“I don’t want that on my ship!” Lortimer cried, retreating up the gangplank. “I won’t have the Gifted on this vessel.”
“Then you won’t see a single coin,” Kjell roared, “And we will unload our cargo and our people now, and you will answer to my sword before you will answer to the king.” His temper seared the fog from his head, but it didn’t ease the ache behind his eyes. He’d had enough sniveling and second-guessing to last him a lifetime.
Padrig palmed the light and turned toward Jerick.
Jerick took one look at the pulsing orb, and stumbled back, dropping the bags he still carried.
“Jerick!” Kjell thundered, “We promised we would help you. Be still.”
Jerick froze, his eyes on his captain, and he nodded, displaying the same trust that was as much a part of him as the color of his eyes or the impudence he’d never been able to suppress. Padrig lowered the light over his head and Jerick shuddered, his eyes rolling back and his legs buckling.
“It doesn’t hurt, Captain,” Padrig reassured.
“How would you know this, Padrig? You are awfully glib with other people’s pain,” Kjell said, watching his lieutenant straighten and awareness settle over his features. A guard reached for Jerick’s arm, steadying him, and Jerick’s eyes found Kjell, shock and wonder flitting across his features.
Isak had reached the main deck, Gibbous on his heels, and Kjell could already see the suffering on the older man’s face. He waited to address Jerick until Gibbous stopped in front of him and dropped to one knee.
“Captain, forgive me,” Gibbous moaned, bowing his head.
“Not a word, Gibbous. You and Jerick will billet on the other ship and spend your first night in the brig. We won’t speak of this again.” Kjell turned to include Jerick in his statement. “I know you acted to protect me, but in doing so, you lost my trust.” From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of red and pale blue skirts. Sasha stood on the quarterdeck, her hands gripping the rail, tears streaming down her cheeks. He knew she’d heard him, knew his words had pierced her, and he let his rebellious gaze and traitorous heart acknowledge her, absolving her, before he addressed the ship’s captain.
“Prepare to sail, Lortimer,” Kjell ordered, and with as much dignity and strength as he could muster, he walked up the gangplank, trusting that his men would—this time—do exactly what he asked.
***
For two days, Sasha stayed in her quarters, never setting foot on deck, never seeking him out. The two maids who quartered with her reported that she was seasick, and Kjell consoled himself with the fact that her cabin was probably the safest place for her. She wasn’t the only one who suffered. The seas were mild, remarkably so, but the motion of the ship and the endless movement was not something Kjell could even attempt to heal in any of the travelers. It would be futile. The sickness would simply rise again, brought on by the waves and the interminable rocking.
Kjell felt no ill effects from the sea. He’d recovered from his bout with fury, betrayal, and drugged wine by remaining above deck where there was little to do but stay out of the way, and he enjoyed the peace of having no one looking to him or depending on him, if just for a day or two. Instead of sleeping in the officers’ quarters or bunking with his men, he slept on the quarterdeck, climbing up to the crow’s nest on the second morning despite the warning jest from Pascal, the first mate, that he was so big he would tip the boat over if he climbed too high. Kjell was used to his size and had carried it around most of his life. It had never stopped him before. He ignored the first mate and scrambled up the rigging until he reached the lookout. Bracing his legs as wide as the little platform would allow, he spent an hour getting to know the sea through his spyglass.
The waters had grown steadily bluer as they’d traveled farther from land. Kjell had never seen a color like it and wondered if the creatures beneath the surface were as brilliantly hued. A pod of whales—so many he thought for a moment he was seeing an island comprised of great, glistening rocks—rose to the surface, and trailed the two ships at a benign distance. They were beautiful, nonthreatening, and peaceful, but his enjoyment of their simplistic existence was marred by his suspicion that every beast below them and every bird above them was a Changer with unpredictable intentions.
In the quiet of the second night, he was awakened by a hand on his sleeve and a timid voice in his ear. He shot to his feet, ready to do battle with a wolf who had morphed into a whale, but discovered a weary maid instead. She cowered below him, her hands raised to ward him off, and he scrubbed at his eyes and lowered his blade.
“I’m s-s-sorry for waking you, Captain,” she squeaked. “But the queen is so sick. She can’t keep anything down, and she’s burning up. She’s been burning up for two days. I’m afraid, and I don’t know what to do. I saw you heal the blacksmith. Maybe you can help her?”
He helped the poor woman to her feet and followed her down the hatch into the belly of the ship. The passages were made for smaller men, but he bent his head and dismissed the guard outside the queen’s cabin with directions to go to bed. He would take watch.
The two women traveling with the queen had kept Sasha clean and as comfortable as possible, but the stench of sickness clung to the air, and their fear was evident by the way they huddled and fussed. Sasha’s skin was so hot and dry he cursed. When her eyes fluttered open, misery-filled and feverish, he swore again.
“I’m just seasick, Captain. It happens every time,” she reassured weakly. “It will pass.”
He swooped her up, bringing her blankets with her, and the maids scrambled to open the small door and clear the way, hurrying behind him as he maneuvered sideways through the corridors, lifting the trailing covers like bridesmaids smoothing a veil.
“She needs fresh air. Bring me water, another pillow, and then try to get some rest. I will see to her until morning,” he instructed. The women wilted in relief and rushed to obey. He sat with his back against the rail, eschewing the barrels lining one side for the deck, sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, Sasha in his lap, her head against his chest. The temperature of her skin and the new frailty in her body made his stomach knot anxiously, but the air was clean and the breeze soft, lifting tendrils of her hair and stroking her cheeks sympathetically.
Her vision, her balance, her whole being was turned inside out, as if the gift that gave her second sight made her more sensitive to motion. Over and over he helped her stand and braced her as she leaned out over the glossy water and retched, her belly convulsing uselessly. He urged her to drink, even if she couldn’t keep the water down.