it came from, let alone how to use it. It didn't come with a manual."
Keely exhales swiftly through her nose. "Most magical artifacts don't." She's calming from her swift explosion at her sister, but Sinbad doesn't trust that she won't light again if Maeve opens her mouth. Or vice versa. "Look, is he here? Have you seen him? He wants to sail, and for some reason he adores Maeve. Niall's afraid this is the first place he'd try for, despite the distance."
That's Sinbad's fear, too, especially after feeling the terrifying, wrenching pull of the in-between. A child just turned seven might still fear things that go bump in the night, but he won't fear the things he ought—like using magic he can't control to take him halfway across the world. "I haven't seen him," he's forced to say, and he turns to Maeve. She's the one with the uncanny sixth sense about her nieces and nephews. He's seen it: she knows what they're up to without even looking. He used to think that was purely a mother thing, some special intuition women gain after giving birth, but Maeve already has it so that theory's shot.
She shakes her head, her color slowly calming. That intuition seems to be telling her the same thing his regular senses are telling him. Neither have noticed anything unusual today, nothing that would alert them to a child hiding on board.
"You'd know if he were here?" he presses, though he believes her completely.
"I'd know." She sounds perfectly sure. "But we can search, if it will make you feel better." She addresses him only, not her sister, whom she's apparently ignoring again.
He nods. It's best they look for the boy, just in case. He's not here, but it will calm Keely's tension and satisfy Sinbad's own need as a captain to make doubly sure.
"What, exactly, are we supposed to be looking for?" Talia asks, willingly enough. "A little northern rugrat?"
Doubar eyes Keely warily. "So we may have a stowaway, you say? Another one?"
"Aye," Sinbad says before Keely can reply. Doubar's touchy right now and he and Keely did not get along during their last encounter. It's best to keep them apart, if possible. "A wily little guy." In all honesty he likes Declan and his older brother. He's much more comfortable around them than he is the tiny ones.
"What do you mean, another stowaway?" Keely juts her chin toward Talia. "Did that one sneak aboard, too? I don't know her."
"She did, but she's a friend," Sinbad says, and hopes Keely leaves it at that. This isn't the time for introductions. They need to reassure themselves that the kid's not here, then let Keely get on with her search in the next most likely place. "Let's get some more lanterns lit. We'll go over the ship inch by inch. If Declan's here, we'll find him."
"RONGAR, WHAT'S GOING ON? IT'S THE GREEN WOMAN WHO'S MAYBE PREGNANT AND DOUBAR DOESN'T LIKE, I KNOW, BUT I CAN'T UNDERSTAND—MAYBE IT'S THE ACCENT. APPARENTLY ACCENTS CARRY OVER INTO LIP-READING, WHICH IS FASCINATING. I'LL NEED TO MAKE A NOTE IN MY RECORDS. POSSIBLY EXPAND IT INTO A WHOLE ESSAY. DID YOU KNOW—"
Talia stares at Keely with much more interest as Rongar attempts to hush Firouz.
"I only don't like that mouth they share," Doubar mutters as he replaces his sword on the rack. He glowers at both sisters. Maeve glares back. Keely ignores him.
"YOU KNOW," Firouz bellows, setting his sword aside and ignoring Rongar's desperately shaking head, "SINBAD NEVER DID TELL US WHETHER YOU WERE, IN FACT, GRAVID OR NOT."
Rongar closes his eyes and drops his head into his palm.
"That's because Sinbad is apparently capable of intelligence from time to time. I was beginning to think no one on this ship was." Keely squints at Firouz as he looks to Rongar for a translation. Rongar—probably wisely—refuses. "What's wrong with your skeptic?" She folds her arms over her chest and drops her weight into one hip.
"He blew up the ship and went deaf. We hope it's only temporary," Sinbad says. Firouz is endlessly adaptable and could no doubt withstand the permanent change, but for all their sakes Sinbad hopes he doesn't have to. The scientist is one of his best friends, but his deaf bellows are getting on his nerves.
Keely crosses briskly to Firouz's side. She grasps one of his ears firmly and angles him into the glow of a hanging lantern, pulling hard until he's exactly where she wants him.
"OW! AH, SORRY, MA'AM, BUT THAT'S KIND OF SORE. I LOST MY HEARING, YOU SEE, AND—"
She ignores him. "You burst your eardrum," she says after a short examination of his ear. She releases him and wipes her hand on the shoulder of his shirt. "That's why your ear is leaking. The other side is probably the same."
