I was glad when Corrick left with the captain, because the tension in Rian’s stateroom had been thick enough to choke the air out of the room. I caught a few glimpses of the two young men walking the deck, and their mannerisms seemed amiable, but I know Corrick well enough to recognize when he’s unsettled.
So far it’s been the entire duration of his time on board this ship.
When Corrick and Rian disappear down the steps to go below, Gwyn sighs and says, “If those two went at it under the sails, I wouldn’t know which one to put money on.”
Sablo huffs a quiet laugh, then hisses as I use my tweezers to pluck another rope fiber out of his wrist. His wound is a rope burn that runs down the length of his forearm, but he’s got a dozen rope splinters embedded in the skin. The burn is deep enough by his hand that it’s drawn blood, so it’s nothing I can stitch, but I can tell it’s painful.
I give him a commiserating glance. “Sorry.” He’s a big man, nearly as big as Rocco, so I thought he’d be intimidating, but he’s not. I glance between him and Gwyn.
“So I’m not the only one who can tell they don’t like each other?”
“Rian doesn’t have a lot of tolerance for rulers who mistreat their people,” she says.
“I don’t either,” I say, plucking at another rope fiber. “Prince Corrick isn’t the sum of all the stories told about him.”
“Surely not,” she says easily, which startles me. “He got on the ship, and that took most of us by surprise.”
Sablo makes a sound that sounds like hmph, then rubs the fingers of his free hand together, then makes a flicking motion.
Gwyn smiles. “He says he should have put money on
that.”
I look up from the wound. “You would have bet on Prince Corrick?”
He nods vigorously, and I raise my eyebrows. “Sablo likes the underdog,” Gwyn adds.
“Aha,” I say, smiling. “Well, don’t let him hear you call him the underdog.”
Sablo blows a breath through his teeth and draws a finger across his neck like he’s slitting someone’s throat.
I think he’s teasing, but I frown. I remember a night when Corrick had to do exactly that, because Consul Sallister was threatening to withhold medicine from the whole country.
But of course I can’t say that. I don’t know how to defend Corrick without revealing everything I know.
I don’t know if he deserves it anyway.
I try to turn the conversation in another direction. They’re casual with the captain’s name, so I am, too. “Rian said that the citadel in Ostriary was destroyed in the war,” I say. “Where does the king live now?”
“Galen Redstone still lives on Fairde,” Gwyn says. “Tarramor was blown to bits, but the king was able to hold the palace. The walls are gone, so you can see the palace from the sea. One by one, he claimed the other islands. There are still pockets of rebellion, mostly led by men who couldn’t take the throne, but most of those have been snuffed out. The king built his campaign on promises to rebuild, to restore Ostriary to what it once was. He might not have had the strongest claim to the throne, but he had the most compelling promises. There’s been too much damage, too much bloodshed. The people are tired.”
Sablo grunts and hits his chest with his uninjured arm,
and Gwyn smiles, a little sadly. “Yes,” she says. “We are tired.”
I look at Sablo. “Were you injured in the war? Is that why you can’t speak?”
Storm clouds shift through his eyes, but he nods. He looks to Gwyn and gestures from her to me.
She draws a slow breath, and they exchange a glance. I can see her weighing what to say. “At dinner, Rian mentioned Oren Crane, one of the old king’s half-brothers. He’s one of the few who keeps rebellion brewing. Oren’s a skilled sailor, and he has a fleet of ships that still linger in the waters of Ostriary. Hidden allies on all the islands. He was close to the old court, too, which helped his claim. He’s clever—but vicious. Not the kind of man you want to cross.”
I look at Sablo. “Did you cross him?”
Those clouds haven’t left his eyes. He scowls.
“Sablo was a supply runner,” Gwyn says. “He’d pilot the ships from island to island. He’s well known at each port, so sometimes he’s paid to carry … information.”
I glance between the two of them. “So you were a spy.”
He taps a finger to his forehead, and Gwyn says, “Not really a spy. More … an untraceable way to send a
message. No need to write anything down. Sablo’s mind is as sharp as cut glass.”
He smiles darkly and nods.
“But then he got a message about Oren,” Gwyn continues. “About where he was planning to hide his ships. Sablo knew he could sell this information to Galen Redstone’s people, and indeed they came knocking—”
Sablo makes a cutting motion with his hand, sharp and decisive through the air.
“I know, I know,” she continues. “You’re no snitch.” Her eyes shift back to me. “He refused to sell his knowledge to Redstone—or anyone, for that matter. But Oren caught wind that someone was working against him. He grew suspicious, and he wouldn’t take a chance.”
My hands have gone still on my tweezers. “He thought you betrayed him.”
“He had him beaten near to death,” she says. “Then they cut his tongue off.”
