Chapter 22 A Traitor In Our Midst #4
The old man moves quickly when intent on a goal. I can’t even argue, he’s so fast, whisking by me and out the door.
Cyprian shrugs and shoots me a soft smile, holding pressure on the wound with a square of fringed white cloth.
Behind him, the thick curtains are drawn back to expose the patterned windows that reveal the deep cast in nightfall.
Wind in our favor, we managed to make good enough speed to escape the Dread Sea before full darkness fell and its twisted creatures could begin their hunt.
“What happened to your hand?” I ask without looking at him. Instead, I study some of the fresh herbs that dangle from the low ceiling to dry. Little pieces of Elaris we’ve taken with us.
“Careless slip of a knife, moving too quickly to get us underway. Storm’s coming and we need to outrun it.”
My body turns stiff and cold at the mention of such a thing. Memories of tall waves, like walls, like giants, crash through my mind as surely as they did Harlow’s ship, Shadow Weaver, that awful night, ripping everything apart. Turning us out to the mercy of the sea.
A tremble starts in my knees—a dryness coats my mouth. “Will we? Outrun it, I mean.”
“It’s hard to say. Storms are much more difficult to detect at night.
I admit, I have an instinct for such a thing, but the rapid way they can grow and change often leaves me as clueless as the rest of you.
” It sounds as though for my benefit he’s trying to keep the tone light.
Perhaps being amongst Rhyland’s sea-forged, he even knows the circumstances of my fear.
A fear that’s currently growing more wild inside me with every passing second.
He catches my expression and his brow softens.
A hand reaches forward before he remembers the bloody cloth bound around it.
“Try not to worry. This ship’s faced worse odds and come through intact.
The crew is seasoned. Talon and Briggs are excellent commanders.
I think Tobias, the helmsman, even quite enjoys a good downpour. Views it as a challenge.”
Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better.
He sighs, shifting back further onto the wooden table.
“I can’t blame you for being skeptical, after everything you've witnessed, today alone. I’m sorry you had to see that mess with the boy, Talon’s traitor.”
I shiver to recall it, the terror that clung to his young face before he went over.
Looking out into the dark water through the window, I can almost imagine him floating lifelessly within the seaweed, chained and anchored to the sandy bottom.
Subtly, there's a shift in the flow of the current.
A chaotic change to the swimming pattern a silvery school of fish had been following.
“It was…unfortunate,” I find myself whispering.
“Necessary, of course, to end him after what he tried to do to you, but especially cruel to give a fate to someone so young. He could have waited until we were out of Elaris’s mists.”
This perks my attention and I turn, eyeing him wearily. “What do you mean? Drowning is drowning. I hardly think the location mattered to the boy.”
“That’s because you’re unaware of—I’m sorry, I think I’ve said too much.”
“Tell me,” I prod, turning to face him again.
He looks riddled with guilt, his tan skin gleaming in the lantern light. “I shouldn’t. It’s not something you should carry.”
I move forward, tempted to threaten. Tempted to beg. But also knowing somewhere deep inside that I don’t want to hear this truth. That I don’t want to know the extent of the cruelties Rhyland Crow is capable of. Not when I’m tethered to him in this way.
“Your marriage is based on a lie—a sham. Only the sea-forged know such a thing and that’s how Rhyland would like to keep it.
I could see that I offended you on your wedding night when we spoke in that room.
Embarrassed you maybe. So rest assured, Rhyland has no intention of letting the crew know that your marriage is not a union of passion, or why it is that he needs you here, but know that—knowing the truth, that it isn't love that drives him— makes it that much more terrifying.” He hesitates and looks away towards Mattias’ desk.
I wonder how much longer we have before the old surgeon returns and this conversation has to come to an abrupt end.
“You’re speaking in puzzles. Just tell me.”
His hand lances through the soft looking waves of sandy hair on his head before he looks at me again, pained.
“We sea-forged know Talon doesn’t care about you in that way, and yet he drowned that boy, the spy, in waters with captured nymph spirits.
Vengeful spirits. They will revive him only to let him experience a painful death of drowning, over and over into eternity.
That is the punishment our captain sentenced him to.
Eventually, he will become like the móri, but alone, with only murderous nymph spirits for company. ”
“I—”
The door comes open and a tall figure stands outside of it, not Mattias at all. For a moment, pure terror rocks through my body. Is it possible Rhyland overheard us? There’s no indication in his calm cold mask as he stoops some to avoid hitting his head on the circular door frame.
“Cyprian, rouse the others, we need all hands on deck. Bind your injury and go.” His gaze goes to me, dusky midnight, churning beneath swollen clouds. “Nymph, put on your wedding gift immediately and do not take it off for any reason. Go to Rowan’s quarters until the storm passes.”
Dutifully, the navigator rises and slips out the door.
Confusion finds me first and then sudden, awful understanding.
Mór’s words ring through my head.This cloak’s been woven from the sea itself. It’s best known for its ability to protect the wearer should they find themselves in trouble. Keep it close while you sail.
There’s only one reason he should want me to don it now.
His next words rattle through me, confirming my fear. “The storms caught up with us and she has no plans to be gentle.”