Only none of that would matter if we didn’t stop Eurus from releasing the Minax from the Obscurum. That was the difference. That was what had changed. When you don’t know if there’s a tomorrow, you realize quickly what matters most. I couldn’t afford to waste another moment with him.
As he loosened his hold, I squeezed him harder, telling him without words that his feelings for me were not one-sided. His lips rested against my hair and I breathed his scent, which was both calming and exciting at the same time. Finally, he set me back slightly. “I’m making you cold. You’re shivering.”
“That’s not from cold.” I lifted a brow and added boldly, “It’s the feel of you that makes me shiver.” I smiled when he shivered in response.
A lantern was extinguished, then another. I realized we should go our separate ways, say good night. But I wasn’t ready.
“We haven’t talked about Marella,” I ventured. “She was a friend to us both.”
His jaw squared and he looked away. “I can’t even let myself think about what she tried to do. It merely makes me want to kill her myself.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t see it. When I visited her on your ship, I was so worried about her.” I paused. “You must be worried about her still.” He’d known her all his life.
My feelings about Marella were complicated. She had been an ally against King Rasmus, then a friend, then a betrayer. I wondered if she’d known what she was doing when she first hosted the Minax. It had used her to get to its twin and Eurus. She had become a victim in the end. Whatever she had done, she didn’t deserve to die for it. I admitted to myself then that I wanted to find and rescue Marella, too, if we could.
“I can’t help but regret what happened to her,” Arcus said finally, echoing my thoughts as he sometimes did. “But I’m far more worried about you. Are you… can you feel its presence?”
We had to be very careful to hide my secret on the ship. If word got out to the crew that a Minax was on board, it would be pandemonium. I knew the superstitions of sailors, and this would horrify even the most skeptical of souls.
“Not so much.” I wondered how to describe it. “It’s… dormant, I suppose is the best word. I know it’s there but barely.”
“Good,” he said, wrapping an arm around my back and pulling me close. “I hope it stays that way.”
“Me too.”
“And how do you feel about… what Eurus said?”
“That I’m a Nightblood?” Even the word chilled me. Night was too vast, too inevitable. You could light a candle and hide, but you could never fight it. And I carried it in my veins. I rubbed my upper arms to warm them and tried to hide my fear. “I don’t want to believe it. Part of me hopes it’s not true, even though there are signs it is. The mark. The way I can host the creature without feeling sick. My ability to control the Minax to the degree that one destroyed the other.”
“You are remarkable,” he whispered. “I hope you know that. The things you’ve done. The things you’ve had to face.”
I didn’t feel remarkable. At the moment, I felt small and scared. Unequal to everything that I’d have to do, without a clear picture of what that even was. And tired. So tired.
So I leaned more heavily on him as I said, “But even though I don’t want to believe it, well… I have to face the truth. I am the”—I lowered my voice—“Child of Darkness.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said with quiet vehemence. “At least, I don’t believe it’s something evil. If that’s what you are, then it’s not bad. Because everything about you is just as it should be.”
I chuckled, surprised. “I thought you said I rush into danger and take unnecessary risks. You told me I was selfish.”
“I was the selfish one. I just wanted you to stay. But if you hadn’t come here, we’d never have discovered how to destroy the Minax.”
“We don’t know how to destroy the other one, unfortunately.”
“Have you… tried?”
“You mean… just by willing it to die? No. I… I don’t think that would work.”
I was terrified that if I reached out mentally, it would wake again. I still didn’t know how or why it was dormant. It had occurred to me that if the Minax did share human traits as Brother Thistle had once implied, that the creature could actually be grieving for its dead sibling. It had yearned for its twin for years—centuries. On the other hand, grief and death were fuel for the Minax. That could be making it stronger.
As usual, when I dwelled on the Minax too much, my spirits sank. Arcus sensed the shift and pulled me tighter. The feel of his strength surrounding me was a balm on my soul. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his chest.
The sound of a throat clearing made me jerk back reflexively. “Sorry,” Kai said softly as he came into the lantern light, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m a little jumpy for some reason,” I replied with a smile. For a second, I felt awkward, guilty about being wrapped in Arcus’s embrace when Kai and I had kissed—and not a chaste peck, either—just a few days ago. I still had all the warm feelings of friendship for Kai, and a few nebulous ones that might be more than friendship. But once I’d seen Arcus again, it had clarified things for me. I just hadn’t had a chance to put them into words yet.
I watched Kai’s face for signs of bitterness or jealousy, but there were none, so I allowed myself to relax.
“Can’t imagine why,” he quipped. His teasing was reassuring.
“So do you think you can get us to Tempesia in record time?” I asked.
“Of course.” His expression was so delightfully arrogant, I almost wanted to laugh.
Kai cleared his throat again. “Do you have a moment?”
Arcus’s arm slid away from me. “Excuse me, I’d better go make sure my crew hasn’t taken the best berths. Or been forced to sleep in the brig.” He strode off in the direction of the hatch, and I watched him go, glad that he’d tactfully left me alone with Kai without showing any animosity toward him.
Kai moved to lean on the railing beside me, a careful distance away, and tilted his head. “How are you, little bird?”
I was glad he used my nickname, another sign that he wasn’t upset with me. “Mostly I’m just tired. I feel worse for the queen. She seemed so… broken.”
“She seemed stronger when I visited her before we left. You didn’t want to come with me, if you recall.”
“I feel so guilty. As if I betrayed her.”
“For trying to save her? That is ridiculous. What happened after was not your fault.” He sighed. “I keep wondering, though, whether Prince Eiko is alive. Do you think his mind is in there somewhere?”
“I truly don’t know.” Eurus probably wasn’t like the Minax, who shared the space in your mind. A wind god would have far more power than his creation, and he seemed to have no scruples about snuffing out insignificant lives to suit his convenience. “We need to be prepared for the worst.”
“Except the worst keeps getting… worse.”
I chuckled. “We couldn’t have prepared for Eurus.”
As I said the name, a puff of wind came from the east, filling the sails to bursting before dying off.
“I’ll remember not to say that name again,” I whispered, rubbing the goose bumps on my arms.
“I’d appreciate that,” Kai replied softly.
I took a deep breath and looked down. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the real reason I came to Sudesia. I should have trusted you.”
I lifted my head slowly, scared of what I might see on his face. Anger? Hurt? Contempt? That would be worst of all.
But what I saw in his eyes, golden in the lantern light and a little wide, was something warm and open. Sympathy. Understanding. Something harder to identify. As he caught me watching him, his eyelids fell to half mast, and his mouth quirked in that typical teasing smile that warmed me by degrees until I couldn’t help but return the look.
My spirits, I realized, had lifted somewhere above the mainmast. “Do you forgive me?”
“I suppose I must,” he said, flicking an invisible piece of lint from his pristine black doublet. “Normally I would hold a grudge for such an offense. But one might say, Princess Ruby, without exaggeration, that you are an exception to all rules.”