Those storm clouds in Sablo’s eyes have turned into a tornado.
“It was a message,” Gwyn says. “Like I said, Oren’s a vicious man.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. Sablo shakes his head.
“Rian found him,” Gwyn says. “Facedown in the sand. The captain could have left him, but he didn’t. There was nothing in it for him, but you heard him at dinner. Rian’s not the type to leave someone hurting.” She shrugs. “So here we are.”
So here they are.
“Were you there?” I ask.
She shakes her head, then says, “No. Anya and I joined up later.” She shrugs, then glances away. “We’ve all got a bit of a story. You’ll likely hear ’em all before we’re done.”
“I hope so,” I say, and I mean it. “What about you?” she says.
I glance up. “What about me?”
“What’s your story? There must be more than just the prince’s apothecary.”
Heat finds my cheeks. Her voice isn’t suggestive, but again, I’m reminded of Lochlan’s threats in the hallway last night. “I’m not the type to leave someone hurting either. I’m glad Prince Corrick sees the benefit in that.”
“Me too,” she says. “That’s why I think there’s more to your prince than what he seems.”
I look at her in surprise. “You do?”
“Well, your king must be very desperate,” she says, “to send the two of you off so quickly.”
I hesitate, then nod. “He is. We are.”
“It took courage to climb on the Dawn Chaser,” she says. “Rian’s not blind to that.”
I glance at the window. The prince and the captain disappeared down the steps, but they haven’t emerged. “It took courage to sail here to ask for help.” I pause, feeling warmth on my cheeks again, because that sounds more personal than I intended. “You’re truly not worried about bringing the fever sickness back to Ostriary?”
She shakes her head. “You’re all well. We’ve got more than enough Moonflower to go around.”
I suppose that’s true.
I flick my gaze toward the map on the table. “Rian said we wouldn’t have trouble until we reach the southern point of Ostriary. Are the waters there very rough?”
“They can be.” She moves toward the table and taps her fingers on the map. “It’s not even the sailing that’s the hard part. There are dozens of hidden coves along here, and the fog is dense at this time of year.”
I frown. “You mean we might hit something?”
Sablo snorts, then lifts a hand to his head in a gesture I can’t make out. I look to Gwyn.
“Pirates,” she says. “Pirates!”
She nods, like it’s common, then shrugs. “Like I said, Crane keeps the rebellion brewing. There are just enough men still loyal to him to cause trouble. He’s still got half a dozen ships in the water, and he’s a clever bastard. The Dawn Chaser is a small ship, so they probably won’t pay us any notice, but you never know.”
I don’t know what expression is on my face, but it must look worrisome, because she smiles. “Don’t worry. Crane hasn’t been able to put a hand on Rian yet. Trust me, he’s tried. Cap’s pretty clever himself.”
 |
The rest of the day passes surprisingly quickly, but I can’t stop myself from turning over the stories that Gwyn told me about pirates in the waters surrounding Ostriary. I should probably tell Corrick—unless he already knows. I deliberated over it earlier, chewing on my anxiety, wondering if Corrick and Rian would bring their tension back to the stateroom. But Rian eventually returned to the main deck to join Marchon at the helm, while the prince remained scarce.
Good. I certainly have no desire to go chasing after him. As soon as I have the thought, sadness hits me in the gut. A wedge has formed between us so fast. I hate it. Is it
his fault? Is it mine?
Either way, I can’t sit and dwell on it, because I’m going to make myself crazy. I eventually ask for more tasks. I’m shown a burn that needs a measure of salve, followed by a small cut that looks a bit infected. Later, Sablo gives me a
needle and thread and a pile of fishing nets that need repairing. He shows me how to weave the strands together, his large hands deftly forming an even pattern that’s loose enough to flow freely, and tight enough to trap fish. Later, lunch is served on the deck, a light fare of warm rolls, soft cheese, and fried fish.
Still no Corrick.
I frown and stay with my nets, sitting on a bench along the ship’s railing. I was so eager for this journey, for the chance to do something bigger, but it seems I’ll be spending the entire trip with my stomach tied up in knots.
By the time the sun begins to slip below the horizon, the sky is lit up with shades of pink to our west, the storm an ever-present line of purple clouds to our north—though it seems more distant. Gwyn rings a bell for the crew to fetch their dinner, but I have a small pile of nets left to repair, so I don’t move.
Brock spies me across the deck before he goes down the steps, and he lets out a whistle. “Come along, miss. Tor always grabs seconds before anyone else.”
I smile. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
The deck empties, but not everyone goes below. To my surprise, Lochlan remains. I’m determined to ignore him, but he heads right for me.
I hate that my first thought is to wonder if one of the guards is still up here. It feels rude to look for them, so I keep my eyes on the nets.
