The Lady Grace Part 2
The sunset blazes, the crowd feasts, and the mist thickens—The Lady Grace is coming.
The view from the coastline where The Lady Grace sank was one of the most beautiful on Indamar.
Tonight, the setting sun set the Isle ablaze with streaks of pink and purple, deepening into something even more magnificent as it sank toward the horizon. Craggy outcroppings jutted into the surf, their jagged edges catching the incoming waves from the Shalamoor Sea. Spray shot twenty feet into the air before crashing back down, soaking the boulders below.
Even if there were no ghost ship, this place alone would have been worth the journey.
Isaac let out a low whistle as we took it all in.
"Look at all these folks," he said, adjusting the backpack still strapped to his shoulders. "There must be a hundred people here. Not counting the musicians. Or the juggler." He shook his head. "It’s like a festival."
I scanned the crowd, equally surprised.
For something as unpredictable as the ghost ship’s appearance, this was a hell of a turnout.
"Yeah," I murmured. "And not a local among them."
"No, none of these people are from Indamar." Isaac shook his head.
Then, a different look crossed his face—anxious, uncertain.
"How do I look?" he asked, tugging at the collar of his jacket.
I raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"
Isaac kept fiddling with his jacket like he hadn’t heard me. He’d known we’d be mingling with people from far-off places tonight, so he’d borrowed something slightly more formal from Bartleby, the owner of the Jolly Grubb Inn.
Bartleby had handed over his old dinner jacket without hesitation, but now, Isaac was doubting it was enough.
"I should have asked for Bartleby’s hat, too," he muttered. "And a tie."
I sighed. "Oh, you look just fine," I said, adjusting the small flower I’d pinned to my dress.
It was the only real change I’d made for the evening—though I had taken the time to tame my curls, which, as always, had fought me the entire way. For once, they obeyed.
All in all, I was satisfied.
Isaac, however, was not.
"No, you look just fine," he argued. "Actually, you look terrific. I, however, look like a bumpkin."
I shook my head. "No, we’re both bumpkins."
I waved a dismissive hand. "But it doesn’t matter. What are these lords and ladies going to do? Throw us out? Indamar is our island."
With that, I boldly led Isaac through the gathered visitors.
And what a group they were.
This was the finest-dressed collection of people I had ever seen. The gentry had come from all across the realm, their presence marked by the fluttering banners of their homelands. In addition to the Flag of Calipsis, I spotted colors from Palashia, Kennox, and even Zhopai. And then there were the women with their hair done up in hundreds of tight, intricate braids—Lyconians, unmistakably. The province known as the Cradle of Kings.
Wherever they had come from, they all had one thing in common:
Their clothing alone cost more than Isaac and I would ever see in our lives.
Some of the wealthiest families had brought portable dining tables for the occasion, setting them up as if they were attending some grand feast rather than waiting for a ghost to appear. Servants moved between them, preparing meals over scattered cookfires.
And the food? Magnificent.
The air was thick with the smell of roasted pheasant, quail, and duck, glistening and golden over open flames. Platters of exotic delicacies I couldn't name passed between delicate, bejeweled hands.
And the liquor? Flowing freely.
Rum, gin, whisky—more than enough to drown a fleet.
Isaac leaned in as we passed the tables, keeping his voice low.
"This is quite an event for these folks," he whispered. "All of this for a ghost?"
I smirked. "After being on a ship for a month or more just to get here? I’d be in the mood for a party, too."
I glanced toward the sea, where the mist was thickening.
"And besides," I added. "These people are lucky."
Isaac raised an eyebrow.
"They’ll get to see exactly what they came for."
Isaac and I nodded politely to the members of a passing musical troupe before breaking away from the crowd.
A little farther down the coastline, a tall cypress tree stood alone, its branches shifting in the salty breeze. The ground beneath it was flat, grassy, and free of roots or stones.
I turned to Isaac. "What about here?"
"Yeah, this is perfect," he said, dropping his backpack beside the tree trunk.
Then he took a slow, deep breath, eyes on the horizon. The colors over the sea had only deepened, a masterpiece painted across the sky.
"No," he corrected. "The word perfect might not be good enough."
I closed my eyes, lifting my arms into the cool northern wind.
"You know," I murmured, "I haven’t been up here to the coast more than a couple of times in my entire life."
I opened my eyes, taking it all in.
"We’re going to change that," I said. "You and I—ghosts and ghouls aside. We’ll come up here just to breathe this air. Just to see sunsets like this. Because every true son and daughter of the Isle should."
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