Chapter 22 A Traitor In Our Midst
A smooth tongue hides a barbed heart. Seek truth not in honeyed words, but in the silence that follows.
Ican't breathe.
The journey back to the Nightingale is nothing but a blurry haze composed of garbled voices and sporadic jostling.
Someone rows the longboat. Waves slap the wooden hull beneath me, jerking us all back and forth in an unsettling tempo, but I could not fathom the will to care—or even be afraid—if I tried.
Though my fingers grip the bench, I am far away, as if floating to another realm, and Rhyland’s words keep echoing through my head.
“...when put together they create a potent potion.… A potion that suppresses powerful magick.”
I’m aware of the tense looks the pirate lord keeps throwing me, just barely.
The weight of them lingers on the edges of my subconscious, but again I simply can’t care.
Let him see me fall apart. Let him know how his claims have pried the heart from me.
My màma…lied? Bound my magick, yet watched me struggle, offered words of encouragement knowing she was the reason my powers would not come.
That the others labeled me as different.
A weakling. Unworthy of notice. Forced to the shadows, away from the other young Nymphs. Mocked. Ridiculed.
And why, why, why? Why would she do it? Brand me as more other than I already am from them?
My breath is ragged when I find Rhyland’s voice dangerously close to my ear.
“Nymph, we’ve reached the ship.” He pushes the hood of the wedding cloak back, the one thing that shielded my windstorm of emotions from the rest of the crew sitting in the small boat, pretending not to notice our whispering. Looking anywhere but at us.
It's tempting to pull it back on, but instead I work to swallow against my shock and grief. To grapple for an inkling of composure. Rowan is on that ship, waiting for me. For a solution. And likely an explanation for what in the four realms has happened while I was away.
Salt spray stings my eyes as I move to grip the side of the longboat, and glimpse the oars digging deep into the churning waves.
The closer we draw to the Nightingale, the more legend solidifies into breathtaking reality.
I haven't yet seen the ship from this angle.
Her hull, the blackest obsidian, seems to absorb the early morning rays of the sun, casting an inky sheen across the water.
She's massive, dwarfing our little craft by a factor of ten.
Her three masts, impossibly tall and thick, pierce the misty, robin egg sky, each crowned with a monstrous sail, rolled tight against the harsh winds that rip along the coast.
With a growing sense of dread, I crane my neck to take in the details I've overlooked during my time aboard her.
The rigging, a complex web of tarred hemp, creaks and groans in the wind like the mournful song of a siren.
Ropes as thick as a man's thigh snake from the yards, each manned by the silhouette of a crewman.
The quarterdeck, a distance away, is a flurry of activity—Sabres's piercing voice rises above it all, bellowing orders for the crew to keep hauling on lines and securing braces.
My heart lurches into my throat, catching a full view of the figurehead for the first time.
Carved from midnight-hued wood, it’s a breathtaking rendition of the mythical nightingale.
Its form, a magnificent bird, larger than any avian has the right to be, is captured in mid-flight, black and gold wings outstretched.
Each sculpted feather is a masterpiece of its own, sleek edges catching the slivers of growing sunlight and glinting like a blade.
As the bosun's whistle shrieks, more commotion erupts on the deck. With practiced ease, a team of men lower a massive crane, its hook a fearsome claw of iron. My stomach clenches and knees shake, but there's no turning back for Isle Elaris now.
Before I can gather my senses, we're heaved up by the pulley system and secured back into place. To my great annoyance, Rhyland lifts me over the gunwale where the crew anxiously awaits us, following Sabre's shouted orders.
“Captain.” She grins wide at Rhyland without sparing me a second glance, but there's a strange tenseness in the lines around her unpatched eye.
“Sabre,” Rhyland nods, lowering me to my feet. “Everything alright?” He must see it, too. Of course he does—he sees everything.
Immediately, my thoughts go to Rowan and I begin scanning the deck for her, eyes feverishly raking through the bustling crew. Behind me, the deck shakes a little when Briggs thuds over the rail. He doesn't waste a second before shouting orders of his own in a voice like cracking thunder.
“At your stations, Sea Dogs! Get us underway!”