Lochlan stops a short distance away. He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “Aren’t you eating?”
“I will,” I say.
He fidgets, shifting his weight, which makes me look up. “I should apologize,” he says.
“Well, that’s almost enough to make me fall over the railing,” I say.
“Not for what I said about the prince,” he says quickly. “Of course not.”
“But I shouldn’t have been so crass. Karri would never forgive me.” He pauses, running his hand across his jaw. “I am sorry, Tessa.”
He sounds genuine, so I nod. “Thank you,” I say.
“I’m not … I’m not worried about him tossing me overboard anymore.”
My eyebrows go up. Maybe Corrick has built a bit of trust with the rebel somehow.
But then Lochlan adds, “I don’t think the captain would allow it, you know? He’s a good man.”
I’m struck by the confidence in his tone. So much so that my hands go still. “I think so, too.”
He nods. “I thought this whole thing was a little crazy at first. Just a trick to put me on the bottom of the ocean. But now … now I’m more worried that the prince will ruin our chance to get more medicine. That he’ll spit in the face of the Ostrian king and we’ll go home empty-handed.”
“Prince Corrick has more political savvy than that,” I say.
“Well. Maybe.” He screws up his face, then glances at the stairwell. “Do you want me to bring you some food back?”
I blink in surprise—and for a fraction of a second, I realize it shouldn’t be a surprise. He brought me Karri’s candies last night. I am kind, he said.
Maybe he is, and I just never looked beyond the obvious. “No, thank you,” I say. “I’ll be down in a moment.”
He nods, then turns away.
Without warning, the main deck is suddenly as empty as it was this morning, when I first woke. Wind tugs at my braids and lifts the nets around my boots, but I don’t mind the quiet twilight, where the only sounds are suddenly the
sounds of the ship: waves slapping the hull, the creak of wooden beams, the faint jingle of chains attached to the rigging.
When a man emerges from the stairwell a few minutes later, his features are in silhouette, so I assume it’s a member of the crew. But then I recognize the line of his jaw and the familiarity of his movements. Corrick.
I keep my eyes on the nets. I can’t decide if I want him to come over here—or if I want him to keep his distance. The needle slips over and under, closing gaps.
I stay so focused on my task that I don’t realize he’s approached until he’s right in front of me. I hardly look up past his boots, but I can tell he has a plate in one hand, a wooden cup in the other.
“You aren’t eating?” he says.
His voice is quiet, but not tentative. I can’t read anything from his tone.
“I wanted to finish this first.”
The sun sinks a little lower in the sky, lengthening the shadows between us.
After a moment, Corrick steps to the side, then drops to sit on the bench beside me.
“You must be hungry,” he says, and his voice is low. “I’m happy to share, Miss Cade.”
In the dark, he always reminds me of Wes, and without warning, my throat tightens. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. Here.” He selects a berry from the plate, then lifts it to my mouth.
It feels too intimate, and there’s too much unsaid between us. For a heartbeat of time, I’m not sure what to do.
That berry hovers in front of my lips, and I say, “Are you
sure you want your fingers near my teeth?” Light glints in his eyes. “I’ll risk it.”
I take the berry, careful not to touch his fingers. Sweetness explodes on my tongue. I really am hungry. “I have a needle in my hands, too.”
“I’m not worried. You once had a chance to poison me, and you didn’t do it.” He holds up another berry.
I take this one more readily. “I punched you below the belt, though.”
He winces. “I think I’ve blocked that memory.”
Another berry. This time his fingers brush my lips, and it’s the tiniest movement, but warmth shoots to my cheeks.
I swallow hard. My voice goes a bit breathy as I say, “I need to finish the nets.”
“You really don’t.”
“I said I would. I’d like to keep my word.”
His eyes narrow. “To whom? Rian?” He says it like he already expects the answer.
“No. To Sablo. He’s the one who showed me how. Rian has been busy all afternoon.” I pause. “Maybe you’d know if you weren’t hiding in your quarters all day.”
“Hiding?” Corrick’s eyebrows go up. “Is that what you think I’ve been doing?”
“Well, you went on a ‘tour’ of the ship and never reappeared, so—”
“I’ve been trying to avoid conflict, Tessa.” He lifts another berry, but he doesn’t offer this one to me. He pops it into his own mouth. His voice is still low, but a conspiratorial note has entered his tone. “I’ve been in conversation with Rocco and Kilbourne. The captain has a locked room on the ship that he won’t allow us to access.”
“Why?”
“He says it’s full of weapons he doesn’t want us to have.”
I frown. “I don’t understand.”
“He says he doesn’t want us to have access to weapons that would allow us to overtake the ship.”
“Why would you want to overtake the ship?”
“Exactly,” Corrick says. “It feels like overkill. I don’t like it. I don’t trust it. Rian has offered to dock at Port Karenin to allow us to disembark.”
