Chapter 15 #2
I was more concerned with other things, like checking on Stefano’s injuries, making sure the knowledge within me still pointed us to First, and stealing glimpses of Harthon when he wasn’t looking. Glimpses that were paired with memories of his fingers between my thighs.
Not that they were about to go there again any time soon.
A focus surrounded Harthon, a serious determination that brokered no space for distractions as we traversed the wooded hills, fields, and small villages that met us.
Besides, the nightly fires had been big enough to warm us all—even Jac, who’d slept chained to a tree.
So I’d never imagined what the sea might be like. And when we finally reached the port village and I saw the coast for the first time, I was glad I hadn’t tried, because it would have been a waste of time.
My imagination never could have painted something so ferocious.
A cold, salty wind whipped through the village’s paths, which were occupied only by soldiers and sailors.
Beyond the long, rickety docks and the ships beside them, an unfathomable expanse of water rolled and pitched, spitting plumes of white foam, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Waves crashed like warning shots over the massive boulders that sheltered either side of the port.
The ocean was an enormous monster, eager to swallow us whole, and the ships before us looked like bobbing corks compared to the unending sweep of angry water behind them.
Merelda had once described the ocean as serene and refreshing, having seen it before the Domus appeared. She’d even swam in it. But this ocean would drown me within seconds.
A particularly strong gust tore the hood from my head. My horse whined in discomfort. “You and me both,” I muttered, pulling up my hood and struggling to keep it there.
The dock directly in front of us was the only one showing any activity.
A few boxes and barrels were being loaded aboard the ship fastened to it, while men fussed about on deck.
The vessel was one of the largest in the port, with three soaring poles spearing into the sky and wooden walls standing high above the water.
A row of covered squares was carved into the side of the ship—for oars, maybe.
The front of the boat formed a rounded vee, an intricate scroll curling over the top.
There were probably terms for those poles and those walls and that vee, but I didn’t know them.
A weathered sailor approached, ascending the dock’s slight ramp to reach us. His nose was bright red from the cold wind, his eyes blue and bloodshot. With a bow, he reported, “The winds are angry, Princeps, but they are favorable.” A screaming gale almost drowned out his words.
I squinted at the white-capped waves in the distance.
Favorable? How in the Domus was this favorable?
Harthon nodded. “Is she ready?”
“Yes, Princeps. Your crew is already settled, and the ship is in excellent shape. The final provisions are being stocked. No malicious sails have been spotted within the last week.”
This seemed to please Harthon, who dismissed the man and guided our small group forward.
My stomach roiled like the ocean. “How long would it take to reach Sixth by land?” I shouted over the wind.
He lifted a brow. “A week. This will take us three days.”
If we survive it, that is.
My fears were plain on my face, because he added, “I’ve sailed in worse.”
“You also walk headfirst into battles.”
“Battles that I know I’ll win,” he amended.
No one could win a battle against an ocean like this.
“You’re hurting my confidence, carella. Spare me some faith.”
One particularly ferocious wave slammed against the rocks, sending buckets of spray into the air. Skies. “You have plenty of confidence. Toning it down a little might be healthy.”
“We’re going to navigate First Territory, which is entirely hostile, and enter the unknown in the Domus. This is the easy part.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better or worse?”
He flashed a slight grin. “Better.”
We dismounted at the dock, and a group of sailors came to load our horses. Like the first man, they were a weather-beaten bunch, their hair scraggly and skin a blotchy leather. Apparently that was what happened when you spent time on such hostile waters.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I marched onto the rickety dock. The first step was fine. The second wasn’t. My foot slipped to the side, and I tipped.
Harthon caught my shoulders before I could make impact. “It’s slippery,” he warned, setting me back on my feet.
For Domus’ sake. I hadn’t even gotten onto the ship yet, and I was already struggling.
“That warning would have been helpful before I stepped onto the dock.” I meant to sound frustrated, but I was distracted by the way his hands lingered on my shoulders. He’d hardly touched me since that night in my bedroom.
One of those hands coasted down my back and gently nudged me forward. It stayed there as I walked beside him, like he was afraid I’d slip again. “Every sailor knows to use caution on a dock.”
“One, I’m not a sailor. And two, I’ve never even seen a dock.”
“Well, you’ve just remedied the latter. And after the next three days, you’ll consider yourself the former.”
If I even survive until then.
