I tell myself not to stand. Not to leave my cabin. Not to go next door. But I do.
I tell myself not to press my palm against the doorframe. Not to slip the door open just a crack, breath shallow, praying the wood doesn’t creak. But I do.
Not to look inside.
But I do.
Daed lies stretched out on the table, his shirt discarded, a bottle of rum dangling from his fingers. Solena leans over him, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other carefully inking runes into his back.
I don’t know how long I stand there, the wind pressing at my back. Maybe I’m waiting for something. No, Iamwaiting for something. A confirmation. A betrayal. The tilt of his head toward hers. The brush of her lips against his.Something.
And when nothing happens, when I feel something dangerously close to disappointment, I turn away.
But I do not return to my daughter.
Instead, my feet carry me below deck, to the dim, damp belly of the ship, where water sloshes in thin rivulets over old wood and the beams groan like restless spirits.
In the corner, shackled to a beam by his ankle, Ronin sits with his back against the wall, arms draped over his bent knees.
“I really wish you had just left me in Driftspire,” he sighs at the sight of me. “I’m just chained up somewhere else. At least in the tower, my ass wasn’t wet.”
A smirk tugs at my mouth. “It could be worse. You could be dead.”
His brow furrows. “You know what it smells like down here, right?” Then, more thoughtful, “Besides, you are only delaying the inevitable.”
I raise a questioning eyebrow.
He exhales, the sound almost amused. “Your husband will kill me the moment I step on land.”
I don’t correct him because I cannot be sure he’s wrong.
“I will talk to him,” I say.
Ronin taps his boot against the wet floor, droplets splashing. “Why?”
I shake my head. “Because I have no desire to see you dead.”
“Alright,” he says with a shrug. “Then set me free, give me a sword, and I’ll kill your husband instead.”
“No,” I breathe. “I have no desire to see him dead either.”
Ronin sighs. “Then we’re at an impasse.” He lifts his gaze to mine, eyes shadowed beneath his brow. “Is that why you came down here? To tell me you want us both to live?”
My frown deepens, confusion tugging at my features. “No.”
He shifts slightly, his eyes steady on mine. “Then why are you here? You’ve given me mercy, but you don’t owe me your time. Why aren’t you with your family?”
His question hits me harder than I expect as the water rises, soaking the hem of my nightgown. I exhale slowly, the breath catching somewhere in the middle.
“I… I don’t know.” My gaze flickers toward him, almost reluctantly. “I suppose… I’m used to talking to you.”
A scoffing laugh escapes him. “Getting sentimental on me, Amara Tyne?” His smirk is laced with something far more biting as he leans back. “Should I fetch a chessboard for old times’ sake?” He laughs again, but this time it’s mocking, cutting through the silence. “I don’t ask for mercy. Never have. But I’d prefer to contemplate my fate alone, if you don’t mind.”
His words catch me off guard, his coldness making me feel foolish. Like I’ve been reading far too much into every gesture. I nod quickly, eager to escape the sting of my own vulnerability.
“Very well.” I turn, almost fleeing, my wet hem dragging behind me as I hurry up the stairs.
“Does she have a name?” His voice halts me just before I close the door.
