Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
A gentle jostling roused me from sleep.
“Rise and shine, Ace.”
“Oh, fuck off with that,” I muttered. The warmth that surrounded me disappeared. He’d pulled my blankets off the bed. “I hate you.”
“Oh, good. I was worried saving your life repeatedly had improved your opinion of me.”
I blinked, taking in the familiar comfort of Maurice’s boat cabin. Sunlight spilled from the crack in the cabin door. Max sat on the edge of the bed, holding the knitted blanket hostage.
“You’ve been sleeping for nearly two days while Maurice and I busted our asses. At least get up and eat something.”
A seed of guilt bloomed in my empty stomach. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have left all the work up to you both.” I pushed off the bed to sit up, suddenly aware that my hair was sticking to a patch of drool on my cheek. I tried to smooth out my appearance and collect what was left of my dignity.
“Radiant as always,” Max said flatly.
I tried to kick him off the bed, but he was too heavy. “Shut up.”
He reached, snatching something from my hair—a feather that must have come from the pillow’s stuffing. “I wanted to talk to you about Dante, but I’ll let you have some coffee first.”
“Good idea,” I said. “Make it for me?”
He rolled his amber eyes. “Fine.”
We’d settled into an easy rhythm. The close quarters had ironed out some of the previous kinks in our communication. He was in my head less, used his words more, let slip small smiles when he thought I wasn’t looking. Real progress.
I reclaimed the blanket while he went to the kitchen to start heating the water. “How’s your shoulder?” I asked.
He shrugged with his back to me. “Better.”
“Then why did you just flinch when you reached for the mug?”
He placed the ceramic down hard. “I’m fine, Nina. It just… hasn’t healed completely yet.”
“Because the bullet is still in there, isn’t it?”
A long pause suffered. “Perhaps.”
“Maxence!” I cursed him silently. “You idiot. It could get infected. You have a literal surgeon at your disposal, and you don’t even use me.”
“I’m allowed to use you?” He turned slightly with a wry grin.
I frowned. “Seriously, let me help you before it makes you sick.”
He sighed, touching the spot where the bullet had entered. “Do I have to undress?”
“No,” I said. “I can work around your clothes, if you’re feeling modest.”
He snorted. “That’s not the word I would use.”
I wasn’t concerned about his reasons. If he wanted to stay clothed, then I’d manage. “Sit. I’ll get the supplies ready.”
“Shouldn’t you drink this first?”
“Stop stalling. I could perform a simple extraction in my sleep.”
He muttered a string of curses before conceding, while I gathered clean towels and the medical kit Maurice stashed in the kitchen. The kit was ancient and crude, but I only needed the basics.
I laid out a suture kit on a mostly sterile field, washing my hands in the sink with the Forge die to be as clean as possible.
Max pulled the sleeve of his shirt high over the slope of his shoulder, giving me clear access to the inflamed hole embedded deep into his muscle.
I caught a momentary glimpse of his back, where his scars began.
I tucked a towel into his shirt, protecting it from the solution I poured over the site. “You waited too long. Your body is already healing around the bullet. I’ll have to rip it out.”
“I’ve taken lots of bullets. Some of them are still in there—”
“You should have let me at least seal the hole if you intended on keeping it as a souvenir.” I used the Forge die, the earth bloodline, to find the bullet. He hissed as it twitched in his muscle. “You swam in a canal, for essence’s sake.”
“I didn’t realize I was foolish enough to jump into a canal to save you.”
If he hadn’t already had such terrible experiences with surgeons, I would have ripped the bullet from his flesh for that. “You think you were foolish to save me?”
“That’s not…” He tensed as my fingers grazed over the swollen patch of skin around the bullet hole.
“You didn’t have to,” I reminded him. “You overheard everything I did. You had all the information you needed.”
He gripped the edge of the table, bracing himself. “I must be enjoying the nagging thrum of your heart constantly keeping me up at night.”
“Self-awareness is always a good first step.” I cupped my palm over his wound and counted down to prepare him for the pain of the extraction.
He groaned only for a moment as I drew the bullet through his flesh and pulled it free, dropping it in a cup on the table.
I wiped my fingers clean on the towel, moving on to the suture needles.
A shiver ran through Max’s shoulders.
“Relax,” I told him. “By the time I’m done with you, I’m hoping you’ll have a different perspective on surgeons.”
