Soldier’s Scars
Chapter fifty-seven
Soldier’s Scars
The nightmares had returned. After months of keeping them at bay, Finn had awakened in a cold sweat, his chest heaving and heart pounding. He scrubbed his face with his hands, wishing he could scrub away the images that lingered behind his eyes.
It used to be that he dreamt of Perci’s murder.
Finn had not been present, but he knew how he was killed, so his mind conjured up the scene for him to relive night after night.
Some evenings, Wren and Castien joined Perci in the casket they’d laid him to rest in.
His mind tortured him with images of Wren and Castien bleeding out on the floor of the tunnel, Finn too late to save them.
That had been difficult enough to contend with, but now he feared he would never sleep again. For how could he bear watching his wife die in his arms as she had mere moments ago in the night terror that plagued him?
Finn clenched his jaw to keep from crying out in pain as he sat up in the bed he once shared with Lucianna.
She was above deck, likely in the captain’s quarters.
Wren and Cora should be nestled in with her, per Castien’s orders.
As Petals predicted, Cora insisted she was fine to sleep in a hammock, but Castien would not hear of it.
While the women slept in the cabin, Castien had decided to sleep outside it, and Finn in his previous bed.
He would have joined Cas, but Finn had developed a rattling cough toward the end of the day and did not want to garner the attention of his observant cousin.
It was easier to cover up when working on the ship than in the quiet of night.
Kelwin and Kaiden said they would sleep on the deck as well, to remain alert.
Petals was the only other person Finn could bother, but the brute could sleep through anything.
So, Finn’s illness remained hidden. He didn’t need Castien worrying over him, or worse, forcing him to rest.
The entire crew was injured in some capacity.
They could not afford to lose able hands.
And though Finn was weary and in constant pain, he was able.
Once they got to Stonemouth, he’d see a healer.
No doubt he’d contracted a touch of Tidesickness on top of his injuries. A simple tonic would fix him right up.
He leaned back against the wall behind him and lifted up his shirt.
The black stitches he’d given himself bulged over angry red skin.
He’d done the best he could while Wren had helped Lucianna change the night of the attack.
Finn admittedly had rushed through cleaning and suturing the gash beneath his ribs in order to get back to his wife.
Perhaps the healer could redo those, too.
Then he would be back to full health and able to assist in the Maralyn’s restoration.
For their small but mighty crew was running out of time.
Each hour that delayed them was one less for their mission.
They knew not what Grimhaven would hold, and that meant they needed all the time they had to get the orb and return home, lest they end up trapped on the isle of mazes until next Eventide.
Finn brushed the edge of the inflamed wound. He hissed as the tender skin sparked beneath his touch. It was likely that he would obtain a scar. But such was the fate of a soldier. He was ripped back in time to a conversation with his father and mother.
“Quit fussing over the boy, Maris,” Finn’s father had groused. “You should not coddle him the way you do.”
Finn’s mother gave her husband a pointed look and resumed dabbing softly at the cut on Finn’s brow. He’d obtained the cut in a training session. His first time in true hand-to-hand combat.
“I will fuss and fret as I please. I am his mother. You can play the staunch commander, but I know you worried over him, too, the way you came rushing in.”
Artavius grumbled under his breath but didn’t reply.
Maris smiled down at Finn, who sat on a footstool in front of her chair by the hearth.
“There, you’re all better now. Though you might have a scar.” Again, she scolded her husband with her blue eyes.
“Soldiers are made of scars, Maris,” Finn’s father had replied. “It is evidence of their survival.”
Finn dropped the hem of his black shirt and grabbed one of the nearby crates to pull himself off the floor.
The cabin spun and he heaved. He kept down the contents of his stomach—just barely—and staggered toward his boots at the end of the bed.
Finn shoved his blistered feet inside, then reached for his weapons belt and secured it about his waist. Once he was dressed, he wiped his face on the bottom of his shirt to get rid of the clammy sweat that clung to him.
The misty air made him shiver as he ascended onto the deck. He coughed into the crook of his arm, grateful that the Tides were alive and well this morning, able to disguise the grating sound.
Castien and Wren stood at the side of the ship, looking out over the waters.
Wren was nestled in Castien’s arms, her back against his chest. Their expressions were content, a smile on Castien’s lips that Finn had only ever seen given to Wren.
Though there were many times Finn enjoyed breaking up their private moments for a bout of teasing, this was not one of them. They deserved a moment of tender peace.
Finn tried to stow away the whirlpool of emotion building in his chest when he noted Castien’s palm splayed over Wren’s abdomen.
He recalled their conversation from yesterday, the worry that had marred his cousin’s joy.
It was difficult to not consider every worst-case scenario now that another more vulnerable member of his family was in danger.
Finn shook his head and climbed up the quarterdeck. He needed to distract himself before Wren sensed his emotions and her peace was abandoned. Each step he took felt as though anchors hung from his feet. He had not been so weak yesterday. Perhaps the nightmare had drained him.
“Good morning,” he greeted Kaiden, who as per usual manned the wheel with utter devotion.
The captain grunted in response. At first, Finn thought he was focused on the horizon, but then he noticed the true subject of his worrisome stare.
Up above, Kelwin stood in the crow’s nest, eyeglass affixed to his face.
Finn recalled the terror at seeing the boy tumble from the basket.
If Castien hadn’t caught him . . . Finn could not bring himself to even think about it.
The young boy had already endeared himself to Finn, and though he did not possess the same connection to him as the captain, he did not want to consider his demise in any way.
“Any estimate on how long until we arrive at Stonemouth?” Finn inquired, and tucked his hands into his pockets to warm them.
“By sunset, if the Tides allow it,” Kaiden grumbled.
Finn’s brows rose. “Truly?”
Kaiden nodded.
“That’s fantastic news,” Finn said.
Sweat dripped down into his eyes. He quickly wiped it away and turned toward a breeze to assist in drying him. But the air felt like icy pinpricks on his skin. It seemed no matter what he did, he could not procure a measure of comfort.
“Yes,” Kaiden stated. “The winds have been fair to us. It is good that we do not spend another night at sea.”
Finn wholeheartedly agreed with the captain. He opened his mouth to say so, when a cough racked his body. Finn buried his face in the crook of his arm as he tried to contain the sound.
“Are you all right, boy?” Kaiden asked, glancing at Finn with suspicious concern.
Finn wiped his mouth and forced a smile even as his lungs burned.
“Oh, don’t worry about me, captain. If you do, I’ll have to believe us friends. And I’m certain you don’t want that.”
Kaiden’s mouth twitched above his thick beard. He shook his head, then turned his attention back to Kelwin, as Finn had hoped he would. Finn glanced down at the wet spot on the sleeve of his shirt. He touched it.
His fingertips came back red.