“Of course. Hopefully, I’ll see you out there soon.” I jerk my head toward the deck, just before closing the door.
I turn quickly, expecting to find Weston standing in the room, waiting for me, but it is empty.
He kept his word. Even after my teasing, he still didn’t hover. He trusted me and believed I could handle myself. My chest tightens, but the feeling quickly turns heavy as I think about everything I just learned from Taril.
Something more is going on with Dane.
Could it have to do with the dust? Is he becoming more erratic because it is dwindling further, and he still doesn’t have any answers? Unless he’s told more of the Voyagers, Weston, Sig, and I are the only ones who know it is almost gone and that he doesn’t know how to replenish it.
The news of Dane’s odd behavior only makes me firmly believe what we already knew. Sig is right; I am the only one who can get close enough to Dane. I thought I wanted to be sent back so I could get away, to return to my life as a Voyager, but now I know what I need to do.
I need to go back, and I need to take the dust, not just for me, but for as many of us here who want to return. Without it, no oneeven has a chance. My crew doesn’t deserve to be held hostage on the island by Dane, no matter what his reasons.
I don’t care if I have to put myself at risk to try to get it back, to give some of us the chance to return.
I’m the only one who can, and I’m running out of time.
I need to talk to Sig.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Weston lets Taril out of the brig the next morning, and Sig starts him on his tour of the ship, just like she did with me. Except Taril doesn’t try to escape.
Turns out, he actually knows more of the crew than just Jorn. Fern gives him an enormous hug as soon as he comes on deck, and Eirlik claps him on the shoulder with a wide smile, and you can’t help but feel a sense of contentment watching the reunions.
I’m halfway through my chore as Sig points out the areas of the deck when the mop lifts out of my hands.
“This isn’t yours anymore,” Weston says, and drops it in the bucket next to me.
“Thank the gods,” I say, extending my arms over my head and bending side to side. Despite doing this chore for months now and building my strength every day, it still is tough work and I’ll be glad to be rid of it. I bend at my hips, dangling my arms to the ground, feeling my low back pull. I groan quietly with the stretch and hold it for a few seconds more before straightening and turning toward him.
Weston clears his throat, his eyes averting quickly as if I caught him watching, and I roll my lips in, trying to hide a smile.
I gesture toward the bucket, ignoring the tension now settling between us. “Is this the chore you use to break all the newest Castaways?”
“More or less,” he says. He glances toward the opposite side of the deck, where Sig is still showing Taril around.
“Should I go hide the mop?” I ask, reaching out for the handle.
“No, princess, that was just for you.”
I can hear the smile in his voice, and my mouth falls open.
“What do you mean, it was just for me?”
His lips turn up in a smirk. “You had to learn I was in charge somehow. Plus, I had to tire you out so you wouldn’t try to escape.” He glances down at me, his smile widening. “That didn’t work as well as I planned.”
Pain erupts on my tongue as I bite down hard, trying not to give away any indication on my face that I’m remembering what happened that night, and just how he stopped me from escaping.
I was right though, hewastrying to exhaust me.
I cross my arms over my chest and look out over the deck, watching everyone who is out today, just as he is.
“You’re an asshole.” There’s no malice in my tone, because I know I don’t believe it anymore.
He chuckles softly. “I never said I wasn’t, princess.”
“I told you to stop calling me that,” I say, glaring up at him.