“You can’t fix me, Nina.”
I didn’t understand, but instead of grilling him further on the issue, I continued to clean the site and seal it up.
I attempted a quick change in subject. “What happened when Cal brought you upstairs?” He hissed as the needle punctured his skin for the first time, speaking through his teeth.
“Cal claimed he was showing me to a room, but I heard the men upstairs. As soon as I stepped across the landing, they were on me.” His body relaxed some after the first few stitches, as I gained more of his trust. “Lucky for me, they were high on opium. Once they were taken care of upstairs, I searched the floor and found a stash of it. They’re certainly getting it from the Cursed.
There’s no one else who would move that kind of stuff through the New City. ”
I swallowed against the dryness of my throat, regretting not taking that coffee first. “How do you know so much about opium?”
“I don’t. But it’s true that some of the Cursed have been bringing it into the city. They’ve made a monopoly of it. As soon as I saw it on the boat, I understood how they were paying for the bodies.”
“That actually reminds me. I found a name…” The letter from Bria’s locker came to mind, and I searched the room for the pants I’d worn that night. “Where are my clothes?”
He nodded to the bathroom. “Maurice washed them for you. He’s a menace about keeping things clean.”
“You nearly gave him a heart attack, coming aboard with blood all over you,” I said, grinning at the memory. The captain had insisted Max strip before getting on the ship, but Max had been adamant that he would only change in private.
“The captain has been easier on me lately. Not sure why, but at least I don’t have to shovel coal by myself anymore.”
I knew why, but I didn’t tell him. I had explained to Maurice why Max had been covered in blood. How he’d been struck by a bloodrage when he knew I was in danger. The old fisherman hadn’t said anything, but the approving nod of his head had told me enough. He trusted Max as much as I did now.
It only took a few knots to seal the wound. When it healed, it would be a faint scar. One of many, but this one wouldn’t protrude so much like the others. I ran a finger over the thread, pleased with my job.
He snatched my wrist before I pulled away. “Thank you, Nina.”
Gradually, his grip loosened, letting my hand slip between his fingers, callouses brushing my palm. I turned away quickly to hide the blood rushing to my face. “You can keep this, if you’d like.” I handed him the cup with the retrieved bullet. “Something to remember me by.” I winked.
“That won’t be difficult.” He breathed a long sigh, rolling his shoulder while I cleaned up and tried to find that note.
The letter had been placed out to dry with the rest of my things. I gave it to Max to read over. “Dante lied to us about not knowing the financier. He was just using Bria.”
“In more ways than one,” Max muttered. He stood from the chair immediately, body tense. “Damien. Did you find anything else out about Damien?”
I nodded, watching his amber eyes skim over the letter at least once more. “I saw his name again and again in a book of receipts. It was the only name sending significant funds to the dealers. If anyone is the financier, it’s him.”
Max’s chest rose and fell in slow breaths. His focus seemed to be on something far away.
I stepped in front of him. “You know Damien?”
Max sucked his teeth and nodded. “Yes. I know him very well.”
“Well, that’s good news! We can go back to Valveron, to the New City, and you can ask him who set up the exchange of money for opium.”
“Eh. I’m doubtful it would be that easy. He doesn’t like me too much.”
Of course he didn’t. I rolled my eyes and went to the bathroom sink to wash my hands. “Maybe he’ll like me better.” I peered over my shoulder to assess his reaction.
He was frowning, staring at my ass.
“Max.”
His gaze lifted to my face. “You’re not his type, Ace.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked, taken aback. My strides crossed the room. It only took three steps to stand in front of him. “I’m not good enough for a Cursed?”
He shifted on his feet, tucking his hands into his pockets. I watched his tongue skate his teeth, lingering over the point of a canine while he chose his words. “You’re too smart for someone like him. And far too good for anyone in the Dredges, much less a Cursed.”
Max turned from me, fumbling with the coffee maker.
I retreated to the bed to sit. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“That depends. What is it?”
I bit my bottom lip, unsure how to approach the topic. “Bria mentioned something I wanted to ask you about. The Fifth Trials. What was she talking about?”
He took a large breath. Raised lines pressed through the thin material of his dark shirt. I thought he might evade the question until he turned back to me, holding a steaming coffee cup.