Chapter Thirty-Two
After Torion provided me with an herbal concoction from Freya, meant to allay my seasickness, one of Torion’s sailors showed us to a small but well-appointed cabin.
Bri and I promptly fell asleep in our hammocks, our exhaustion outweighing our hunger.
We woke as the sun was setting to a knock on our door.
Dinner was ready, and we’d been invited to join the crew.
Torion, unlike most captains, ate with his sailors, and we joined them in the galley for a hearty meal of fish stew and brown bread.
It was quite possibly the best meal of my life.
When we’d finished, we stayed on deck for a while, watching the mammoth backs of whales crest and ebb in the black water alongside the ship.
I’d never dreamed that one day I’d see a whale this close.
I’d never dreamed a lot of things, because I hadn’t even known they existed.
My world had been so much smaller than it was now.
“What will we do when we get back?” Bri asked, something I’d been pondering for hours. It might have been a simple decision to get rid of the egg, but we had far more difficult choices ahead.
“I’ll tell Mr. Wexley I failed,” I said, with more bravado than I felt. “And we’ll think of some other way to get The Oxblood Book.”
Bri cast me a cynical look. “You think he’ll just accept that?”
“No. But surely my magic buys us some degree of protection.”
“You don’t actually know anything about magic,” Bri muttered, her chin on her fist as she gazed out over the water.
“Not yet. But I will. I bet Marcail will teach me. Then we can continue to sell magical items, even after we break your curse, even without Mr. Wexley’s inventory.”
She hmphed. “I still don’t see how you’re going to keep us safe.”
“Cats,” I said with a grin. “Big ones.”
“I’m serious, Willow! Maybe we need to leave Ardmuir.”
The grin faded and I turned to face her. “We’re not going to run away. Ardmuir is our home, and we have every right to be there. My father deserves vindication. You deserve security. Mr. Wexley and his henchman can threaten us all they want.” I turned back to the ocean. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Bri heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m going to get some sleep. You coming?”
“In a few minutes.” I watched as the sun began to sink beneath the horizon, fingering the hand-stitched kitten on my tea towel.
Though I was too embarrassed to voice my concerns to Bri, Wexley wasn’t the only one I was worried about.
I still had to face Finlay, and I didn’t share Bri’s confidence that he would forgive me, even if Bri and I had finally found our trust in each other.
Looking back on our relationship, all I could see were the dozens of times I’d hurt him, in small and large ways, whether I was conscious of it or not.
A week after I first met him, Finlay had shown up at the shoppe with an apple pie. He’d claimed his mother made it, but I found out later she was far too sick to do any baking, that he did it all himself.
“What’s this for?” I’d asked him, still a bundle of raw nerves from Da’s death.
I knew I looked terrible: my eyes were red from crying, my hair hadn’t been brushed in days, and I was wearing the same dress I’d worn yesterday, and possibly the day before that.
Everything blurred, then. In hindsight, I couldn’t have smelled very pleasant, either.
“My mother says there’s nothing an apple pie can’t fix,” he said, offering me a small, crooked smile. I know now that there was nothing but kindness in the gesture, but I’d taken it and thrown it back in his face.
“I’m guessing it can’t fix a dead father,” I spat, slamming the door on him, even though I hadn’t eaten in two days and my stomach was audibly growling at the scent of cinnamon and butter.
And yet the next day, he’d shown up again, this time with a cherry pie. “I thought maybe you didn’t like apple,” he’d said, his long lashes fanned against his cheeks as he avoided my gaze.
As tempted as I was to slam the door in his face again, I was aware of people on the street watching us. Besides, my hunger had taken on a life of its own, and I wasn’t in any position to turn down a second pie. I opened the door wider and let him inside.
I had pointed to the counter and said, “Put it there,” as if he owed me something. I supposed I thought the world did, back then. It had taken Da from me. The least it could do was give me pie.
As he did so, he cocked his head at the wolpertinger. “What’s this?”
I was rummaging in a drawer of antique silverware for a fork, knowing full well that if I were alone, I’d have eaten the pie with my bare hands. “It’s nothing.”
“Funny, it looks vaguely familiar.”
“Well, it’s not,” I shot back, digging into the pie without offering him a slice. “It’s called a wolpertinger. They’re very rare,” I added, with far more pride than I’d been entitled to.
