I’ve disappointed him.
Cainon tosses his leg over the rail, maneuvering us down the long, wobbly rope ladder flush with the ship’s side. I’m forced to tighten my grip around his neck, drenched in the scent of citrus and salt.
“Getting quite cozy there.” He drops into the boat’s hollow, somehow managing to maintain his balance as it bucks so furiously it scrapes against the ship. “Seems a shame to part ways now. Perhaps you can sit in my lap while I row?”
“I’d rather be tossed over the edge,” I murmur, and he laughs, setting me on the back seat that’s splashed with sea water.
He’s still chuckling as he readjusts my makeshift sling while I scan the resting fleet blotting the horizon—loose blue sails flapping in the wind.
His laughter stops abruptly.
“Who gave you this?”
My gaze drops to Cainon’s fingers pinched around the black jewel that must have slipped free from my shirt, Kai’s conch resting beside it.
My heart stops.
I snatch it back and tuck the precious pendants under my collar.
His eyes narrow, darkening. “Who gave it to you, Orlaith?”
I look him square in the eye. “I’ve had it since I was small.”
Not a lie. Not the truth he was looking for, either, but if I tell him it was a gift from Rhordyn, he’ll justifiably insist I take it off.
Not an option.
“Since you were small,” Cain mutters, stare dragging across my Ocruth garb as though he’s counting each and every black fiber and stacking them against my character. “Hmm.”
He reaches past, unties the rope tethering us to the ship, then takes his place in the seat before me. Strangling the oars, he digs the paddles deep, pulling us away from the ship now void of life.
His muscles bulge and strain, features impassive, stare stuck to my face.
Stab, pull.
Stab, pull.
Stab, pull.
Wind grapples my hair, twisting it into messier knots, the odd sprinkle of foam flicking up from the nose of the boat and hitting me in the face.
Cainon’s gaze doesn’t drift. He barely blinks. All the while, Rhordyn’s pendant burns a phantom brand against my skin.
You can run off and tie yourself to your pretty High Master, but I’ll hunt you to the four corners of the continent. Not because I want to, but because I can’t fucking help myself.
A shiver rakes through me …
Growing uncomfortable under the weight of Cainon’s perusal, I drift my stare beyond him to a small rowboat, a mere speck compared to the giant ships swaying with the sea’s beat. It appears to be bobbing towardus—boasting a single sailor with hair the color of corn.
When we finally cross paths, the man’s appearance strikes me.
He has none of that Bahari glow I’ve become accustomed to, his skin sallow, eyes sapped of life, expression void of emotion. There’s a lesion on his hand that’s weepy and red.
Frowning, I watch him over my shoulder, the distance between us expanding with every powerful pull of Cainon’s oars, but the man just keeps rowing toward the ship we came from.
He docks against the side, then scales the ladder.
“Why is he—”
