He pauses, skewering me with a stern gaze. “Someone bring me an axe!”
The bellowed words slice. Hack.
Slay.
Blood drains from my face, leaving me dizzy and light-headed, and I shake my head as a memory burns to the forefront of my mind ...
A big man walks toward me and the boy. His head is shiny, and there’s one of those wood-cutting things hanging from his hand. I think it’s called an axe.
Why is there red stuff dripping from it?
My entire body locks, thatthinginside me arching like a coil of snakes ready to strike.
“Not an axe ...” I shake my head, wide eyes screaming the words my mouth can only whisper.
Please.
“Open the hatch!”
I jolt back and heave a violent breath, battling the bolt with trembling hands. I swing it open and bunch myself into a pain-riddled ball for far too long before I register Rhordyn’s pillow slip still crushed against my chest, my small parcel of caspun sitting beside me on floorboards blotted with my blood.
All my weaknesses aired for him to see like the open wounds they are.
I stuffhimand the bulb in my sack for safekeeping, fingers brushing the pommel of a weapon I’d rather pretend wasn’t there. My hand jerks back, but I don’t have time to knot the drawstring before Cainon pushes halfway through the opening.
We both still, his scrutiny tracking over my face like a razor blade, and I swear his pupils swell.
“Orlaith—”
“Cainon.”
“Why is there blood on your face?”
My bandaged hand whips up to the crust caked along my upper lip. “Just a nosebleed,” I croak.
His shrewd gaze darts to my ear.
“The warm weather brings them on,” I’m quick to add, and his eyebrows lift the slightest amount.
Rhordyn’s right. I need to lie better.
Cainon clears his throat and climbs onto the landing, scanning the mural I carved into the floorboards.
The urge to stretch and smother it gnaws at me.
He reaches for my sack. “Do you have any fresh water in there?”
I push in front of his hand, making my shoulder blaze. “Yes.” Chewing on a wince, I dig through my contents. “I’ll find it.”
His stare tracks my movements, leaving a prickly trail on my arm, up the side of my face. I pull the waterskin free and hand it over.
Taking it, his attention flicks to my injured hand. “What happened?”
“Captain didn’t tell you?”
He pulls a square of blue cloth from his pocket and dampens it with a tip of water. “I want to hear it from your lips.”
Of course.
