More than just me.
He tears at the strap on his other shoulder, jaw set as he unbuckles the sides and lifts the piece, then lumps it on the bed. He drags a hand down his face.
“Thank you, Kolden.”
He grabs a piece of tissue parchment from my vanity and hands it to me. “You can repay me by getting out of this city. Now.”
Oh dear.
“Slightproblem …”
A frown shadows his eyes as I swallow thickly, cutting him a cursory glance before I take the parchment and use it to wipe my chin. I toss the scrunched-up ball in the urn, then clonk the lid back into place, giving the thing a little pat before I push to a wobbly stand.
Wavering, I wait until I stop seeing doubles before I lift my chin. “There’s something I have to do first, and I’m not leaving until it’s done.”
Astorm churns at our backs, roughing up the waves and giving us a forward shove that has sped up our journey at a gut-spilling rate.
I like rolling waves of sand. Wet ones … not so much.
I only hope it’s not too rough for Gunthar and his small crew to make it out of the bay once Orlaith is free of the ceremony. And I hope like hell nobody raises the sea gate before they leave.
My thoughts turn to Baze and the cutting words he slashed at me before he left my room …
If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive you. Or myself.
My stomach does another sickening churn.
He never met us at the docks, despite me sending him a sprite to inform him of our plans. Like he severed himself from the pack.
Fromme.
In the end, it was probably a good thing, since every man was checked for burns by a flock of Gray Guards before being allowed to board the ships loaded with enough reserves to last a few months at sea. Not that we’ll need it all.
Precautions.
The crewmen also stacked the hulls with ‘empty’ barrels containing the loved ones of every sailor who boarded one of the seven whaling ships now trailing us through the howling, moon-soaked night, the lids cracked off the moment we set sail.
Every Ocruth warrior Rhordyn and Cindra smuggled into the city over the past number of weeks is dressed in blue, weapons concealed, demeanor calm as they work the deck to the booming tune of the distant storm, casting glances ahead. A sea of stony faces betraying none of the nerves I’m certain they’re all feeling.
Kolden’s note spoke of a guarded outpost that usually boasts up to ten soldiers overseeing the building of the ships, but I’ll believe that when I see it.
The only definites in this world are the ones you forge for yourself.
Cutting through dense, bucking waves, we veer around the edge of a mounded island clothed in thick brush and numerous palm trees, visible beneath the bold moonlight.
I frown, wiping a splash of seawater off my face. “This can’t be right,” I mutter, Cindra stepping up beside me. “I was expecting crops of cedar.” I scuff my boot against the floorboards. “That’s what his ships are built from …”
“Hmm.” She holds onto the mast as we tip down the face of a smaller wave, the waters finally calming now that we’re sailing around the island’s protected side. “Perhaps they’re outsourcing the timber for the ships?”
“Good point … unless they have their own plantations farther around. Either way, I’d like to know we’re on the right track. Perhaps check with Rowell?”
If we’ve been given the wrong coordinates, we’re screwed.
Cindra nods, disappearing toward the back of the ship.
With the fierce wind easing, the boat has slowed, and the men hurry to tighten the sails as we navigate the dark coastline at a smooth pace. We coast around a rocky outcrop, relief surging through me when the island practically yawns—boasting its gaping maw. The sheltered bay is larger than Parith, cut with a steep stone backdrop.
Ship hulls line the shore in various stages of construction, suspended in massive wooden cradles.
