Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cassian
Cassian’s hands shook as he climbed the rope ladder to finally board the Carpathia.
Just ahead of him, James was pulling himself up, too, his limbs shaking even more than Cassian’s.
Frowning up at him as they ascended, Cassian wished that he had insisted on James being hoisted up instead, as some people from the other lifeboats had been.
Of course, when Cassian suggested it to James, James had replied saying that he’d hate to inconvenience Carpathia’s crew so much.
Now, though, Cassian couldn’t help but chastise himself for not having been more forceful with his suggestion.
“Almost there,” Cassian called out, but then winced when he heard how raspy his voice sounded.
He had hoped to sound encouraging, not infirm. He prayed that James had found his pathetically hoarse statement at least a little helpful, rather than worrying.
Cassian paused to wait when James reached the little entryway door that Carpathia’s crew had opened for them on the side of the ship.
Once Cassian was certain that James was safe on board, he resumed climbing, increasing his pace so that he and James wouldn’t be separated for long.
Precisely the moment that both of his feet were planted firmly aboard the Carpathia, Cassian’s knees buckled, and he nearly fell over.
A crew member was quick to catch him. Cassian’s cheeks warmed with both gratitude and embarrassment.
Inhaling a deep breath, Cassian mustered up the rest of his fast-waning strength to push past his mortification and press on.
Next, Cassian and James were both briefly looked over by a physician in one of the saloons, which had been rearranged to be a sort of medical clinic for the survivors.
Cassian’s mind stayed muddled throughout his evaluation, and he barely registered a thing that the man said to either him or James while they were looked over.
Despite how weak they both were, the physician soon sent them on their way.
Shortly thereafter, someone threw a blanket over Cassian’s shoulders, and then someone else handed the men bowls of hot soup.
Cassian and James looked at each other with small, wearied smiles, but neither of them spoke as they followed the crowd of other survivors ahead of them.
Some of the others—mostly women and children, but some men too—were crying, while others, like them, were silent, their faces pale.
When the men passed by a woman who was particularly hysterical—her cries loud, her face contorted in pain—Cassian began to clench his teeth.
Anger ripped through him, memories of his fellow passengers screaming in the water flashing in his mind. God, hell, how he hated the woman’s howling!
Cassian looked over at James to check on him.
James’s head was low, his face filled with pain.
Cassian realized then that he hated the woman’s cries not only because they reminded him of the horrors he’d seen that night but also because he’d known instinctually, even before checking to confirm it, that her howls must have been reminding James of those same horrors, too.
Cassian nearly fell over from the rush of relief once he could no longer hear her wails.
Together, Cassian and James walked to Carpathia’s Smoking Room, which had been transformed into a place where survivors could rest and recuperate.
Inside, clusters of passengers were sitting on the floor or on sofas and chairs.
Some were on mattresses, too, ones that must have been brought out from Carpathia’s various staterooms.
Crossing the room, Cassian searched for Ethel and John, but it seemed that neither of them had stopped to recuperate there.
He wasn’t particularly alarmed though. Cassian knew that his friends were safe.
Earlier, he had seen both of them climbing one of the rope ladders while he and James had still been in their lifeboat (or, well, their second lifeboat).
Selfishly, even though Cassian knew that Ethel must have been worried about him (likely fearing the worst), he couldn’t make himself care all that much at the moment.
Not enough to forgo a bit of rest in favor of searching for her elsewhere on the ship.
Because right now, Cassian’s only priorities were himself and his steward. Everything else could wait.
Soon enough, Cassian and James found a spot on the floor in a corner, far away from everyone else in the room.
Dazed, Cassian spilled some of his soup as he reclined back against the wall.
He stared at the little orange puddle for several seconds, thinking that someone ought to clean it before coming back to himself and realizing that maybe he ought to be that person, seeing as no one else was around and Carpathia’s stewards were probably occupied with the other passengers.
Cassian reached into his pocket for a handkerchief to use, but the moment that his fingers found the cold piece of linen, he was momentarily befuddled as to why on earth the cloth was so wet. In only half a second or so, he remembered himself and then immediately felt ridiculous for the thought.
