The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)

 

 

I passed a hand over my eyes. “It’s all these damn buttons.”

 

“Laisse moi.” Kash shooed me away from the door.

 

I turned, pulling the embroidered sleeves up over my arms—they lay just off the shoulder, creating a wide, scooped neckline. Kashmir shut the door and stood behind me, his knuckles grazing my bare skin as he started on the buttons at the small of my back. I bit my lip, trying not to shiver, hoping he didn’t notice my goose bumps. “What were you and Blake talking about at the tavern?”

 

“Killing each other.”

 

“What?” I half turned, but he tugged at the row of button loops; I could hear the smile in his voice.

 

“I think a world exists where he and I could be great friends. Hopefully this is that world.” He hesitated, just a moment. “He did notice something interesting. It seems we both remember the past—the real past. The one you remember.”

 

“Really?” Relief welled up in my chest.

 

“Baleh. But only as one remembers a dream.”

 

“But that’s still good,” I said, hopeful. “At least the memory isn’t gone.”

 

“For better or for worse,” he said. Reaching my shoulder blades, he paused to brush my hair aside, his touch feather soft. “I wonder if there are some things I would rather forget.”

 

My hand found the pendant at my throat. “Like what?”

 

“Perhaps that’s a story best left for another day.” He sighed then, and his breath was warm on my shoulders. Gently he adjusted the lie of the fabric against my skin, smoothing it down my back. “Turn around?”

 

I did, sweeping the waterfall bustle behind me; the skirt was a lacy dimity cotton the color of cream, more nineteenth century than seventeenth, but it was my best gown. And after seeing Crowhurst’s yacht, it seemed pointless to stick to one era in clothing.

 

Kashmir’s eyes swept down from my throat to my hips to the lace of the hem. “Lovely,” he murmured.

 

“This is the one you helped design, remember? Back in Hawaii.”

 

“Ah, yes. But I wasn’t talking about the dress.” He grinned, elbowing me, and I smiled back.

 

“Thank you,” I said. “For coming with me tonight. I know you don’t trust Crowhurst.”

 

“Exactly why I would not let you go alone. We may not agree, but you are my captain,” he said simply. “I will always follow you.”

 

There was a feeling in my stomach—like being at the crest of a wave: ready to fly, frightened to fall. I fell. “You’d best get dressed, then.”

 

“Right.” He turned to rummage in his closet, but not before the light went out of his eyes. “We don’t want to keep the king waiting.”

 

Topside, my father was pacing the deck. He’d put on an old pair of dark breeches and a high-collared black jacket; they were good pieces, but they hung loose on his frame. When was the last time he’d eaten? But he’d brushed his hair and shined his shoes, and energy hummed through his body; he was alive once more. “Let’s go!” he said, starting for the gangplank the moment he saw my head pop through the hatch.

 

“We’re waiting on Blake and Kash,” I said. He swore, though he did not protest. I watched him as he went back to pacing. The reddish-blond beard he’d been growing since Honolulu had gotten quite thick. Beards were practically a requirement for men of the era, but with the myth of Ker-Ys in the back of my mind, I half wanted to ask him to shave. And when Kash followed Blake through the hatch in a scarlet frock coat with gold-embroidered cuffs, a shiver skittered up my spine. “No. Not red.”

 

Kash raised an eyebrow, but Slate had already surged forward, like a dog released from a leash. “We’re going to be late!” he said, striding onto the wharf without looking back.

 

We hurried behind him, leaving Bee and Rotgut playing chess belowdecks, with Billie sleeping atop their feet. When I’d asked if they wanted to come, Bee had given me a dark look. “We’ll stay with the ship, my girl.”

 

“What’s bothering you?”

 

“I don’t like the way these people sneer,” she’d said. “They whisper behind their hands. They won’t meet my eyes. I don’t want to walk about at night.”

 

“I’m sorry, Bee.”

 

She’d only waved her hand. “It’s not the first time and place this has happened. But as a utopia, it could use some work.”