* * *
My chances of making it to the third day were shrinking with every passing wave. And there were many of those waves—big, undulating hills of water that sent us careening down before lurching back up, only to do it again and again and again.
At first, I took comfort in the ease with which the sailors handled the ship.
No one seemed concerned with the conditions as we departed the harbor and entered the wild seas.
The captain had even slipped a grin several times as he steered, and Harthon moved with the same unbothered confidence as he aided the crew around deck.
He’d told me to stand by one of the ship’s thick poles—a mast, he’d called it—and stare at the horizon as we sailed.
Then we lost sight of land, wind filled our sails, and it became nearly impossible for me to walk without falling flat on my face, which was why I was currently clinging to one of the lines dangling from the mast. Sea spray rained over the sides of the ship, splashing my clothes and soaking them.
I was placed in the center of the deck, and Harthon constantly watched me as he worked, so there was no risk of falling overboard.
But fear still rode in my veins. Out here, alone, we were fully at the mercy of the sea.
And it wasn’t being very merciful.
Especially to my stomach.
I turned my head as a particularly big wave went airborne, freezing water pelting my head.
Surely it had to be better below deck, in the confines of a cabin, which I still hadn’t seen.
Sailors had loaded our belongings for us, and when we boarded, the stairs leading below deck were occupied by a stream of crusty-looking men.
After catching a whiff, I wasn’t eager to be in a confined space with them, so I’d declined Harthon’s offer to tour the cabin before the ship sailed, figuring I could explore it at my own pace when we were underway.
Granted, now I’d be less exploring and more seeking shelter. But still, being in the cabin had to be better than weathering this carnage. Stefano rested somewhere below deck, as did the horses. It couldn’t be worse down there.
We lurched over another wave, and I stumbled for the ship’s stairs. I ran down them just as the ship went up again, and I crashed to the floor with the grace of a fumbling calf. The passageway was thankfully empty.
And dry.
And small and narrow and…moving.
My belly rolled with the ship. Bracing a hand on the wooden wall, I lurched to my feet. I only needed to find a room to relax in. Preferably the one with my belongings.
Two steps, and the floor pitched beneath my feet. I took a deep breath to fight my rising nausea.
“If the horses can do it, you can, too,” I encouraged myself, gracelessly moving toward where the hallway branched.
A sailor bumbled down the passageway to my right. I schooled my face just as we made eye contact. Then he turned his back and I keeled over, hands on my knees, as a violent wave sent us down and up.
My mouth began to water, and my body flushed cold.
This was so not good.
You’re the pretend magvis. You can’t get sick.
I spun around and began to stumble back toward the stairs. The sea spray and howling winds had been a nuisance, but my stomach had been far more settled out there—
The ship rolled again, and I fell into the wall. Oh no.
Black leather boots appeared on the stairs in front of me, growing into legs and an unhappy face. “I specifically told you to stay on deck.”
Focusing on each breath, I forced myself toward those stairs.
Harthon muttered a curse. He grabbed my arm and quickly corralled me up the steps.
Blessedly cold air beat my face, and I closed my eyes, inhaling deep. But that was a mistake, because closing my eyes was just as bad as being back down in the cabin, and the watering in my mouth intensified—
Instinct sent me dashing to the ship’s side. My belly heaved as I made contact with the wall. I got my face over the railing just as my stomach emptied itself.
“Hold fast! We have a big one!” someone shouted.
My abdomen cramped and I vomited again into that awful, terrible sea just as a warm body crushed me against the wooden wall.
“Hang on.” Harthon yanked me to the deck.
The ship went down, then kept going down, before suddenly tilting up at a dangerous angle.
I watched as a wave rolled over the front of the ship, sending a wash of water down the entire deck that slammed into my knees. Harthon was all that kept me from sliding with it.
Whoops and cheers rose across the deck, like this was some kind of fun.
I shoved Harthon away and threw my face over the railing again, cursing this ocean, the Domus, the magvis herself for giving me the eyes that brought me here.
Then and there, I was the furthest thing possible from the all-powerful being I pretended to be. It seemed the ocean was determined to remind me of that.
Staying at my back, Harthon pulled my hair away from my face as I continued to heave.
Spitting, I panted, “The sea is trying to kill me.”
Harthon’s body vibrated against me. Was this funny?
“Not just you. All of us, every time we sail.”