"I BELIEVE I RUPTURED MY TYMPANIC MEMBRANE ON BOTH SIDES. THE RESULTANT OTORRHEA IS HARMLESS. JUST A RELEASE OF INNER EAR FLUID."
She looks at him disgustedly. "I know it's harmless. I'm not stupid. I saved your skin last time we met, remember? Your hearing should return as the eardrum heals, but it may take time."
"ANYWAY, THE HEARING LOSS SHOULD ONLY BE TEMPORARY SO LONG AS THERE'S NO SCARRING. IT SIMPLY REQUIRES A SMALL EXERCISE IN PATIENCE."
Keely's own patience with Firouz is gone. She rolls her eyes and desists, reaching up to unhook the lantern from its ring. "Are we doing this or not? I need to let Dex's parents know whether we can mark this place off the list."
"You couldn't hurry up his healing at all, could you?" Sinbad asks, since she's here. He wants his scientist back, hale and whole. Also for the yelling to stop. Doubar and Maeve do enough of that without Firouz adding to the cacophony.
"Best not to unless there's a particular reason to rush. It's always better to let the body heal itself, with the aid of medicinal herbs, good food, and rest, than to use force—things like magic or surgery. Even your skeptic would agree if he could hear me."
Sinbad accepts this. It didn't hurt to ask, but what she says makes sense. She's probably right that Firouz would agree, too, if he'd heard her.
Maeve brings a lantern and two fat candles from her cabin and lights them with a touch. She pushes a candle into Firouz's hands and locks her eyes with his, making sure he's watching her mouth as she speaks. "A little boy is missing. We don't think he's here, but we need to check, please? He means a lot to me."
"OF COURSE, MY DEAR. A SHIP IS NO PLACE FOR AN UNWARY CHILD."
"Unwary" is exactly how Sinbad would describe the little monster. He's plucky and fearless, and too young to be on a ship without careful supervision. Dim-Dim wouldn't let Sinbad go to sea until he was twelve; Dex is barely seven. Babysitting the younger boys is one thing: someone will always be watching them. Declan could get seriously hurt sneaking around the Nomad on his own.
"I don't like all this flitting around people are doing lately," Doubar grumbles as he and Sinbad start for the hold, Talia just behind them. "Only Rumina ever did it before. Now people are popping in and out without so much as a by-your-leave. No manners at all. I don't like it."
"I'm not the deaf one, you know," Keely calls from the vicinity of Maeve's cabin. "I can hear you perfectly well."
"Good!" Doubar barks back. "You may be carrying my nephew or you may not, but you don't live here. What gives you the right to tromp around as if you own the place?"
He's agreeing with Maeve at the moment by not wanting Keely here, but Sinbad chooses not to point this out. Absolutely no one will thank him for it.
"I don't like your dumb boat and I wouldn't live here if you paid me to," Keely snaps. "It's dark and hot and smelly, and it's not natural to have water under my feet instead of solid earth. I just want the kid. Once I know he's not here, I'm gone."
They begin lifting cartons and sacks of supplies, checking with lanterns and candles to ensure no little boy has curled up underneath anything. Sinbad can hear Keely continuing to mutter loudly about his "dumb boat" and the people on it, but he takes no offense. This is how she wears her worry. It's different than most people's, but still recognizable.
"So you do have a backup after all." Talia pats Sinbad on the back. "Good job. Smart. Though this one may be worse than the other."
Sinbad glares. Keely's child is not his and he hates letting this lie stand. He has no desire for Maeve's sister and a great deal of respect for Antoine, which makes this awkward all around. She and Maeve only happen to be with child at the same time because of a quirk of fate, the choice to use the teas to increase the likelihood of conception. When Keely's son is born as winged and nut-brown as his sisters, it will be very clear who fathered him. But that's no help to Sinbad now.
"They're sisters," Doubar grunts as he lifts an entire stack of crates as if they weighed nothing. "That's what I meant about the mouths."
Talia barks a short, sharp laugh. "They're not sisters. No way. If that's the line their mother was selling, you should take a careful look at the local goatherd. Or miller."
"Dermott raised them both," Sinbad says, sharper than he means to. He's tired of all the fighting and he just wants it to stop. Keely and Maeve can give each other the silent treatment all they like, ignore each other like petulant children, as long as no one's shouting. "You want to tell them that doesn't make them sisters? I sure don't."
