Chapter Eight
J em had been right all along—Ergh didn’t exist.
It couldn’t, not when day after endless day passed with the ship sailing on and on and on.
When he’d woken below after the first long night rocking on the waves and ventured up, he’d found not a speck on the horizon in any direction.
It was an unbearably lonely sight, and he’d been gripped with a strange despair.
He’d known it would take longer than a single night to reach Ergh, yet beholding all that nothingness in the milky gray light of a new day had shaken him in a way he hadn’t expected and could barely explain—although no one had asked.
It made him feel unbearably small and lost, yearning for his family.
Even Pasco and Locryn, for at least they were familiar.
That morning, Cador had been laughing with Jory about something across the deck, and Jem could imagine how they’d mock him if he confessed his fear and loneliness.
Why should they care? Cador was his husband in name only.
The tusks seared into Jem’s flesh were meaningless.
He’d retreated back into the hold, where he didn’t have to see how very far from home he was.
He’d stayed huddled in the hold since, as near the stove’s warmth as he could get without the cook glaring at him.
When he went above to relieve himself through a hole at the stern—which he only did when absolutely necessary—he was typically ignored.
Although at times, Cador’s gaze made his skin prickle.
His fear that he’d perish and never return home lingered, its stubborn teeth sharp.
Even if Cador didn’t hurl him into the endless depths of the Askorn Sea, Ergh would surely be a place of danger.
A wild land of wilder people who would likely sneer at Jem too.
And who was to say Cador wouldn’t be rid of him if the opportunity arose?
Though he knew Jory had indeed only been jesting about Cador tossing him overboard, and there were signs of goodness in his husband—small kindnesses such as giving Jem his furs. The flash of dimples when Jem had declared himself a heretic.
He’d also given his vow to keep Jem safe.
Not only during their wedding—which neither of them had meant a word of—but on the morning of their departure.
Cador had promised Jem’s mother he’d protect him, although he hadn’t sounded particularly enthused by the prospect.
Jem could only hope he was a man of his word nonetheless.
He’d been both relieved to be left alone in the hold and resentful that Cador didn’t ask what was amiss. Over the past few days or so—it was hard to keep track—Cador had begun appearing in the hold. Each day, he loomed over Jem and asked the same question:
“Are you going to laze about down here all day?”
The sight of the unbroken horizon was still too terrifying, so Jem would nod in reply, and Cador would grunt and stalk away.
Today, he hadn’t come. Jem had slipped up to the main deck before dawn to relieve himself in the darkness before retreating to his corner, the cook boiling bitter tea when he returned.
Listening to the ship’s creaks and groans, footsteps noisy above the wind’s hiss, Jem had waited for Cador to come and ask his question.
Was he ill? Perhaps he was merely occupied with some task. Or perhaps he’d tired of asking his pointless question. Jem told himself that, whatever the reason, it was of no concern to him whether or not Cador checked on him.
He sipped the horrible tea from a chipped mug while the cook stirred a thin broth across the way. Jem had offered to help with the food, although he admittedly hadn’t done so much as boil a pot of water in his entire life. The cook had practically growled at him to get away.
If Cador was ill, surely someone would tell him?
Not that Jem could do anything about it.
He could heal birds, but knew nothing about people.
And why would they tell him? If anyone, it would be Jory kneeling at Cador’s side to comfort him.
Perhaps wipe his sweaty brow if he had a fever.
And why shouldn’t it be Jory? They were lovers, after all.
His stomach sour, Jem gulped down the rest of the tea.
As if conjured by his musings, thudding footsteps approached the open doorway to this area of the hold.
When Cador filled the passage with his broad shoulders, frowning down at Jem curled in the corner, unexpected relief flowed.
Clearly he was not ill or injured or washed overboard.
Jem waited for the question, wondering for the first time if he should give a different answer. The endless sea was no less real for being hidden from view. Perhaps it was time to stop feeling sorry for himself and face his fate.
“Are you ill?” Cador demanded.
Jem blinked in surprise at the different question. Aloud, he only said, “No.”
“Then what the fuck’s the matter? You’ve barely been outside.”
Jem shrugged, not wanting to voice the reason, shame prickling him. He shouldn’t have given in to his fear, yet now he was stubbornly stuck.
“You act as though you’re imprisoned down here. You’re not!”
Unsure why Cador sounded so angry and defensive, Jem shrugged again.