I think about this for a minute. “So he’s keeping these weapons locked up because he doesn’t trust you, and you’re thinking about abandoning this mission because you don’t trust him.”
“Do you trust him?”
I consider the conversation I just had with Lochlan. “The captain has been nothing but kind—”
“No. Tessa.” Corrick leans close. “I know you hate me right now, but on this, I truly need your judgment. Please.”
That hits me like an arrow. “I don’t hate you.” I swallow and glance over at the deck. More of the crew is emerging from below, their hands full of plates and cups. “I don’t think the captain is trying to trick anyone at all. I’ve heard a bit of what’s happened in Ostriary, and I believe he’s truly worried for his crew.”
His blue eyes hold mine. “Tell me.”
I keep my voice low and tell him about Sablo, how he wouldn’t sell information to King Galen, but he was punished by Oren Crane anyway. “Gwyn said the captain rescued him,” I say. “You remember what Marchon said when we were in the palace, how he would look for survivors and pick them up, regardless of what side they were on.” I hesitate, thinking of Rian’s voice when we were suspended on the rigging, fifty feet above the swirling river currents.
Surely you can understand my confusion about the company you keep, and whether you’re at risk—or whether you’re at his side by your own choosing.
“Rian is very protective,” I say. “Protective,” Corrick echoes.
I can feel heat climbing my throat, and I stab the needle through the last bit of netting.
He studies me, then says, “Have you met Anya? Gwyn’s daughter?”
I frown. “The little girl?” I say. “I met her in the galley.” “She has scars up and down her arms.” He nods at some
of the crewmen. “Many of them seem battle worn.”
“Well, he did say they were just at war, and Gwyn said he doesn’t approve of rulers mistreating their people. Maybe they’ve all run afoul of this Oren Crane. What did Rocco say?”
“Nothing of consequence. Here.” He lifts another berry.
I turn my face away. “Wait. You spent the afternoon with your guards and they said nothing of consequence?”
“Well.” He shrugs, then eats the berry himself. “Nothing I’m able to share.”
I scowl, then knot off my last line of repair to the nets. “Of course not, Your Highness.”
He frowns. “You’re angry with me again.”
“Last night, you climbed onto the ship and acted like you’d finally been given leave to touch me. Today, you’ve hardly spoken to me, and now you’re trying to charm me into sharing secrets.”
He blinks, startled, and then he shifts closer. “I am not trying to—”
“Honestly, Corrick. If you’re not going to be forthright with me, just leave me alone. I’ll bring your evening dose to your quarters after dinner.”
“Tessa.” He leans close, but I’m done with this. I try to shove him away, but he catches my wrist.
His grip isn’t tight, but it’s secure, and my breath stutters.
A male voice speaks up. “Let her go.”
For a moment, I think it’s Rian, but it’s not. It’s Lochlan. Brock is by his side, along with a few other members of the crew.
Corrick goes still. Any emotion in his eyes vanishes.
But he doesn’t let go of my wrist. His grip is too tight for me to break his hold.
I stare across at him. Cruel Corrick. That’s what people in the Wilds used to call him.
That’s what I used to call him.
My breathing is tight and shallow. I don’t know what to do. He’s stronger than I am; I can feel the strength in his grip.
“Let her go.” Gwyn’s voice.
Rocco has drawn up from the shadows to stand near the prince.
“Now, Your Highness.” I don’t see the captain, but I hear his voice. I remember his comment from this morning. No one fights on my ship.
I guess we’re going to see in a moment.
But then Corrick speaks, his voice smooth and unaffected. “Miss Cade, perhaps you’ve forgotten that you have a needle in your hand.”
My eyes flick to my hand, to the needle that’s still clutched between my knuckles, almost invisible in the gathering darkness.
Corrick sets his plate aside, then reaches up to pluck the thin strip of metal from my fingers. He lets go of my wrist, and his eyes hold mine. “I didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
I swallow hard. I don’t know what to say.
He offers the needle on his palm. “If you want to strike at me, at the very least I urge you to do it bare-handed.”
I take the needle, rolling it sheepishly between my fingers. He was right. It could have gone right through my palm.
We still have a bit of a crowd, but some of the tension has dissipated. “Is that offer open to all of us?” says Lochlan.
Corrick ignores him. “I’ll leave the food,” he says. “I know you’re hungry.” He stands. “Rocco, I’ll return to my quarters. Stay with Miss Cade.”
My heart is beating so fast. “Corrick,” I whisper.
His eyes finally meet mine. “I know people expect the worst of me,” he says quietly. “I didn’t realize you were among them.”
I shake my head, but he’s already turned away.
The crewmen yield a path, and the gathering darkness swallows him up.