Talia stares at him. "Dermott raised them? The bird?"
Shit. Sinbad swears silently. He's carrying the weight of too many secrets, too many lies, and he's slipping. He can't remember from moment to moment which fabrication he's told to which crewmember, and who shouldn't know what. It's getting ridiculous. He needs a chart of some sort, like the charts Firouz uses to map their course, showing the wind and the currents, the rocks and the reefs. Each moment he opens his mouth he feels as unsteady as a sailor threading between Scylla and Charybdis.
But Doubar, at least, seems to take this new revelation in stride. "If you told me they were raised by wolves I wouldn't be surprised. Dermott's at least better than that."
"Where is the pretty boy?" Talia asks, pausing her search and straightening. "I haven't seen him since I've been aboard."
That's one question Sinbad knows better than to even try to answer. He doesn't have to search his memory, doesn't have to hope he's telling the right tale to the right person. He has no idea where Dermott is, and the reason the hawk left is none of Talia's business. It's nobody's business except Maeve's, and tangentially Sinbad's. "Do not ask," he says, dropping his voice deliberately into his captain's register. "Remember the spider? Remember my promise? Drop it."
Dermott's disappearance is one thing his crew has, mercifully, chosen not to question. Not even Doubar. He knows they must have noted the missing hawk—Dermott's as much a member of this crew as Maeve, as any of them. But out of compassion for their sorceress, they have not probed this wound. He will not let Talia be the first.
"Okay, okay. The bird's off-limits. So what about the new girl?"
"She's Maeve's sister. Doubar already told you. She works at a library in Eire. That's all I have to say." He pauses. "Except...this might not be the best time to bring it up, but I sort of agreed to a small babysitting job for one of the other scribes." He meant to tell Doubar before. He did. It just sort of slipped his mind.
Doubar whirls faster than Sinbad has seen in a while. "You what?"
"Easy. What's the big deal?" Sinbad lifts the half-full crate of apricots Talia subsisted on when she was accidentally locked in the hold.
"Run that by me again, little brother. Slower this time."
"They're the ones supplying us right now. I couldn't exactly say no." Nor did he want to. He owes them.
Talia howls as if this is the funniest thing she's heard all day. "You mean someone's actually willing to put you in charge of a kid? Don't tell me—is it the little squab we're looking for?"
"Not him. Just his younger brothers." At least, Sinbad's pretty sure.
"Plural?" Talia's laughs slowly die down. Apparently she doesn't think this is quite so funny anymore. "I know you're going to try this protocol thingy and you need a girl with a belly to do that, but what in the world makes you think you have any business taking care of actual kids?"
Okay, that stings. A prickle of defensiveness runs down his spine. "We deal with kids all the time." How hard could it be to mind a few of them?
"How many are we talking?" Doubar sounds caught between indignation and resignation, as if he can't quite make up his mind to either be furious or give up. "How old? When?"
"Three? I think?" Niall wasn't entirely clear on that point. "Young. The little one doesn't have any teeth, barely any hair. His brothers are stair-stepped above him."
"A baby?" Doubar drops the crates in his hands; the crash shakes the ship. "You agreed to watch a baby that young? How do you expect to feed him, huh? You know girls can't give suck until they've had a child of their own, right? Maeve and Talia are useless. What do you expect to do? Does the kid come with his own goat and fodder?"
"Me and my breasts are not useless," Talia grumbles. "We're just not a meal for a screaming baby. We're much more fun than that."
Sinbad has no idea how to answer his brother; he never thought about it. "I don't know," he says honestly. "His father asked, I agreed, and Maeve backed me up. They must know what they're doing."
Doubar curses. "That girl never knows what she's doing," he snaps, which isn't true and they all know it. "There you go getting yourself into trouble again, and I'll have to bail you out. You don't know anything about babies, and I'll bet my last cent she doesn't, either. She's not the type."
"Neither am I," Talia says, "so do not put me on baby rotation. I'd rather scrape barnacles."
Doubar growls with frustration. "Some women you picked, little brother. They can't cook, they can't mind a baby."
"Nah, but I'm fabulous in bed. And with a sword. No pun intended." Talia balls her fist and punches Doubar's arm. "Knock it off, you old grouch. You like kids, and you like me. You're just complaining for the sake of complaining now."
