Imogen
By the time we reached the narrow sliver of the forecastle’s decking, I thought that I might vomit from my pain. My vision had winked black twice while fighting my way up the wavering ladder, and every flex of my abdomen had sent a violent jolt through me. The nepenthe was fading fast. I curled up on my side on the deck, pressing my back against a tied-down crate, as hot liquid trickled from my wound.
Lachlan crouched beside me and scanned the main deck below, where the warm glow of lanterns emanated. “Minimal crew,” he said. “Most everyone is occupied with preparing for the wedding.”
My heart gave an ugly kick. “The wedding,” I mumbled weakly.
“We’ll do as you said. Take Halla and use her as leverage so they’ll reroute the ship. We need a cabin to hide her in.” He gave me a grim look. “Butfirst—I’m getting you the healer.”
“No.” I groaned. “No time.”
“Uh-uh.” He glared down at me. “I’m taking over now. A crew this big is easy to hide in. I’ll get us uniforms, and then we’re getting you fixed up.” He held up a hand when I tried to open my mouth. “There is absolutely no point in speaking.”
“Lach—”
“What?”
“My wound…” I pulled in a scraping breath. “It’s not a normal injury. It’s… from a spell.”
He was quiet for a moment. Only the ship’s groans and the far-off chatter from the main deck could be heard. “A spell. Were you actually stabbed?”
I nodded, but his confusion and burgeoning questions were clear. “Eusia taught me a spell to keep myself alive. Through one of the nekgya.”
His brows dipped low, his tone crackling with sudden cold. “So glad you told menow.” He blew out an agitated breath. “Can you walk?”
“If I hadn’t done it, I would have—”
“I asked if you can walk.”
I shook my head. “I’ll need more nepenthe.”
He rummaged through the sack on his belt and pulled out the second little vial he’d taken from the armory. “Here.” He shoved it into my hand, fuming, then rose. He gave me a quick and scathing once-over. “I’d tell you to stay put, but you don’t have much of a choice, do you?” He trained his gaze on the main deck. “I’ll be right back.”
The night embraced me as I lay there, contemplating the best way to share the other bit of information I’d withheld from him. I expected that when he learned Eusia could access my lure, he’d want to pitch me overboard.
My fingers shook as I tried to lift the little bottle of nepenthe to my lips, but the plucking of a harp stilled me. Of course there would be music at a wedding, but I was stunned to hear it amid the ship’s creaks and the hush of the wind, nonetheless. The first notes called through the air, winding high, then settling over me like a gentle mist.
I gasped and let the still-stoppered vial of nepenthe roll from my grip.
It was the song Theodore and I had danced to the night we’d met. Instantly, I was transported. I pictured his austere, beautiful face tipped down to glower at me. I could almost feel the heat and gentle guidance of his hand at the middle of my back. Green eyes like summer leaves after a storm; a crease between black brows that belied how often he scowled.
It was a new kind of pain that unspooled through my body now. It was softer and yet somehow more devastating than the pain from my wound. It was quieter, yet more terrifying than every obstacle that lay before me. It dizzied me, and I let my eyes fall shut as a quiet song filled my throat. Eyes stinging, I hummed along, trying to focus on the swaying ship, on the waves fizzing against the hull.
I woke to a boot tapping the bottom of my sodden shoe.
“Did you die?” Lachlan whispered.
A groan scraped my throat. “Not yet.” I cracked open my eyes to see him standing above me with a low burning lantern in one hand and a neatly folded sailor’s uniform in the other. He’d changed into a clean uniform himself. The light caught on the brass buttons down the front of his deep green coat.
“Excellent.” He dropped the uniform in front of me. A coat like his, a pair of black trousers, a shirt, and a tricorn hat. “Get dressed quickly. The ship’s healer is on their way.”
But I couldn’t move, save for the arm that I attempted to extend toward the vial of nepenthe I’d dropped.
He stooped and snatched up the shirt. “Bloody—I’m going to have to help you get dressed, aren’t I?” He swiped a hand down his face and knelt at my side. I winced and shook, trying to position myself to remove my tunic as best I could. When my hem finallylifted over my stomach, revealing my wound, Lachlan reared back with a grimace and a curse.
The wound was large, covering the entire area between my navel and ribs. But what made it particularly appalling was the way the edges of the kelp had fused to my skin in a char-black seam. It had sealed in the blood-soaked sand and viscera, and the flesh ringing the dark edge had become an angry, venous red.
Lachlan sat horror-struck. “What in the name of the dead Gods did you do, Imogen?”