He’d been so patient, simply trying to make conversation with a grieving girl. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Because they grant wishes. Do you do anything other than ask inane questions?”
“I work at the print shoppe,” he said.
“I already know that. Numpty,” I added under my breath, though I saw him wince from the corner of my eye.
Even still, he went on. “I also like to draw. And read. And I like animals.”
“What are you, nine?” I licked the back of my fork, forcing myself to stop halfway through the pie. I’d finish it at home later, knowing I had no other food waiting for me.
He shrugged, hands shoved into his pockets. “I like walking, too. I could walk you home, if you like.”
At this, my head shot up. I probably looked more like a feral animal than a girl, all teeth and eyes and rage. “What?”
“I heard you live across the moors. It’s dark early this time of year.”
I’d been horrified at the thought of anyone knowing where I lived or how alone I truly was. “Who told you where I live?” I demanded.
“My boss, Jack Turner. He thought you might need some company.”
Before I knew it, the fork was in my fist, prongs facing out, the closest thing at hand to a weapon. “Jack Turner doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about,” I snarled. “I don’t need any company, and I certainly don’t need a child to walk me home.”
“I’m older than you,” he said, reasonable despite the fact that he had a fork inches from his face.
I lowered my hand, telling myself it would be wrong to stab someone so pathetic. “Wouldn’t know it by your hobbies.” It was closing time, and I wanted nothing more than to be at home with my sorrow and grief and bitterness. “I have to go.”
“Like I said, I’ll walk you.”
I grabbed my cloak from a hook by the door, flung it over my shoulders, and picked up the remnants of the pie. “You can suit yourself, but you won’t be walking next to me!”
With that, I left the shoppe, waiting for him to sheepishly follow before locking the door, though I knew there was nothing worth stealing. Sure enough, Finlay trailed a few feet behind me, even as we left town and started across the moors.
“It’s quite dark out here,” he called from behind me. “Don’t you need a lantern?”
“I ran out of candles,” I said. “Not that it’s any of your business.” I think even then a part of me knew what a kind soul he was. Sure enough, a basket of candles arrived at the shoppe with an errand boy the next day.
“I think I’d be scared, living out here all alone,” he said.
“I think you would be, too,” I shot back.
The next thing I knew, he was beside me. I growled but said nothing for several minutes.
Eventually, my own curiosity got the best of me. “Why did you move here, anyway? Was it for your father’s work or something?”
“My father left when I was a baby,” he replied, without a hint of shame.
I couldn’t recall anyone ever being so straightforward with me, even my father. Maybe that was when the first brick began to crumble, because I softened ever so slightly. “Oh. That must have been hard.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay. My mother was the one who wanted to move here. Said the sea air might be good for her lungs. It’s funny, though.”
“What is?”
“Her wanting to move. I thought for certain she’d want to die in our house. She lived in it her whole life.”
I wouldn’t have called that funny, but I supposed it was peculiar. “Why Ardmuir?”
“She got it in her head about a month ago, said it came to her in a dream.”
I scoffed. “Seems an awfully silly reason to move somewhere.”
I could feel Finlay’s eyes on me. “Really? I can’t think of a better reason to do something. What could be more important than following your dreams?”
Now, standing in the cold night air on a ship in a black sea, my heart hurt for both of us.
For the boy who’d been there for me even when I was at my worst. And for myself, for being foolish enough to think a cloak of thorns would somehow guard my heart from the world.
From Finlay. What were thorns when it came to boys with long eyelashes and impossible patience and fresh-baked apple pies?
“It’s getting late,” Torion said, coming to stand beside me. “Don’t you think you should get some rest?”
“Aye. I’m going.” I folded the tea towel that was now as precious to me as any treasure and turned back to him. “Did you really only help Bri and me for the dragon egg?”
He grinned, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight. “What other reason would I have to help you, Willow Stokes?”
I narrowed my eyes at him and smiled. “You know, you’re not bad for a Sapphire Islander.”
“You’re not bad for a witch.”
A witch, huh? Was that what I was now?
I thought for a moment, imagining myself in my cottage on the moors with my mischievous cat and my magical curiosities, and nodded. It felt like the perfect fit.