"I am not," he grumbles. "I like tykes well enough. And Sinbad does need some practice. But we don't need more northerners bumbling around this ship, and he should have asked me first. I'm going to have to play babysitter for however long the shrimps are with us, picking up the slack for what the rest of you won't do."
It's true that Sinbad often asks for a consensus from his crew before embarking on a quest, but it's not required of a captain and in this case he didn't think he needed to. They're not sailing off the edge of the map or marching toward certain death this time, just taking on a few little boys for a few days. Maeve and Doubar know kids, no matter how much the first mate doubts her. Firouz and Rongar are endlessly adaptable. He himself is clueless and now he knows Talia is as well, but even he can survive a few days. Right?
"I'm sorry I didn't ask. I should have. But they've done a lot for us recently—more than you know. I need a chance to repay them, and this is what they asked. It'll be a hassle, but how much trouble could such small kids get into?"
Doubar laughs sarcastically and gestures around them. "We're searching for their big brother who's gone off adventuring on his own, aren't we?"
Well, when he puts it that way.
They search every inch of the ship and come up empty-handed, as Maeve said and Sinbad suspected they would. They even opened the bags and the crates in the hold to make sure the skinny little boy hadn't folded himself up somewhere in their supplies. Keely left with a promise that someone would update them as soon as Declan was found.
Maeve is distraught, and not hiding it well. She throws herself into her work, scrubbing at the charred streaks of soot in the galley as if they've personally wronged her. Sinbad wishes he could hold her, could soothe her somehow, but he knows better than to try. When she gets like this she doesn't want to be calmed. She wants to act.
"You can go," he says, knowing she won't but needing to give her the option. "You can go help them look. For as long as it takes."
She shakes her head and refuses to look at him. "If they wanted my help, Keely would have said so."
She wouldn't, actually—not right now. Not with how angry they both still are. Niall and Wren might welcome another pair of eyes, but if they want Maeve they'll have to come ask themselves. Keely won't do it. Sinbad knows that much.
"Is there some sort of spell they could put on him?" he muses as they work. Everyone's knuckles will be bleeding tonight if they're not already, smarting from the slurry of pumice and salt, but this is the only way he knows to get down to healthy wood so they don't build back up on an unreliable foundation. "That kid's a crate of trouble. There must be a spell to easily find him when he wanders off. Rumina always seems to know where we are, after all."
"Probably." Maeve rises swiftly from her knees, grunting softly with effort as she reaches as high as she can, stretching tall to touch the ceiling. Fat black drops of sooty slurry splash her cheek, her hair. "It sounds reasonable, anyway," she says as she scrubs. "Whoa." She stumbles and her body jerks. Her knees buckle and she drops like a stone.
Firouz and Rongar are both at her side in an instant, which Sinbad would find touching except that they're in his way. He scowls and shoves at them, but the physician and the Moor block him from her side. Fury lights in his belly and he's almost ready to physically knock one or both of them out of the way when he hears her voice.
"I'm okay." He sees a flash of red hair as she shakes her head, hears the exasperation in her voice. "I'm fine. Don't hover. I just shouldn't have stretched so far."
"LOCKING THE KNEES WHILE STANDING ERECT OR DURING PHYSICAL EXERTION CAN REDUCE BLOODFLOW AND INDUCE FAINTING SPELLS," Firouz says as he crouches next to her.
"Good to know." She pushes his hand gently away when he attempts to feel the pulse in her wrist. "I'm fine. Go back to work. I won't stretch so far again, I promise."
"YOU KNOW, YOU'RE ALMOST AS EASY TO UNDERSTAND AS RONGAR?" Firouz rises. "DRINK SOME WATER AND SIT A MOMENT. YOUR SISTER WAS MUCH MORE DIFFICULT."
"She always is," Maeve mutters, but she takes Rongar's offered hand as she returns to her feet, something she does not often welcome, and obediently crosses to the barrel of fresh water. "Anyway, I think if Niall knew a spell he'd have slapped it on Dex by now. This isn't the first time he's disappeared. It's just the first time there's been worry about the opals." She frowns as she drinks. She's trying not to let her worry show, and doing a terrible job of it.
Doubar chuckles despite his ongoing sour mood. "Reminds me of you," he says, nodding at Sinbad. "Always running off on some pint-sized adventure or other. It's a wonder Dim-Dim didn't chain you to the wall some days."