Never had Cassian felt like this in his life—fuzzy and confused, his mind working embarrassingly slow. He hoped that the nourishment from the soup might alleviate some of the strangeness.
While Cassian was working to wipe up the spill, James sat beside him.
Cassian left the handkerchief in a messy ball on the floor.
After a pause, James scooted closer to him, snuggling right up next to him and pressing their shoulders together.
Cassian’s chest pinched the moment James became settled.
Oh, how fervently he wished that he could hold James close and care for him properly.
But, of course, such a thing would be impossible here.
Instead, Cassian lifted his chin and motioned toward the hot soup James had cradled in his hands.
“Eat it while it’s still hot,” he instructed in a hoarse voice. He proceeded to clear his throat a couple of times. “It’ll help warm you up. Even in your wet clothes.”
James smiled a little. “Thanks, Cassian. You’re right,” he replied, his voice sounding equally as mangled. His eyes flitted to Cassian’s soup bowl. “And you?”
“I’ll have mine, too,” Cassian promised, lifting it.
Over the next while, the men ate their soup in silence.
Halfway through, Cassian finally felt warm enough and clearheaded enough to register its flavor—carrot and thyme, thickened and made richer with cream—and he let out a low moan as he finished the last of it, slurping it from the bowl like some uncivilized brute.
James knocked him with his knee for it, making both of them chuckle.
Afterward, Cassian ran his index finger over the porcelain, collecting every Goddamned morsel from the bowl, and then licked it clean.
He couldn’t remember ever having eaten anything so wonderful.
Beside him, James huffed a light laugh, but then copied Cassian, lapping up the rest of his soup in the same sloppy manner.
Once they were both finished, they smiled at one another.
James exhaled a long sigh, as though he had finally just let himself relax.
Happy to see it, Cassian set his bowl on the floor next to his handkerchief but startled when he heard a clatter.
He turned to see James’s bowl lying on its side, a small chip broken off. James’s hands had started shaking.
“Sorry,” James whispered. “I’m shaking. Suddenly.” He held up his hands and stared at them. “I’m not sure why I’m shaking. But I am. I’m shaking.”
Instinctively, Cassian snatched James’s hands and began to try to warm them—blowing on them and rubbing them and massaging them—and only then did he realize that the rest of James’s body was shaking, too.
“I’m not even that cold anymore. I promise,” James said. He inhaled a shuddered breath and met Cassian’s eyes. His own were filled with fear and worry. It looked as though the man might cry. “Cassian, what’s happening to me? Why can’t I stop shaking?”
“You must still be cold, even if you can’t feel it,” Cassian said. “Let’s head back to the saloon and meet with the physician. See if he can check you over again.”
Still clutching both of James’s hands, Cassian stood, pulling James up with him.
Reluctantly, Cassian forced himself to let go, lest someone recognize him and wonder why he was holding hands with some random member of Titanic’s crew.
He started for the saloon, and James followed.
Once there, Cassian wasted no time ensuring that James could be seen, though he fought to keep his voice level when he spoke with the crew members, rather than show the extent of his panic.
Luckily, one of the three physicians was free to examine James right away.
Cassian hurried James over to the physician’s station.
His heart was in his throat as he showed James to the right chair.
But then, afraid of how it might look if he stayed, Cassian made himself leave James behind to be treated and headed out onto the boat deck alone.
There, Cassian began to chew his fingernails, pacing back and forth between the wooden lounge chairs, most of which were vacant, though a couple of weary-worn Titanic passengers were resting in others.
Logically, Cassian knew that his legs were still weak and that he ought to sit himself, but he knew, too, that if he sat, he’d fall to pieces.
“Cassian?!”
Ethel’s voice stopped him mid-step. He looked to his right to see her rushing over to him.
“I can’t believe my eyes,” she said, throwing her arms around him, her movement so forceful that it knocked him back. “You made it. Oh, how horrible this has been. I’m so relieved to see you.”
Recovering, Cassian embraced her, too. John Quinn joined them. After another couple of seconds of hugging Ethel, Cassian hugged John as well.
“Ethel and I thought the worst,” John said.