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I scratched my chin. “She was not doing so well. Her injury... It’s taking some getting used to. But I hope her role as regent will give her something new to dwell upon.”
“It’ll certainly be a lot of work.”
“It will. But with Odessa by her side, I’m sure she’ll make a success of it.”
“You left Odessa?” she exclaimed.
“All is not well in Myntra. If anyone can help Lyrastra to keep order, it’s her. You’ll be happy to hear that Crescent chose to accompany me. And Gawain.”
“How close are you?” Her face had become pinched. “Days? Weeks? Now that I’m in the castle... I’m not sure how long this situation can last, Draven. And with Lancelet captured...”
“Not days,” I said reluctantly. “Weeks. At least weeks. Possibly months.”
“Months.” I watched her face fall.
“There is much you can still learn in the meantime. Just... please... be careful.”
Something was happening. I felt my body shake. The sensation was happening not here in the cottage but elsewhere. Back on the ship.
“I think I’m waking up,” I said quickly. I grabbed her arm and kissed a trail of kisses up and over the silver markings that covered her golden skin. “Meet me here again.”
“How? How do we even... do this?”
“We’ll figure it out. I know we will. We’ll see each other here again. And until then, just know how badly I miss you, Morgan. How much I’ve missed this. Not just holding you, touching you, but talking to you. Being with you. Hearing your voice.” I forced a breath. “You must... You must stay safe for me. Swear it.”
“I’ll try...” The little room was fading. Morgan’s face was becoming blurred. “Draven...”
And then I was gone.
I opened my eyes.
I had been right. I was in my bed in the cabin where I recalled going to lie down hours before. A much-too-small bed that had been made for very short sailors.
I stretched out, hit my foot against the wall, and groaned.
The ship was shaking, yes. But these weren’t the tremors of sea waves.
Something else.
Something hit the ship with a heavy thump. I was up and out of the bed in a flash, tugging a heavy linen shirt over my head and moving to the door.
My quarters were nestled in the aftcastle, the raised upper deck at the stern of the ship. As I stepped out of the small cabin, the scent of sea air mingled with the whiff of fresh baked bread and sizzling smoked meat.
The rhythmic sounds of simmering and chopping were coming from the small kitchen adjacent to the cabin.
I looked around the corner, intending nothing more than a quick peek inside. The kitchen felt like a magical hideaway, so fully had Hawl already made it their own. Jars of colorful spices lined the shelves, and an assortment of mismatched cookware dangled from hooks overhead. All brought by Hawl themself. The Bearkin must have vastly exceeded their luggage allowance.
Hawl stood with their back to me. The low ceiling forced the towering Ursidaur to hunch forward as they worked in the cramped space. Now I watched as the bear's massive paws moved with surprising dexterity and grace, their low, contented growls providing a rough melody to the culinary alchemy filling the little room.
The chopping ceased abruptly.
“We aren’t being boarded,” Hawl’s voice boomed out at me without turning their back. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“We aren’t?”
A spring squall? I answered my own question by looking out the windows. A rosy-fingered dawn was peeking its head over the horizon. An indication of a beautiful coming day.
The rocking had stopped.
