Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Silence between us stretches on for hours, the only sound the roaring of the waterfall and the chirping of wildlife after the heaviness of our conversation settled.
When he said we’d be going somewhere today, I did not expect to have my world turned on its axis yet again, or to have an entirely different perspective on Weston.
I don’t completely; I can’t with only a few truths and the snap of fingers. A sinking feeling creeps over me, as I wonder if I blindly followed someone else’s beliefs without making my own judgments. I didn’t look at all the information and find the truth.
Edmond would be disappointed in me.
Yes, Weston took me and the rest of the Castaways captive after finding the waters, and he still won’t give me an adequate reason for that, but since then, he’s been nothing but be extremely protective of his people.
He claims he is trying to find a way home, and seemed truly distressed when he found out that opportunity might be coming to an end.
Maybe he only wants to get home to the woman he came to save. But if that is the case, why didn’t he just go to Dane? And why did he kill the last Guardian?
The sliver of hope I keep clinging to is my trust in the island.
If Dawnlin trusts Dane as the Guardian, why can’t I?
I’ll admit, the island and I don’t see eye to eye on everything, namely not being worthy of the waters and keeping me trapped on the ship, but it seems to be all knowing, and I need to remember that.
My head hurts from all the questions cycling through it when Weston finally breaks the silence.
“I can hear you thinking, princess.”
“No, you can’t,” I say. I lean my hips back, bending forward and hanging off the railing to stretch out my spine. My muscles are tight everywhere with the intensity of the morning, and my entire body feels like one large knot. “What do you normally do to pass the time up here?”
“I don’t think I want to know the answer to that question.” He chuckles, and I remember he said Sig and Jorn were on duty the day he saved me.
I make a face and shake my head. “I didn’t need that mental picture, thanks.”
He laughs, a full, hearty laugh that feels like warm honey.
My eyes snap to him and my jaw drops as I take in the smile lighting up his face.
My stomach tumbles. I’ve only seen him laugh one other time, but it wasn’t with me, and I was seething with hatred at the time.
Now, after our conversation this morning, I see it differently than before.
Only a little differently.
“What?” he asks, quirking his brow.
“Nothing,” I say, quickly looking away and straightening my body.
“How about we make a bet.”
“A bet?”
He’s caught my attention. What could Weston possibly want to bet, and why? Is it just a way to pass time, or is he serious about it?
“A bet, a wager, a game. Call it whatever you want.”
“What’s the catch?” I ask, eyeing him skeptically. Playful Weston is still uncharted territory, and I haven’t gotten used to it yet. The idea of him proposing a game now makes me a little wary.
“If I win, I get a truth, no questions asked, whenever I call for it. But if you win, you can have your weapons back.”
I all but stand at attention with the wager.
My dagger.
He’s offering to return it to me; no more allowing me to have it whenever he deems it necessary. He’s showing he trusts me, at least enough not to slit his throat in his sleep.
“What are the rules?” I ask. My skin prickles with excitement. The worry from a few moments ago is completely forgotten, and all I can focus on is winning.
“You pick the weapon.” He gestures to himself and everything he’s got strapped to his body. “I pick the task. Fair is fair.”
“The bow. I want the bow.” The words spill from my mouth, and he smirks, lifting it over his head and extending it toward me.
“Fin said you wanted one.”
My fingers wrap around the grip and a thrill hums through my body.
“More like Fin wanted me to have one so he could shoot with me. I was teaching him how before…” I trail off.
Neither of us acknowledges Weston taking Fin, and how distraught I was when I discovered he was gone.
The last thing I want this morning is to talk about more heavy and confusing things, because now, if I try hard enough, I could probably see Weston and my fight in the cave in an entirely different light.
“What’s the task?” I ask.
He wraps his hands around my shoulders and leads me to the other side of the lookout, facing deep into the forest. The back of my neck tingles as he leans over me, pointing over my shoulder, so close our clothing brushes together.
“See that tree over there?”
I nod tightly, trying to ignore his proximity and the images conjured in my mind from last night.
“Three arrows. Whoever hits the most coconuts wins.”
The tree is deep in the jungle, far off the main path, so anyone passing by the mountain wouldn’t see the flying arrows or falling fruit unless they were right under it.
Weston sets the quiver against the rail and steps away from my back, giving me space to breathe again. He pulls an arrow from the quiver and extends it to me.
“Ladies first.”
