He shoves up and smacks the bark from my hand, spitting at my feet as he elbows past and weaves a wobbled path toward the stairs, the back of his shirt stained with dark blotches of blood. It’s only once he’s out of eyesight that I pull from the inky depths of my emotionless sea—posture crumbling.
My hands shake, knees threaten to buckle. It suddenly feels like the ship’s caught in a wild swell, though I know that’s not the case.
It’s just my world that’s tipping.
Churning.
Using the wall as a crutch, I reach behind my arm and pinch the softest piece of skin I can find.
Hard.
The bite of pain distracts my mind, anchoring me in place while Baze’s parting words echo in my ears ...
You don’t know what it’s like out there, Orlaith.
He’s never been more right.
At Castle Noir, I spentyearslearning the erratic shape of the halls—tumbling, bruising my knees until I’d pinpointed each gouged divot and uneven slab that could trip me up.
That raw, burdened castle became my home. My sanctuary.
My safe space.
Now … I’m back to being blind.
Iset aside the bottle of rum and plant my hands on my lower back as I scan the hot, stuffy infirmary. The few lanterns that survived the roll cast the morose scene in an amber glow, creating a wistful illusion only disturbed by the odd deep, nasally snore. No footsteps overhead. No creaking sounds.
No agonized moans.
The men wounded badly enough to require heavy intervention are passed out either from the rum or the pain or the night bark.
“Go to bed, Orlaith.” I look at Alon draped in the wobbly chair at the end of the room. He rubs his eyes, mouth cranking wide, wrestling his next words through a yawn. “We’ve done what we can for now.”
I thread my hand around the back of my neck to knead the stiff muscles there. “I doubt I’ll be able to switch off while the ship’s still taking on water.”
“The hole’s been fixed.” The gruff words batter me from behind, and I spin to see Captain sponging his forehead with a cloth he then dunks in a pail of water. His chin is dusted in tawny stubble, the undersides of his eyes bruised from lack of sleep.
“We’ve also fixed the sails best we could, but we can’t go anywhere until the wind gets up,” he says, crouching by the med box and frowning at its contents. He splashes something on his bleeding knuckles, stabs the bottle back into place, slams down the lid, and pushes to a stand.
“That was hemorrhoid tonic,” Alon calls helpfully from the back of the room.
Captain just grunts and continues to stare me down. “Alon’s right. Get some rest. It’s late.”
My thoughts are lured to the crow’s nest—to the way Gage’s blood puddled around my fingers—my stare tugged to the floor by this anchor of guilt I can’t seem to shake.
Rest …
Chances of that are slim.
With a nod, I flip the blood-splotched cloth off my shoulder and onto the end of a nearby cot, then turn for the stairs.
A big hand wraps around my elbow, and I look back, straight into the Captain’s unveiled eyes, the lines around them deeper than they were this morning. “You saved my nephew’s life today.”
I put it in danger first.
“I’ve been told you didn’t hesitate to dive in.”
Don’t thank me.
