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Meliz eyed the interior with a sniff. “I’ll have some food and fresh clothes sent down.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Dom replied without thought, forgetting his own bare chest.
The captain gave him a withering look. “Yes it is.”
Flushing, Dom made a low sound like a grumble. “Thank you,” he ground out.
“Make yourself worthy of my kindness, Elder,” Meliz snapped back, before leaving them both with a sweep of her coat and long, black hair.
Sorasa wasted no time, pushing into the cabin as she unlaced her leathers, fingers skipping neatly down the seams of her ruined jacket.
Dom lingered in the doorway, examining the walls of the narrow cabin with a sour look. There was a single small window, the glass so thick it barely let in any light at all, a little ledge for the basin, and a thin bed against the wall.
“Hardly an Elder palace,” Sorasa offered, filling the silence. She threw off her jacket with little regard, then kicked off her old boots. “I think you’ll survive.”
Her heartbeat did not change, but Dom’s thrummed. His bare skin suddenly felt hot against the close, damp air.
Swallowing, he looked to the walls again. A twitchy cabin boy appeared in the doorway, leaving behind a pile of clothes before disappearing again.
“I had more room in my dungeon,” Dom muttered, measuring the space in his mind.
Sorasa inspected the clothing, laying out a pair of shirts. Both were worn but clean, thick white cotton with laces at the collar.
“You’re welcome to go back,” she said, turning her back to the door.
Her ruined undershirt slipped over her head and fell to the floor, her muscled back exposed to the cold air. Dom spun on one heel, avoiding the sight of bare skin and fresh bruises. A few of the scars he knew, courtesy of a sea serpent or an Ashlander. Even just a passing glance had burned her many tattoos into his mind. A line of letters marched along her spine, another set of symbols inked down her skeletal ribs. The last of them stood out painfully, more scar than tattoo. Dom knew it marked her as an exile, cast out of the Amhara Guild.
The sight of it seared something in him, his own ribs itching. He had to restrain himself from holding on to the image, counting the tattoos and scars, each mark another letter in the long tale of Sorasa Sarn.
“You should have more to eat,” he said without looking back to her. His keen ears picked up the sound of fabric sliding over skin as she pulled the shirt over her head.
“Youshould take care of yourself for once, Elder,” Sorasa bit back at him, all venom. “Here.”
He turned in time to catch the other long tunic, snatching it out of the air. She faced him across the doorway, still undressing. The tunic covered most of her, too long, and she shucked off her breeches without a thought.
Dom wanted to turn around again but it felt like admitting defeat. Everything about Sorasa was a challenge, no matter the circumstance. Tightening his jaw, he pulled the stolen clothing over his head. It stretched wide over his chest and shoulders, barely fitting his broad frame. With a burst of satisfaction, he noticed Sorasa’s own concentration falter, her eyes flickering over his skin for a brief second.
It didn’t last long.
“Stand guard or sleep, but do something useful.” Her voice sharpened. “I can take first watch if you need.”
He bristled, falling into his usual scowl. “I do not trust a ship of pirates.”
“Even Corayne’s mother?” Sorasa all but laughed, shaking her head. “Even I know to trust her. Besides, I’ll take pirates over a Spindle.”
“And what of Sigil? Will your scrap of red signal to her across the endless miles of the realm?”
The beat of Sorasa’s heart betrayed her. Dom heard her pulse quicken and saw the feather thrum of the vein in her neck.
“Sigil is either trapped back in the harbor, or free on the waves, her ship escaping with our own,” she finally said, her voice cold. “I can only hope for the latter now.”
Then her face softened a little.
“We have a long road ahead of us, Dom. Make ready for it.”
Much as she tried to hide it, Dom saw the exhaustion creep over her. He felt it too, heavier than anything he’d ever carried. It ran bone-deep now, after so many months. Only moving forward kept it at bay.
Dom did not know what to do now, when he could run no further, and do nothing but wait.