Nostrils flaring, Cador crossed his meaty arms. “Do I need to beat it out of you?”
Some mad impulse had Jem shrugging a third time. Perhaps he wanted to see if Cador really would. One way or another, he’d have a better measure of his husband. Husband . It was absurd! Yet here they were.
Cador’s jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek. His beard had grown, and Jem oddly wondered what it would feel like against his own stubbornly smooth face.
“It’s not good to be shut away down here. You need air.”
“We speak and breathe right now. Clearly there’s air.”
“ Fresh air. If you’re not sick already, you’ll make yourself weak. Weaker.”
Jem risked another shrug.
Cador dropped his arms to his sides, exasperation joining his annoyance. “For fuck’s sake, what is wrong with you? Stop being like…” He motioned roughly at Jem. “ This .”
So it seemed the threat to beat him was indeed an empty one. Despite reminding himself not to lower his guard, Jem couldn’t stop the little bloom of warmth in his chest. “It’s fine. You don’t need to worry.”
“I’m not!” He ran a hand over his shorn head.
“Why do some of you wear your hair short and others long?”
Cador blinked. “What?”
“There seems to be meaning to it.”
“Oh. Yes.” He ran his hand over his head again. “Only hunters crop our hair.”
“Why?”
Cador seemed stumped by the question. “Tradition. And don’t change the subject. Tell me what’s wrong with you.”
“Why?” Jem found himself wanting to test Cador’s patience. See how far he could push and prod. How Cador would respond. Likely unwise with a ruthless hunter who’d threatened to beat him, but Jem couldn’t resist knowing more about this man.
“I swear, if you ask that again…” Cador glowered down at him. Yet there was no weight to the threat, not really. “You can’t be this lazy and useless. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”
There. That was a confession. Oh, how Jem understood the urge to fix . The answering need in him to help—to soothe Cador’s agitation—rose up, and the truth tumbled out.
“I hate seeing nothing but the sea. It’s frightening to be so removed from home. From any land at all. Down here, I don’t have to see it. I can pretend I’m not so very far away.”
Cador stared, seemingly surprised. Whether by the words themselves or that Jem had uttered them at all, he wasn’t sure. Cador opened and closed his mouth, the silence following Jem’s admission stretching out.
Finally, he said, “Then you’re in luck.”
“Am I?” Jem asked dubiously.
At that, Cador smiled suddenly, dimpling his grizzled cheek and making Jem’s belly somersault. “Might be a strong word, ‘luck.’ But Ergh is in sight.”
Jem’s spine straightened. “Truly?”
“Yes. Come. See for yourself.” After a moment’s hesitation, he extended his hand.
Jem’s breath caught. Part of him wanted to remain huddled under the furs, safe within four creaking walls, yearning for his books. Alone with his daydreams of Morvoren and her adventures where all ended well without fail. But how long could daydreams sustain him? He was weary of his own self-pity.
A new excitement cartwheeled through him as he reached up and took Cador’s callused right hand.
The clasp was only for the space of a heartbeat—Cador hauling him to his feet as if Jem weighed nothing at all, his hand big and warm and enclosing Jem’s completely in a powerful grasp.
The brand twinged, but it was mostly healed now.
Cador let go, marching to the stairs and leaving Jem to follow if he chose.
Jem took a deep breath and followed, ready for his first glimpse of Ergh. Perhaps it would be beautiful after all. Perhaps it would be a land of remote tranquility and—
Rock.
Jagged stone looming from the bitter iron sea.
The sky hung heavy with clouds, looking as though they met the merciless cliffs, forming an impenetrable wall of gray.
Jem had returned Delen’s cloak to her ages ago and left Cador’s furs below.
He wished he had them now as the wind pummeled him.
Strange clouds appeared in front of his face, and he jerked back, briefly clutching Cador’s muscled arm for balance.
“What’s that?” Jem swatted at the clouds.
Cador chuckled. “Your breath. You can see it in the air when it’s cold.”
Sure enough, the mist escaped his own mouth and nose. Jem tentatively moved his hand through the white air again, yet felt nothing, the clouds disappearing after a few seconds.
“You’ve really never been anywhere cold.” Cador sounded mystified.
“No. Well, this is certainly cold.” Jem stared at the gray island, trying to find a hint of beauty or a reminder of home. His body had gone so rigid that he thought he might shatter. With stiff fingers, he pulled his red cloak tighter around him.