Is this what it will be like? When his own child is this age? Sinbad isn't sure he's ready for what feels like a constant current of apprehension, of fear, the possibility that absolutely anything could happen to such a small, fearless child. He's only having the one no matter what Antoine and Niall say about subsequent children being easier, so on the plus side he'll only have one reckless little soul to worry about. On the other hand, this child may be far worse than even Declan if he inherits his father's controlling nature and his mother's intractable stubbornness.
Sinbad watches Maeve drink her water. She seems fine—just as dirty as the rest of them, but her stance is firm and she's neither trembling nor swaying. Her color, from what he can see in the dim light below deck, is normal. Her eyes meet his but she looks away again swiftly. "I wonder if science might have a better answer to this problem than magic?" he says, still thinking about the missing boy, about his own unborn child. Getting lost on the Nomad would be even harder than getting lost on Breakwater's tiny islet, but Maeve has an opal. He doesn't know how much magical ability it takes to use them, and he doesn't want to ever be in the position Niall is in now. The man must be frantic.
Firouz isn't watching him speak and therefore doesn't respond, but Doubar laughs and shakes his head. "You mean some sort of device to...to track someone, as a hunter tracks a deer? Keep dreaming, little brother. That's far beyond what even our genius could invent."
Sinbad shrugs. "You never know."
He keeps a close watch on Maeve for the rest of the afternoon and evening, but she remains fine. Sinbad tries to tell himself not to worry. She has Firouz to consult if she's not feeling well, and Keely if things really get bad. She won't risk the health of her baby for the sake of her feud. He thinks. He hopes.
As the hours pass with no word from Breakwater, though, her tension grows more difficult to hide. She refuses to eat the evening meal, which isn't unusual lately, brewing a mug of the minty herbal concoction Wren gave her but barely sipping at it as she paces the deck, unable to remain still. Sinbad wishes he could do something, but he can't touch her and she doesn't want to be soothed anyway. She already knows she's free to go if she wants to, and really, that's the extent of his power in this situation. He has no magic or science to summon the boy and no ability to calm her without Declan's safe return.
"She's really worried." Talia idly tosses two dice on the top of a crate as they lounge on deck. "Didn't know she had it in her. Damn! Snake eyes. Your turn." She passes them to Doubar.
"He's her nephew." Sinbad supposes it's safe to say at least that much. They're going to be watching Dex's little brothers, after all. He remembers Maeve's words to him only just this morning—those boys are his nephews now, too. He takes that charge very seriously. Maeve's family is his now, just as his family is hers. He's worried, too, but he's better at concealing it.
"The little green girl's got more kids?" Talia looks up in surprise. "That's tricky, Sinbad. Not something you want to mess around with. Of course, I'd say the same about two sisters, but it seems you already went there."
Doubar snorts. Sinbad grits his teeth. "They're not Keely's boys."
"How many sisters does she have? And why didn't she say anything? I thought it was just her and the bird." Doubar tosses his dice. "Seven. Pay up."
Talia hands over a coin. The easy way she parts with her money makes Sinbad suspect it's counterfeit. Doubar says nothing, so neither does he.
"You haven't exactly been her best friend lately. I don't know why you think she'd want to tell you anything." Sinbad watches as she reaches the bow of the ship, turns, and retraces her path back to the tiller. Seeing her without her leather gauntlet, without Dermott perched on her wrist or the railing, feels so unnatural. She needs her brother back. And their wayward nephew.
"Seems like she's told you plenty."
"Some," Sinbad allows. "Not all." He doubts he'll ever know everything about his sorceress. She's a complicated girl with a complicated story. She's like the tales of the minotaur's labyrinth, a maze so impenetrable that no one can solve it. But she loves him. She loves him, and that love is his magic ball of string. With it, he'll always be able to find his way back home. Back to her.
The evening has long faded into full night, the lanterns lit and mugs of cider passed around, when Niall and Antoine appear. As they step into the golden glow of the lanterns, Sinbad can see that they're both filthy. They also have several crates and the three youngest boys with them.
"Oof," Talia mutters. "I'd give that man sons, too. Are all northern men that pretty?"
Niall is Roman, not Celt, or maybe some mixture of the two, but Sinbad holds his tongue.
"The other one clearly isn't Daddy, but he's not so bad, either."
"Behave," Sinbad says, rising from his seat. "They're both very spoken for."
Talia sighs. "Of course they are."
Maeve rushes her brothers, moving swiftly down the aft steps and across the deck. "Did you find him?"
