It had been more than a week since I last saw land. I quickly grew sick of seeing nothing but the endless blueness of the sea in every direction.
I wondered how these ships ever found their way in all this monotony. There were no roads to follow, no landmarks to take note of. I'd heard from some passengers that the sailors used clocks and stars to navigate. I had seen both. I had even held a clock in my hand. But I couldn't begin to imagine how either could possibly be used to find the way.
For all I knew, we were at the mercy of the waves and the wind — both far too unpredictable to be relied upon.
But I gave up thinking too much about that. That was for sailors to solve. I had my own problems.
As expected, guarding the lady had taken up enough of Edmund's time that he couldn't bother me anymore. I'd see him chasing after her all day, and by the time he crawled back to our cabin, he was too exhausted to even talk.
Peace at last… or so I thought.
I had a new fly buzzing around me. A lot quieter and more distant than Edmund, but not any less problematic.
The viscount's bastard — his name was Clifford. And since the garlic incident, he'd been stalking me. I couldn't forget the conclusion he'd drawn after he hurled the bulb at my forehead.
Where Edmund had decided I must be a high-ranking noble after seeing my power, Clifford had more knowledge about magic — enough to reach a very different conclusion.
"Even the king chants to cast his spells. And not even he heals from wounds without aid, otherwise why keep a whole cabal of healers?" Clifford reasoned.
"Since you're not a regular mage… nor a demon," he admitted reluctantly, "you can only be one thing."
"A demigod," Clifford revealed dramatically.
I almost laughed out loud. Demigods only existed in stories. Supposedly the offspring of gods and mortals, immensely powerful, but about as real as ghosts. Why would a god lower his standards to sleep with a mortal woman? That'd be like a man bedding a goat… which I dearly hoped had never actually happened.
That said, Clifford didn't seem entirely convinced of his own conclusion. Instead of bending the knee like Edmund, the viscount's son had fled the scene wordlessly.
And in the days that followed, he was constantly watching me — no doubt hoping for more clues to confirm his theory.
It was no different that day. I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my head as I stood at the bow, watching the ship cut through the water. I thought of confronting him more than once, but I was never the confrontational sort.
Fortunately — or unfortunately — he finally decided to approach me instead of not-so-subtly tailing me.
"I sorely miss seeing a tree, or even just a patch of brown dirt," he sighed, joining me at the railing. He kept his eyes fixed on the water.
It sounded rhetorical, and I wouldn't have felt obliged to answer if not for the awkward silence that followed. And it wouldn't have been awkward if he hadn't stood so damn close.
"Yes… I miss the sight and scent of grass," I replied. It came out more genuine than I intended.
Silence again. Not as bad as the first, but still awkward. He swallowed several times. Clearly, he wanted to say something but couldn't.
I waited nearly a full minute before I grew tired of it.
"Why do you keep following me?" I asked.
He glanced at me, then quickly looked away.
"How can you expect me to leave you alone, after what I found out?" he said.
"Trust me, I'm not who you think I am."
"A good explanation would clear this up easily."
I resisted the urge to scratch my head raw. Ever since Edmund had first put me in this predicament, I'd tried to think of explanations. None sounded convincing. A chant-less, affinity-less kind of magic, tied to a floating sheet of light, was too alien for anyone to understand.
Telling the literal truth would sound even more ridiculous than making something up.
"I don't feel obliged to explain anything to you," I finally blurted out, fed up with overthinking.
"That's exactly what a demigod would say," Clifford quipped.
"Oi! If you've got business, you deal with me, not Lor—Master Devon!" Edmund's grating voice cut through the air out of nowhere.
Lady Elena had paused to chat with a friend near the bow, so Edmund had drifted our way.
"We're just talking, and it's none of your concern, squire," Clifford replied.
Edmund glanced once more at Elena before leaning on the railing on my other side. "Well, if it's not about me, then what business could you possibly have with Lord—Master Devon?"
Clifford stared at Edmund, grinning wide, tutting like he knew some grand secret. "Now I understand why you've been clinging to Master Devon like a starved leech. You're aware of his real identity."
"Did you tell him, Lord Devon?" Edmund turned to me in disbelief.
I palmed my face. A large misunderstanding was brewing — I could feel it.
"You'd better shut your mouth, Master Clifford. If you spill the secret, you'll have hell to pay," Edmund warned.
"What secret?"
The question came with the scent of flowers. Elena had pushed herself between Edmund and me until space was cleared for her.
She looked up at the three of us curiously, her wide eyes and smile brimming with expectation.
We all froze. I racked my brain, trying to remember if we'd said anything incriminating in the last few seconds.
"Ah… the secret…" I was the first to break the silence.
"Edmund did indeed shag a goat," Clifford blurted.
Elena arched a brow. "I know. I was the one who caught him."