Roiven.
“Let go,” I mumble against his chest. I can't move. I'm too tired to even open my eyes. His shirt is back on.
“Easy, knight.”
“Can walk,” I mumble.
“No, I don’t think so,” he answers sternly. I should fight, but I'm just not going to.
I surrender, and let him carry me off.
19
I’mlow in the belly of a ship, and I know I’m looking for somebody, but I’m not sure who. In the strange logic of dreams I’ve been walking for miles but the deck stretches even further, piles and piles of crates always just past my view.
I finally find him. It’s Roiven, but his face is the only recognizable part of him left. With the fishscaler in his hand he’s removed everything else. He didn’t wait for me to pull the other enchantments from his skin.
“It’s alright,” he says, looking up with a smile as I scream. “Just let it pass.”
I sit bolt-upright in a comfortable bed, coated in a sheen of cold sweat, my throat hoarse like I was screaming for real. Dim light traces vague shapes of furniture but refuses to elaborate. There’s a splashing sound, like a waterfall, but I think I’m indoors. I can’t stop panting for air.
There’s a pitcher of water on the table beside my bed. Rolling onto my living arm, I gulp down one cup, then another. The sweet,clean taste pours down my throat, washing away the briny sting of the ocean and the sour memory of bile.
The door slams open as Roiven bursts through it, his body silhouetted in the frame. I flinch back and grab around me for my sword, but my hands only find sheets and mattress and pillows. Much nicer ones than I had on the Bluff.
“You screamed.”
“Just a nightmare,” I rasp. What is he doing here? Why would he care?
He stays in the entry for a moment, like he’s hesitating. I wait for him to leave, but Roiven steps inside and swings the door shut behind him.
I can’t see any of his features in the dark, except his bright eyes. I know he must be fine—I know dreams have no truth to them—but in the haze of waking, I don’t trust logic.
“Will you be able to sleep again?”
“Your arms.”
“What…?”
“Can I see them?”
I reach a hand towards him. Roiven hesitates. I think he’s going to walk away, but instead he approaches the side of the bed and slowly offers me his hand. I grab his palm, then run my fingers up his forearm, muscular and veined. He shivers lightly at my touch. I skim over his elbow, where I know the pain rings are still torturing him. Over his bicep. My fingertips trace the contours of his arm, hunting for any wound. The enchantment still buzzes beneath his skin. He doesn’t move, but his eyes stare straight down at me.
“What are you doing?” he asks. I let go of him and sit back.
“Nothing. Just… checking.”
“Checkingwhat?” He folds his arms.
“Your skin.”
“...Because of your nightmare?”
I don’t want him thinking that I was just looking for an excuseto touch him. Given that I’ve spent my life hunting Roiven’s people, and that he has at least as much reason to hate me as I hate him, the physical pull I feel towards him is just plain wrong.
“I used to free Enchanted. Sometimes. When I could.”
“I know,” he reminds me.
