“How? Your sword seems to be no good.”

“I can try to throw it off the ship with my spear.”

“There’s an easier solution, and you know it. Let me do this.”

Ophelia’s eyes flashed with something; Phobos’ jaw twitched, as if he wasn’t quite used to having to swallow an argument. However, he was no fool: he had little faith that his brute force would be better for handling the unknown creature than the strange powers of the woman from Byzantium.

The Phrygian’s reaction picked Hyperion’s interest, and he finally relented. “Eon, give the command for everyone to take shelter below deck. You will remain with them. Lady Iceni, our Phrygian friend and I will remain on deck to sort this out.”

The Chaldean merchant’s second-in-command attempted to protest, but a stern stare quickly convinced him to give up. Phobos prepared his fight as well, convinced that it was a danger for Ophelia to reveal her powers to a man so untrustworthy. The woman, however, swiftly quieted his concerns with a dry “ultimately, my secrets are mine to reveal or conceal”.

The sailors were more than happy to comply with their new orders: the evacuation was swift, almost desperate as everyone quickly poured back downstairs to seek shelter from the strange happenings that were going on deck.

Hyperion stayed back, happily keeping his distance from the corpse and the two screaming sailors fighting off the dangerous parasite creatures. Phobos, on the other hand, naturally braved the danger by putting himself between Ophelia and the source of all the trouble, sword in hand. His strong frame was comforting; the woman would gladly admit that his gentlemanly ways were slowly winning her over.

Concentrating, knowing what she was doing without really knowing how, she thought of one too many scenes of bio-horrors being frozen into fragile glass-like ice. Something stirred, but it wasn’t quite enough to do anything, and despite her best attempts she failed again and again at manifesting anything.

Just when she was about to doubt whether her powers were still there, the corpse somehow understood that she was now his greatest threat, and lunged at her in all its twisted, deformed glory. It wasn’t in any form that could move with any significant speed; it was, however, so grotesque that it made up for the lack of menace with a sense of horror so profound, that it triggered something within her. She rejected it so utterly that she manifested her powers only to get rid of such unnatural a thing. Extending her arms, rays shot out of her fingers; tendrils of electricity flashed and rained down on the corpse and the creatures, embracing them tightly until they were burnt to a crisp.

Finally, silence took a hold of the deck; only the waves were heard, softly singing in the background. Whatever miracles Ophelia was capable of working were almost surgical in their precision: the sailors had been spared from the shock of her thunder, which had only attacked the worm creatures. It had all been too much for them, however, and both had fainted from pain and exhaustion.

“Elysian,” Hyperion whispered then. He maintained his distance, eyeing Ophelia with a stare full of mixed feelings. “I’d have thought that to learn any secrets of yours would make it all the more clearer to me, but it only creates more questions.”

His eyes immediately travelled towards Phobos. Ophelia could only imagine what he was thinking; perhaps he would try to fashion a place for her in the war the prince had been involved in, perhaps he’d invent some other strange tale. Between his thoughts and the truth she was happy to leave some distance by not offering much in the way of an explanation. To a certain extent, she knew, it gave her an advantage.

“Let us finish this,” the Chaldean said, “and then, I’d like to have sit for some chai with you.”

Eon was called back; by the time he’d brought his men to the deck Phobos had already gotten rid of the charred corpse and the remnants of the insidious creatures. The two unconscious sailors were bandaged and laid over their own makeshift beds. Where the tendrils of the monsters had touched, something akin to acid had corroded the skin away, leaving cracked, bleeding scabs behind. The deeper wounds had reached muscle and tendons; those, the impromptu first responders had said, were the bigger concern, as they would easily get infected.

Doubtful and scared glances were shared by the crew as they slowly went back to their regular duties; the helmsman did his best to ran a tight ship, regardless of how visibly nervous he was. Hyperion made a gesture to Ophelia and they both retreated to his chambers, located in the upper deck, while around them whispers of what had transpired began to spread.

Eon nodded at his master as they walked by him; clearly, whatever needed to be said would be shared later. Phobos had made an attempt to follow them, but had been stopped by Aristides, who’d helped Eon lock the crew downstairs. “Not everything requires your presence, my lord,” he whispered with a sharp look at his pupil.

Hyperion’s chambers were a simple affair. A chest for his belongings sat against one of the walls; next to it, a wooden stand to hang the elaborately silk robes he favoured. There was no bedding except for a pile of animal skins of luscious fur thrown in the centre of the room. A heavy basalt jar stood next to the door and held the fresh water that Hyperon used for his own personal consumption.

He asked Ophelia to be patient with him before walking to the last piece of furniture in the room, an elegant cabinet made of polished dark wood with details in jade that reached to his chest. He opened one of its doors, and pulled out a drawer. From it, he took out an eastern tea set: two cups and a tea pot, with a handle on one side. From another, a small wooden box. He placed them on a small tray, and carried it to the centre of the room; then, he filled a jar with fresh water, and lowered himself over the skins. Every single action, Ophelia had noticed, was carried out with the same charm that a courtesan might have for a host; none of his movements had the abandon of the utilitarian zealousness that a waitress like her would exhibit. It was all very elegant, each swish of a hand or a finger heavy with practice to the point it floated effortlessly across the space. If he hadn’t been favouring his male disguise then, she’d have once again believed he was a beautiful woman.

