16
Fiona
She gazed at the Proserpine as they drew nearer. The closer they got, the more the fog lifted, and the world around them grew crisper.
The ship loomed over them, only twenty feet away now. It was oddly beautiful, a remnant from another age. Warm, inviting light glowed through an arched window in the hull.
Two enormous masts towered over the deck—maybe a hundred feet in the air. A third, smaller mast stood closer to the stern. The sails were the color of bone, and between them, a network of ropes crisscrossed the air like a spider’s web.
The boat pulled up alongside the galley, and Nod tapped out his pipe into the sea. A rope ladder climbed up the hull, and Nod was up it within moments, propelled by his serious arm muscles.
Lir fastened the rowboat to the side of the ship with a rope, shooting her a stern look. “Go on up.”
She gripped the rough rope, shivering in the chill breeze as she climbed. It wasn’t as easy as Nod had made it look.
Hoisting herself to the deck at last, she found it quiet—nearly empty in the moonlight, apart from Nod and another Picaroon. The man’s dark dreadlocks hung down his back, sun-bleached at the ends.
“Fiona.” Captain Nod beckoned her over, a drink already sloshing in his hand. “This is Jacques. Our only crew member from Dogtown.”
Fiona crossed the deck, hugging herself for warmth.
Jacques smiled at her. His skin was a deep brown, and something about his dimpled cheeks told her he was popular with the ladies. “I didn’t think we’d be getting a girl. Not that I object.”
She was too tired for anything other than a grunt.
Nod lifted a finger. “Now, Jacques. You know the rules.”
“Trust me, I don’t plan on breaking any.”
Captain Nod lifted his cup, staring at the cloudless night sky. Milky moonlight streamed over his skin, giving him a silvery glow. “It’s not all misery and rules here. Our familiarity with death teaches us how to really live. Look above you, Fiona.”
When she tilted back her head, she saw that the stars shone bright against a midnight backdrop.
Nod’s voice was low and reverent. “While the rest of the world spins by, we live under the immutable light of the North Star, in unchanging perfection. Dagon grants us life.”
He lifted his cup to the stars, and Jacques followed suit. “Dagon grants us life.”
Fiona’s teeth chattered, and Nod glanced at her, breaking out of his trance. “Lir. Show the girl to her quarters. And get her some clothes she can sail in.”
Lir paused in his march across the deck, shooting his brother an irritated glare. “Fine,” he said without looking at Fiona. “Follow me to the forecastle, milady.”
Despite the cold, she was almost reluctant to leave his side and their view of the stars. Without speaking, she followed Lir past the tall masts and toward a raised deck in the stern. Apparently, this was the forecastle.
Lir yanked open a door, and she followed him into a dark and narrow stairwell. She ran her fingers along the wooden walls to steady herself on the uneven stairs.
When Lir muttered to himself, she recognized the spell for light, and a foxfire orb flickered before him, lighting their way through a narrow hall.
Lir pushed open a door to a small cabin. A narrow bed lay jammed against the left wall, and a wooden table stood beside it. Apart from a lantern on the table, the rest of the room was bare. “This is the last room left.” He held open the door, gesturing for her to enter. “I hope you didn’t expect anything luxurious.”
“I’ve been sleeping in a kennel.” And before that, she’d been chained to a wall awaiting her own execution. “I think I’ll be fine.”
Lir stared at her for a few moments too long, as though trying to read her. With his shirt hanging open at the neck, she could see the tattoos on the top of his chest—curling points like the ends of tentacles. “I’ll get you some clothes from my room.” His eyes ran over her body. “I don’t think you’ll fit my trousers.”
She dropped onto the bed, rubbing her arms. “I have leggings. I only need a shirt.”
“Leggings?” He drew out the word, as though it were in a foreign language, before turning and leaving her in the dark.
Chanting Queen Boudicca’s Inferno sparked flame in the lantern, and the warm light danced over her tiny room. It smelled of damp wood and rosemary—oddly comforting.
Her spine stiffened at the sounds of Lir rummaging around in the next room over. Great. Her room was right next to his, separated only by a thin wooden wall. She’d be just a few feet away from the tentacle guy every night.
He pushed the door open again, nodding at the lantern. “I see you’ve learned some Angelic, then.” He tossed a white shirt at her—many sizes too large.