"Aye," Niall confirms, his youngest son asleep in his arms. His four-year-old detaches himself from his father's leg with a bleating little cry and launches himself at her. She catches him deftly and swings him to her hip, her eyes alight with questions as he wraps his arms around her neck and buries his head in her shoulder. Unlike his brothers, his hair curls in loose, dark little ringlets. "Well?" Maeve demands as she holds the little boy.
Antoine winces. "You know a while ago when Dex kept insisting he was chasing gremlins? We kept finding him on top of the library bookshelves and digging up the meadow? Uprooted half the herb garden trying to tunnel under it?"
She barks a short, sharp laugh. "He was right, wasn't he? You've got an infestation."
Niall looks disgusted. "We found him behind the root bins in the cellar, digging into the floor trying to follow one of their tunnels. He'd actually got pretty far considering he only had a trowel and a little pick."
"Gremlins?" Sinbad frowns as he steps up beside Maeve. The little boy buried in her hair doesn't budge. Antoine has the two-year-old by the hand, Niall's holding the baby, and Sinbad suspects he knows where this is going.
"Have you ever seen a mandrake root? That's what a gremlin looks like, except they're not plants. They breed like rabbits, tunnel like moles, infest buildings like rats, and are smarter than all three combined so they're hell to get rid of." Antoine scowls. "The teas is in a few days, so we're going to have to work fast. And use serious magic. Which means no distractions."
Sinbad has never heard of gremlins before, but the rest of the story is exactly what he was afraid of. The three little boys are his responsibility now.
"You can't separate Mia and Rory," Maeve protests, rocking the little boy in her arms gently.
"No choice," Niall says. "She screamed herself hoarse and he's a mess, but she can't come south and no one in the village will take both of them anymore. He's sweet as honey without her but together they raise hell."
Maeve scowls, but there's nothing she can do about it. She screamed at Keely for coming south, and Keely's human. Antoine can cover his wings and his ears for short periods of time, but hiding his daughters' true nature for days would be impossible. Sinbad wishes he could fix this, but he can't. He can't accept responsibility for those girls, so, like it or not, the child buried in Maeve's hair is going to have to live without his reflection for a while.
"I'm sorry to spring this on you," Ant says, "but we need to get this infestation taken care of before the teas. We brought some things to soften the blow." He pats the stack of crates. "No ginger yet, but plenty of limes and honey. I found a source in Iberia so you can have all you want."
"Milk for Conall," Niall adds, "and I already cast the spell that will keep it sweet. Some fresh bread—unfortunately I don't think there's a spell to keep that from going stale. A stack of linen for Con. Duncan's pretty much done having accidents, but in a new place you never know." He rubs his chin. "What else? You can give Con gruel as long as it's cooked soft enough, or bread soaked in milk. Fruit if you chew it for him first. He's not fond of real food, but he has to learn at some point." He kisses the baby's head, then lifts him from his shoulder and places him in Sinbad's arms.
Talia laughs.
Sinbad doesn't think it's funny. He's held Niall's baby before, but he swears the kid was smaller then. Now the boy lifts his head and eyes him. Sinbad's pretty sure he's been judged and found lacking. And he'd like Niall to back up and go over some of his last speech again. Accidents? What kind of accidents?
But Maeve's brothers don't seem inclined to offer much more information. Antoine guides the two-year-old's hand into Maeve's. He looks for a moment like he wants to put up a fuss, but he tilts his head up and studies his aunt, wraps his arm around her leg, and desists.
"We'll be fine," she says, touching his hair lightly.
"Will you say goodbye to da, Rory?" Niall leans close, offering a hug, but the boy on Maeve's hip turns his head away and holds her tighter. His father abandons the attempt. "He's mad at me."
"I'd be mad at you, too. He'll get over it."
Niall hesitates. "If you have any trouble you can come get me or Wren, but it has to be before the extra shielding spells go up for the teas."
"I know. We'll be fine," she repeats. Sinbad hopes she knows what she's saying, because right now he's not so sure at all. This sounded like a reasonable way to pay her family back for some of their goodwill, but that was before he had a judgmental baby in his arms, one apparently very ready to stare him down.
"Be good for Maeve, boys. Please. I'll come get you right after the teas." Niall touches Rory's hair, steps back, and both men disappear.
The baby in Sinbad's arms opens his mouth and wails.
A/N: Gonna have some fun with kids and then shit's gonna get real. Just a warning!