Ophelia was invited to sat down, and lost in her thoughts, she failed to notice that they were missing a very important element in their would-be tea ceremony. “I hope to earn your forgiveness if I’m once again being too impertinent,” Hyperion smoothly said as he tapped the ceramic jar that offered only cold water. “But, given how pertinent it is to the conversation, I thought we might save some time if I asked you to warm the water for me.”

Ophelia blinked once, and then almost by instinct looked around her to try to find anything she could use to boil the water. It was only after a few seconds and the intense stares of the man in front of her that she put two and two together and realized he was asking her to use her powers. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “I’m not used to this.”

Placing a hesitant finger on the jar, she thought about the modern conveniences of electric kettles and how much she missed the familiarity of the watery taste of store-branded tea. Her memories seemed to do the trick, and as she imagined the tell-tale sounds of a cup ready to be served, the water in the jar began to bubble.

“Fascinating,” Hyperion exclaimed, breaking through all his poise and grace to stare at her with open awe.

“Is this your first time seeing this?” she asked as he opened the wooden box to reveal small compartments full of spices and dried leaves. He put a pinch of two or three different things in the pot before pouring the boiling water in. “No,” he replied. “I’ve had some dealings with Elysians, and I’ve enjoyed their hospitality. They’re rather giddy when it comes to showing off their strange abilities. Any time is a good one to remind everyone else who they are.”

“It can be very tiring,” Ophelia said. Now that the shock of the morning’s events had worn off, she was starting to feel the effects. “I can’t see myself doing everything through my powers.”

“Every other Elysian I’ve met would certainly be able to picture it; although I’m not sure if they would be able to pull it off.”

Hyperion served the tea, and sat back with a cup in his hands. Something seemed more relaxed about him that way, as if the masks had been peeled away and there was no merchant trying to find a way to make bank, only someone with an interest in what she had to say. “Will you tell me more about yourself, and how you came to accompany the Phrygian prince?”

“Mmh… For what price should I speak, I wonder?”

“I can help; I know many people with many different abilities. For a runaway Elysian that’s always a good thing.”

“Why do you think I’m a runaway?”

Hyperion took a sip of his tea and fixed her with an honest, mocking stare. Somehow, she felt like she was finally getting to see him for who he was. “You’re not locked away somewhere in Elysium, married to some Count or another, raising three or four children hoping they will reach adulthood. There aren’t many choices for someone like you in that society; clearly, you’ve made your escape. Was it the prince who helped you? Perhaps, the result of a tryst during the civil war?”

Ophelia smiled, laughing to herself. “I’m not running away from anyone,” she offered. “But I’d rather we keep my powers a secret from the rest. I’d rather this is not widely known. What you can offer me, you’ve already done. Just give me a salary, and don’t mention any of this. That’ll be enough for me.”

Hyperion leaned forward, his soft, long hair cascading into the air. “Is that enough? A safe space?”

Ophelia nodded. The Chaldean's lips turned up. “You place very little faith in his highness, I see now.”

“What do you mean?”

“You think I’m better suited to keep you safe than he is.”

“He’s fighting a war. You’re just trading goods. I’m more used to what you do than what he does.”

Hyperion left his cup on the tray, and raised an eyebrow at her. “You’ve never thought you could end his war very quickly? Elysians are known, after all, for their propensity to stick their noses into everyone else’s business. Quite successfully, at that.”

Ophelia looked away. “I don’t know…” she mumbled. She couldn’t explain that she could hardly take part in a fight for a place she had only learnt about a few weeks before. “I don’t think he’d appreciate it if I meddled in it.”

“He might not… he’s rather stubborn, isn’t he?” Hyperion shrugged. “It’s all the better for me if you’d rather stay with me. Perhaps I shouldn’t speak of this. But I’m curious; he seems rather fond of you, and as stuck in his ways as he is, no man could help but notice the immense opportunity you represent. And, having been involved in his business, I wondered how much you wanted to keep digging in…”

Ophelia moved back. “Perhaps I’ll change my mind once we’re in Arqa. Perhaps I’ll feel more compassion towards his plight, and decide to abandon you. I don’t know…”

Hyperion moved to fill Ophelia’s empty cup. He had a small smile in his face. “You’re rather shrewd, I see. It’s rather refreshing to see a woman capable of putting a man to test.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what you want; and you’re aware of what that Phrygian will offer you. It’s obvious that, unless he surprises us all, either of those things will be as distant as the moon and the sun.”

Ophelia took her cup and slowly sipped the tea. The spicy taste licked at the inside of her mouth, poignant. She wouldn’t have framed it that way, perhaps, but there was a truth to the Chaldean’s words. It hadn’t emerged as a conscious thought so far, but it was a running theme in the background of her conversations with Phobos. As much as she was warming up to him, she worried about how he saw her; there were certainly points of friction that emerged when she’d try to act on her own terms. If she were to keep going that path, of deepening her relationship with Phobos, where would that leave her?

“I think you’re rather early in this discussion,” she finally said. “We’re not anywhere near a point of inflection for us to be trying to cast lots.”

Hyperion acquiesced. “You’re right, I apologise. I’ve been too eager. But, if anything, this conversation should’ve let you know that I’ll always leave a door open for you.”

“For my talents,” Ophelia corrected him. The merchant nodded with a smile.

“Why not both?”