Chapter 8

It does not irritate me.

It does not irritate me.

No matter how many times I repeat it to myself. It will not sink in, neither am I able to tune it out. A riot of music and dancing pounds a level below me. The melody of stringed instruments and the heavy echoes of beating drums synchronise in cheerful song. The clamour of joy and spirited singing bellows in unceasing swells, feeling as if the sounds only grow louder and louder.

It seems to ascend with my irritation.

At the climax, I slap my book down beside me. It was a bore anyway. I am grateful Pinta packed a short collection from my father's library for my travels. But now I do not have the forbearance to focus on reading prose and mentally battle the invasion of music. I stand up from the lounger pressed against the glass of the skylight window. I look out and decide: I desire a better view.

Devwar cannot seriously expect me to remain jailed in my cabin like a prisoner.

I walk to the door, departing my cabin. A rumble thumps beneath me and the walls quake at the reverberations. A percussion of stomping feet hammers with the beat. I can clearly hear them now. The merge of bass and alto voices blaring indistinct and slurred words but singing with the utmost of heartfelt passion.

I have to admit, there's a certain beauty in the sung chaos.

I walk forward, passing the other cabin, the Captain's quarters, and when I emerge outside, I descend the stairway that curves down to the main deck.

It's quiet and vacant. It seems all the crew is down below.

I saunter to the flank. The silhouette of the large gasbag that looms above my head casts a voluminous shadow over the wooden stretch. Curious streams of moonlight venture in from the corners. I still wear my daywear; a simple thick-strapped iron blue dress. Jacketless.

I reach the side and place my folded arms on the head of the railing. The unseen hair on my bare skin erects at the cold's bellow. The winds are feeling merciful today. Normally they are much more unforgiving, hostile towards airships that disturb the tranquillity of the aether.

I narrow my eyes, trying to zoom into the world below. I can barely see anything. My sight is obscured by the shrouds of silent thunderclouds, dismal in its colour but foreboding in its presence. A sense that it bears foreseeable turmoil. Its very presence is a threat to the voyage. Elbowed by unease, I lift my gaze and it scours through the stagnant tornado of dark grey, shaded with menacing black edges. A growing storm in the womb of time, a peril ever-looming.

"Don't chu worry."

I nearly jump out of my skin. My hand smacks my chest.

I flip around to face a crew member holding a glass lantern. A lone candle lit inside, burning with an undaunted blaze. Flickering fiery light reflects on his concave cheekbone. He looks young, face untouched by time, with legs that lengthen into manhood. He slowly lowers to a squat to place the lantern on the ground beside him.

He then rises to full height and lifts a hand to his shoulder, palm exposed. "My apologies, Hera. I didn't mean to scare ya."

My nerves settle within, and I welcome him with a smile.

"Oh, I—" an unsteady hand runs through his ruffled hair, thwarting any rebelling strands. "I was just doing me rounds, and I saw you lookin at the sky with a frightened look on ya face. I just wanted to tell you that you needn't worry. The Storm Voyager can get you to where you need safely."

"I do not doubt that for a second. I merely have not travelled in a long time."

I did not realise that I looked so...frightened that it appeared I even needed to be consoled. I glance at his lantern. "If your duties do not keep you or you have no wish to join the party. You are more than welcome to keep me company, and we can...." I glimpse the cloud-blanked sky, hiding the stars from us. "We can sky gaze together?"

I look back at him, his craggy jaw loosens. He gawks back at me, absolutely gobsmacked.

He shakes off his confusion. "Uh, pardon my staring. It's just, uh, the airship has had the pleasure —" disdain lathers the word, "—of hosting many nobles. A few other Domuses and with them their Heras. None of them would spare me a second look, let alone invite me to...sky gaze," he says with a timid chuckle.

Unsure of how to respond, my reply is resigned to a shrug. "Well, it was their loss, was it not?" I straighten myself and situate my arms back on the railing.

He doesn't move. I nod him over. Surprise brightens his loam-grey eyes, a glimmer of interest over his amiable smile. He fixes the collar of his dark blue jacket and ambles forward to join my side, rigid, leaving enough room for decorum between us.

"Oh, I did not get your name?"

His eyes widen. "The name's Schwick, Hera." He faces me for a moment and bows his head.

"My title is Hera, but my name is Adalia. And you can call me by it."

"Hera—Hera," he stutters, struggling—unnatural for him. "I don't think—"

"It is appropriate?" I scoff wryly. I muster a formal tone, squaring my shoulders. "Very well then, if you want me to flout you with my rank, then I shall. I order you to speak freely, relax and be yourself."

My contrived solemn expression thaws into a carefree smile. "Life is already dull, Schwick. A world of colour yet tarnished by all the formalities and societal divisions. Frankly, it's absurd."

A humoured breath escapes him. "I'm afraid that's the world we live in."

"How different the world would look if we saw people for what they are and not have them scrutinised for what they are not. Things beyond their control. Instead, focus on what truly matters, character instead of class."

"It's a nice thought well ain't it?" A sudden dolour diminishes his scallywag smile. "Our world is united, the land and all. But it's people that cause the divisions, separating kingdoms and beings alike."

True. It seems the ailment has been and always will be people.

"Schwick," I say energetically. "Lighten this dark night and tell me about your people. Where do you come from?"