Captain’s gruff voice chases me, strained with concern.
The backs of my eyes sting as I clench my teeth and climb faster.
Faster.
It’s another ten rungs of gut-twisting nerves before I reach the hatch, already open, and haul myself onto the landing, catching a glimpse of Captain reaching past the broken rung, looking straight at me.
He mutters a curse.
I swing the lid shut and latch the lock, falling against my damp sack still tethered to the rails, heart beating me up from the inside.
Growling, Captain pummels the hatch. “Open the damn thing, Orlaith. Now!”
I stare at the loose loops of twine strung around the aftermast.
The jars—my clippings—they’regone.
My wisteria ...
Throat aching, I rub the twine between my fingers and fail to swallow the hurt. Another piece of home ripped from my grasp, like I’m deconstructing piece by piece. What’s going to be left once I’m done falling apart?
More blows rattle the hatch.
“Leave me alone!”
Sliding atop the door, I loosen the knot on my bag, then retrieve my small pickaxe from down the back of my pants. I dig through my belongings one-handed, finding Rhordyn’s pillow slip and the cheesecloth parcel containing my caspun.
Captain keeps hitting the door, bellowing gruff, leaden words overshadowed by the tumult beneath my skin.
Stuffing my face against the silk, I draw my lungs full of the muddied dregs ofhim.
But one breath isn’t enough.
I pull deep, hungry breaths—the slip hugged close to my chest as I rock, white-knuckling my caspun in a fist that can’t shake its tremble.
“I’m fine,” I lie to myself, imagining I’m punched through the clouds, surrounded by plants and rocks and paints. Imagining Rhordyn’s body wrapped around me, twisting me up in the ways I hate to love.
Such a poisonous thought.
I claw the material, tip to my side, and close my eyes, ignoring the pain in my shoulder and the hollow ache in my chest. Ignoring the fist pounding on the wood an inch from my head as I give myself to the hurt rioting beneath my mask and savor every scalding lash like the penance it is.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
“I’m fine …”
Another lie to stitch my skin.
My world is rocking back and forth with a creaky swing, a chill wind nipping at my cheek. I open my eyes, watching the patchwork sail whip against a background of fluffy, white clouds clotting the sky like a sponge painting. A string of salt-crusted hair blows across my face, tickling my nose, and I lift my hand to push it away—
Big mistake.
A wail rips free as a bolt of pain tears through my shoulder.
Eyes squeezed shut, I roll to the side, hissing through the echo of hurt that bites into me with every thud of my heart. I unfasten the top two buttons of my shirt and ease it down my arm, exposing a gnarly bulge now protruding from the round of my shoulder.
