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Mejt

The girl opened her eyes. She wasn’t more than a girl, not much older than I was (Is that right, I don’t think you posted her age?)

Her eyes were green and looked wild, troubled. She shifted, slowly, painfully, as though everything hurt. It probably did.

For the first time, I really had the chance to see her. She wore a silver coronet, a necklace of sea-tears, and her gown was shimmering gray, like the billows of spray that broke on rocks. Her sash and the insides of her dress were deep blue, like the depths of the sea.

I recoiled, almost instinctively. She was a noble. She wasn’t like me. The deep, rooted bitterness curled around me. It was her kind’s fault. Everything was.

“It was them,” the girl mumbled. Her voice rasped.

“What?” I said, rather brusquely. She had startled me, and besides that, I was considering whether I should have left her there. People like her always had others running to take care of them. She didn’t need another servant, and I wasn’t volunteering to bow and scrape for her more than absolutely required. I wouldn’t have a choice eventually but I wouldn’t do it a second sooner than needed.

The girl turned toward me, surprise in her unfocused gaze. She looked me up and down, her eyes trailing over me with the easy confidence of someone who was just a little too comfortable judging others.

I refused to look straight at her. That was the way it was supposed to be. I shouldn’t look directly at anyone so far above me. I hated it.

“Who are you?” the girl rasped.

When someone like that asked, you answered.

“My name is May, Delya,” I said, attaching the ambiguous title of respect. I didn’t know her rank, so this would have to do for now.

I twisted my vowels and forced my consonants, forcing my voice into an almost perfect accent. Perhaps lower-class, as fitting to my station, but not foreign. That’s all it needed to be.

The girl leaned back against the rock, apparently exhausted. Now she had turned away I could look back at her. She was pretty, but most nobles were. Somehow, their higher birth gave them everything they wanted, even beauty.

“Do you have water? Please,” the girl managed, though she was now even paler than before. Sudden worry pricked through my resentment. Perhaps she was a noble, perhaps she wouldn’t even look in my direction once she was well enough, but she needed my help.

A sudden, unwanted thought pricked through my mind. Why should I help her?

I’d had that question so often, more times than I could count. We had lived in the lighthouse for as long as I could remember and for as long as I could remember, we’d had guests.

The lighthouse was a beacon of safety. It was our duty to care for the wounded, the sick, the traveler who had nowhere else to go. It was our task to go out in the darkness of a stormy night when the wind ripped at our clothing and it had dashed a ship against the rocks. It was our duty to look for survivors. I hated it, but with a hatred that was so close to love, I couldn’t tell the difference. I hated being too late, and we were often too late.

The travelers were worse. It had happened too often that they’d come to the lighthouse, only to be rude to our faces. I supposed they’d expected people like them, they couldn’t believe the leaders had appointed Father to be the keeper of the lighthouse.

(I haven’t figured out the political system so I don’t know who their leader is XD)

It was never outright insults, just quiet, gnawing disdain, that was impossible to ignore but individually too petty to say anything about.

Sometimes my brother would get so angry he’d go to the highest room of the lighthouse, and we wouldn’t see him for the rest of the day. I’d join him. I didn’t mind the paint fumes that eventually made me dizzy. Usually, we wouldn’t speak. He’d paint, I’d read or watch the sea. No wonder he’d gone to sea as soon as he could. He was as sick of it as I was.

After they left, Father would take the time to remind us that it wasn’t our problem how people treated us, we only needed to worry about our reaction. Like it was our fault.

I didn’t want to help this girl, but it was my duty, my inheritance. I didn’t have water, but I’d have to find a way to get some.

I looked around, hoping for a stream. There was none, though I noticed at least one of the men had a water bottle at his belt. He was tall and red-haired, awkwardly standing around instead of helping with the dragon. (I don’t remember whether Daire has red hair, sorry XD) It seemed dead anyway.

I was about to get up and go ask him for it, but the girl went even limper. No, this was bad.

“Where’s Cirian?” the girl asked, her voice trailing off.

I needed to keep her conscious. I touched her hand, just to get her attention.

“No, don’t do that. Who is Cirian? I’ll see if I can find him, Delya.” My voice was gentler now.

I needed to get that water but I couldn’t leave her.

I whistled, loud and shrill, the kind of whistle that reached from the top of the lighthouse across our whole island.

Pretty much everyone looked at us. I didn’t particularly care, I had more important things to worry about.

I nodded to the red-haired man. He didn’t look dangerous, he looked almost thrilled with the whole dragon incident.

“I need your water,” I said, briefly.

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@irishcelticredflowercrown @emily-waldorf

Time to get Daire to do something XD

This was pretty interesting to write, I’m surprised it got so long! I think I’m finally starting to figure out more things about Mejt!