“Just now.” I shrug.
Jem’s face unravels to entirely bemused. “Why would ye think that?”
“Just…felt ominous.” I shrug again, feeling stupid now. “Over there at the end of the bed, something to tell me…”
“I see.” His face pinches into a smile.
“I’m glad you didn’t?” I offer.
“Aye, sure.” Jem sniffs. “Me too.”
I sit on my hands, feeling embarrassed as I purse my lips. “I said mean things about you in my head,” I blurt out.
He laughs now, a big one. Barrely and deep.
“Did ye?” He sits up, shaking his head. “Like what?”
“Oh.” I shrug airily. “Just, you know, pirate this, pirate that, serves me right for falling in l—”
I stop myself short. My face freezes, eyes wide in a mortified horror. Not him though. His smile is cracked wide, eyes delighted.
“In what?” he asks, mouth open, waiting.
“Nothing.” I shake my head quickly.
“No.” He shakes his head back. “Go on.”
I inspect my hands thoroughly. “No, it was nothing. I didn’t say anything else. I said it serves me right for falling in…your…vicinity. Because I fell.” I nod at him. “Near you.” I nod again. “Remember?”
“Aye.” He nods back. “I remember.”
I throw myself out of bed and scurry over to where my new dresses he had made for me hang. I love them. They look like the kind of dresses someone who lives with a pirate might wear.
I pull the shirt on over my head—big billowy sleeves that fall off my shoulders—and then I tug on the big, pillowy, white linen skirt with an embarrassingly high slit up the side.
Jem walks over towards me as I wrap the black leather underbust waist corset around myself, and he takes the lacing from me, threading and tugging it together, and I don’t know why having him put clothes on my body is equally thrilling as him taking them off me.
He ducks down so our eyes catch.
“You d?nnae want to say it first?”
I put my nose in the air. “I don’t know to what you’re even referring.”
Jem sniffs a laugh, holds my waist in one of his hands, and pulls me in towards him, brushing his mouth over mine.
“Fer what it’s worth.” He gives me a look that makes me turn to a puddle. “I fell a long time ago.”
“This is nice,” Orson says, nodding his chin at Jamison and me as we stroll through the summer rainforest hand in hand towards where the council is held.
Jem rolls his eyes but lifts my hand to his mouth, kissing it all the same.
“Haven’t seen Jam this happy in…” Orson thinks to himself. “Ever.”
Jem rolls his eyes again.
“You two have been friends for how long?” I look between them.
Jem glances at me and says nothing, but Orson juts his chin in Jem’s direction.
“Jam found me when I was seventeen.”
“On the island that Peter left you on?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Peter left me for dead on a sinking ship because I was seventeen. Took Brodie because he was eleven.”
I feel the need to protest because that can’t be right, but Jem squeezes my hand, and I feel it isn’t the time.
Orson tosses Jem a tender, grateful smile before he looks over at me. “Yer with a good man now,” he tells me before walking up ahead.
Hook looks over at me. “Ye feeling okay about seeing him again?”
“Peter?” I purse my lips. “I’m a tiny bit nervous.”
“Sure, aye.” He nods. “I’ll be with ye though.”
I kiss his shoulder because it’s what I can reach as we’re walking.
I spot what I guess is the council meeting place a few kilometres away. A stone, open, outdoor rotunda that runs over the little river that splits the summer land from the spring. The summer side is all giant palm leaves, birds of paradise, and flowers as big as your head, and spring is wildflowers as far as the eye can see, with moss growing up oak trees that are so big and so magnificent, you get the distinct impression they predate any of this.
As we get closer, Jamison lets go of my hand, but he gives me a smile that I think is supposed to be reassuring.
When we walk in, Peter’s not there yet, and I’m relieved.
But Itheelia is; so are Day and Rye. Rye’s with two older men I don’t know and one who looks about our age.
Rye pushes back from the table he’s seated at and walks straight over to me, throwing both arms around me.
“They said you left,” he tells me as he pulls back.
I glance over at Jem, who’s saying hello to his mother.
Rye’s voice goes lower. “Calla told me what happened.”
I’m not sure how accurate Calla’s version of events will be, but I give him a quick smile.
“They didn’t have sex,” he tells me, and I give him a look, because for one, I’m not sure that it’s true, and either way, I don’t particularly think that it matters.
“They may as well have.”
“They still haven’t,” Rye insists. “She won’t. Our mother would kill her. There’s an old woman in our village who knows if you’ve done it or not, and she tells the person you’re betrothed to.”
I pull a face at him. “That seems invasive.”
He gives me a look. “It is.” He looks me up and down. “Are you dressed like a pirate?”
“What else am I going to wear?” I shrug, defensive. “Peter didn’t let me take anything.”
And then Jem comes up behind me and puts his hand on my back.
I see Rye see it, stare at it for a few seconds, before he looks over at me.
Jamison reaches over, extending his hand to Rye. He takes it; they shake. Then Jem sits down.
Rye looks over at me. “So you’re okay then?”
I nod. “I’m okay.”
I’m better than okay, but I suspect I shouldn’t be too enthusiastic about it.
My friend leans over and kisses my cheek. “I’m glad.”
Then he goes back and sits with his dad as I sit down next to Jamison.
Itheelia gives me a little wave as Day clears his throat.
“Should we start?”
“Is Aanya not coming?” asks one of the men with Rye, the sterner-looking one of the two.
Day shakes his head at him, and then the man’s eyes fall to me. “Who are you?”
“That’s Daphne, Dad,” Rye says to him.* “I told you about her.”
The other man nods. I think he’s the chief.
“The new girl,” he says, eyes settling on me, and I wonder if he does a fraction of a double take. What would you call that? A quarter take?
Jem tilts his head, considering this. “Sure, but she’s been here fer some time now.”
“And why is she sitting with you?” the old man asks.
“She’s under my care, Sorrel,” Jamison says, which I think to myself that that’s a funny way of saying we’re together.
Rye’s father’s eyes squeeze. “Why is she not under the boy’s care?”
“Is anyone?” Orson asks with a glare.
“Because he banished me,” I tell Rye’s father, not enjoying being spoken for. I flash the old man a curt smile.
“For what?” he asks, looking at me a bit impatiently.