“We need to talk privately—”
“Where's Rowan?” I don't care how rude of an interruption it is.
Every fiber of my being is alive with panic.
Each worry battles for dominance. Why isn't Rowan above deck?
Why did Màma lie? What will happen if I don't take her potion?
It's too much. The water. The frenzy of men securing supplies or moving into their positions to set us asail across the vast, never ending ocean.
I don't want to be here. I want to go home. I want to know why.
Trust no one. Trust no one. Trust no one.
It was her who taught me that very phrase.
“I think she'll need to come with us,” Rhyland says, ignoring my question entirely.
I am not some fragile creature! I want to shout, but I can hardly catch my breath to utter a word.
A soundless gesture toward his first mate has Sabre grabbing my arm to pull me along after them. Up a small fleet of stairs we go to the rear of the ship where the captain's quarters wait. Rhyland pushes open a massive, deep red door and the three of us slip inside before it thuds shut behind me.
Compared to the fresh dawn outside, the cabin feels almost violently dark, though the air smells sweet as honeyed rum, with the hint of earthy soil I can only imagine is from whatever plants and herbs Rhyland keeps in here for his tonics. I suck in deep breaths of it, finding the scent calming.
The sound of a match striking is followed by the sharp hiss of a gas lantern being lit.
Rhyland's stark features are illuminated in the flame before he sets it down on the polished oak desk.
He doesn't bother with the deep maroon curtains behind him, though I imagine they'd let in more light than the flickering lantern gives.
Sabre leads me past a four posted bed and plops me down in a plush armchair in front of the desk. I work to calm my breathing, taking in the navigational charts and rolled parchment spread along its wide, polished top.
“Tell me.” Rhyland's stormy gaze is set on his first mate, as though he could glean the words from her skin.
I hug the protective cloak more tightly around my shoulders and bite down on my tongue. So badly I wish to interrupt and ask after Rowan again, but I get the feeling it would fall on deaf ears. Something happened. If I keep quiet, maybe I'll find out.
Sabre huffs. “This really isn't a conversation for her…it could be upsetting.”
I hurl myself from my seat. It must be about Rowan. What else would she fear could upset me?
Sabre shoves me back into my seat. “Sit down. Your friend is perfectly fine. She hasn't risen yet from a late night of celebrating your union.”
Sharp relief courses through me, though I can't imagine Rowan celebrating such a thing. Perhaps the island affects those on the water as well as the land.
“Enough banter, Sab. Tell me what's wrong.” Rhyland's many ringed fingers clench into fists, pressing into the hard desktop when he leans closer.
“Last night, when you came down to drink with the men you asked me to select quarters for Rowan and make sure your quarters were suitable for the nymph to join you, remember?”
Soft surprise stirs inside of me. Join him? That hadn’t been part of the deal.
He almost scoffs. “You believed me drunk enough to forget?”
Sabre smirks in the dim light. “I can't recall the last time seeing you so far gone. So, wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.”
Irritation flits over his face. “Yes, I remember. What of it?”
“I chose a room near mine for Rowan and recruited help getting everything else in order. But, late in the eve after everyone had gone to bed, Tannin was making his regular rounds through the ship. He happened by your cabin. Most of the crew were well into their cups or asleep. No mongrel would have reason to be snoopin’ around your shit, so when he heard shuffling, he investigated.
” Her tone is laced with an anxiety I didn't think she was capable of feeling.
It's contagious. My own heart begins pumping furiously.
Rhyland's face turns to shadow and wrath. I almost shrink away from him but hold steady.
“What did he find?”
“A man, well, hardly that even. He’s young.
Just a powder monkey. Someone we picked up a fortnight before you left to join Solomon's guard. He had a box with him, a snake inside of it. A double headed black-tail. I understand they're native to Ethirya, and carved into the Black household’s family crest.”
Now my heart ceases it's thundering all together. Blood rushes from my face, pools in my belly. The double headed black-tail is one of the deadliest snakes on the continent, with a bite that brings death in mere moments. No antidote yet discovered, the victim is doomed to a quick but agonizing death. They’ve been hunted to near extinction.
Procuring a live one would cost a fortune.
“R-Rowan, was she anywhere near? Was she hurt?”