It occurred to him that waiting was part of the torture.
He removed his cloak and shoved it through the bars to drape over Ulla’s prone form.She was near enough that he could lift her head and pull a corner of the cloak between her and the filthy floor.He checked her pulse, pressing two fingers to her throat.
It was quick, but steady, at odds with her stillness.Gently, Bastion swept a strand of hair away from her face, a pearl catching between his fingers.Just last night, they’d forged a deeper connection and now they were prisoners.It sickened him that he’d let this happen.
Eventually, the feeling of eyes raised the hair on the back of his neck.Bastion scanned the deck, but could only see sleeping bodies swinging in their hammocks.His gaze dragged more slowly over shadowed spaces until, finally, he landed on a pocket that feltoccupied.
Shrouded by the darkness, wedged between two barrels where larger men would have difficulty reaching him, a boy watched Bastion.
Green eyes flashed jewel-bright in a smudged, round face, thin from too few meals.He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder.Then, quick as a bunny, he pulled himself up from between the barrels, swung his feet forwards, and landed lightly.Before Bastion could blink, the boy darted around the edge of the blood-stained floor and thrust a hand through the bars.
“Take it!Quickly!”he whispered.
Automatically, Bastion lifted his hands.As softly as a flower closing, he clasped his fingers over the boy's small palm.Unexpectedly, a rush of emotions spread through Bastion’s fingers and up his arm.Fear settled in his heart, the kind that lingered for days and days with no end in sight.But there was also resolve, like a moat, doggedly keeping it at bay.
The boy snatched his hand away, leaving a tiny, blue vial in Bastion’s grasp.
Bastion blinked the feelings away.“What is it?”
“An antidote.Da’ said you need to wake her before Buck comes.”
“Your da’?”
“The healer,” the boy said.He shoved his hands under his arms and scrunched his shoulders, glancing back nervously.
Bastion eyed the boy.He rolled the vial between his hands, daring to hope.
No shoes, dirty hair dulled to a colorless hue.Fewer bruises than Haddrick, but jumpy, like he expected to be struck any moment.
“What’s your name?”Bastion asked.
“R-Rowan, sir.”
“Are you a captive, Rowan?”
The boy startled, shrinking.He looked around again, as if someone were hovering over him, breathing down his neck.Then he nodded, eyes glassy.
“Your da’ has to do what they say, doesn’t he?”Bastion asked.“Or they’ll hurt you.”
Rowan nodded again.His face screwed up as he held back tears.
“This,” Bastion said, opening his hands to show the little blue vial, “this was very brave.Of you and your da’.”
“He says you need to escape, even if we can’t.”The tears came freely now, and hopelessness bled into his voice.“That the lord needs to know about the weapon.”
Bastion pressed his face to the bars, his heart throwing itself against his ribs.
“What weapon?”
Rowan came closer and crouched down to wrap his arms around his knees.His toes curled and uncurled against the filthy floor.
“It’s there.In the box.”He flapped an elbow towards the long crate Bastion had seen the crew idolizing.Then, as if it were his fault, Rowan whimpered, “We don’t know what it does.”
It took Bastion a moment to calm himself as the fear and the panic returned.He had to free Ulla and see the weapon for himself.
“Rowan,” Bastion said.The boy looked up at him, tears leaving a trail through the grime on his cheeks.“I know you’re afraid, but you’ve already been so brave.No one else could have done what you’ve done.Thank you.Now, I want you tohide.”
__________