“If you think I’m going first, Captain, you’re mistaken.” I step aside so he can take my place in the opening. “Your task, you first.”
He holds out his hand, and I place the bow back in his palm. He moves into position, and I stand behind him, giving him enough space so he can shoot, but not enough that I can’t see the target.
He sets up his shot, turning sideways and nocking the arrow before pulling back the string and taking aim.
His form is good, which shouldn’t be surprising based on how well he can handle weapons otherwise.
A few moments pass, unmoving, until he releases the arrow.
It whizzes from the lookout, straight toward the target tree, before slamming into the trunk, just beneath the coconuts.
A smirk forms on my lips.
“Shit,” he murmurs under his breath, and pulls another arrow, going through the same motions. He looses it and it slices through a coconut, splitting it and sending pieces falling to the ground.
He pulls his last arrow from the quiver and lines it up, taking a moment longer than previously before he lets go. The arrow flies right at the tree, then whizzes just past it, disappearing into the forest.
“Fuck.”
I laugh and step toward him, holding my hand out for the bow. “Are you letting me win, Captain?”
“Gloating doesn’t look good on you, princess. Especially since you haven’t shot anything yet.”
It sure feels good, though.
“You can pull my dagger out now. I’ll be taking it back.” I push past him, and he huffs a laugh as I set up my feet, analyzing the target, the wind, all the other factors that might affect my shot. I try not to focus on anything but the tree, but my skin tingles with Weston’s attention.
Maybe he’ll stop underestimating me now.
Pushing out my breath slowly, I release the arrow, and it slams right through a coconut, knocking it to the ground. I smirk at him over my shoulder as I grab another arrow from the quiver, nocking it quickly and lining up the next shot.
“I’m about to lose this, aren’t I?” he grumbles.
“Don’t feel too bad, Captain.” I pull the arrow back and release, watching as it slams into another coconut, slicing it in half.
I’ve already won, but I can’t help sticking my victory to him after all the ways he’s pushed me over the weeks. I grab a third arrow and let it fly, knocking a third coconut right from the tree. “I was trained poorly, remember?”
I hook the bow over my chest and turn toward him, my hand extended expectantly. He is already smirking, and my insides tumble, but I can’t stifle my own beaming smile.
It’s probably just the excitement from beating him.
He slides my dagger from his vest and hands it to me. “I’m trusting you not to stab me. Again,” he says.
Trusting me. He’s just admitted he is going to trust me, and this wasn’t just a way to pass the time. He’s actually letting me have my weapons back, without a question.
“No promises.”
My chest swells the moment I hold my dagger again, my fingers grasping the sheath tightly. I turn away so he can’t see any hint of my vulnerability before sliding it into my waistband where it belongs.
“Who taught you how to shoot?” he asks.
“No one taught me. I watched the guar—men…in town…practicing.” I catch myself before saying the wrong thing, and risking giving my title away.
Coming off the excitement of beating Weston at his own game caused me to get too comfortable, and I almost revealed too much.
I push past the stumble and hope he didn’t catch it.
“I picked up a bow one day and really liked it. It helped me clear my mind and focus on something I could control. So I just kept doing it. I got better with practice.”
“Your parents didn’t teach you?”
I pause for a moment, trying to find the right words and determine how much I want to give away. Knowing a little about my family shouldn’t give him any power over me, no matter which way I look at it, so I decide to go with a partial truth.
“I lost my mother, and my father and I don’t really speak.”
“At all?” His brows draw together.
“Only when he needs something from me.”
He doesn’t seem happy about my answer. His only response is silence as he looks back toward the waterfall.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says. “I’m sure that was not an easy childhood.”
“Are you, or were you, close to your parents?”
It’s only fair that I get to ask the same question of him, especially since I’m still trying to determine if he is really being genuine or if it is all just an act.
“My father and I were close, but obviously not recently. I lost my mother too. That was a long time ago.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the rail, his hands clasped out in front of him, but it’s his stoic face I watch.
He answered the question, but didn’t give up anything else, the same as me.
Having something in common with Weston makes me feel off balance, like I’m teetering toward belief and trust instead of the vast hatred I felt when I was first taken.
The tiny voice in the back of my head still wonders if he is being authentic, or if he concocted this commonality just to tug at my empathy.
I kick the toe of my boot into the floorboards, anything to get rid of this nervous energy from his revelation.
I have no way of knowing how much time has passed, and I don’t want to sit in uncomfortable silence until we return to the ship.
I clear my throat, and try to return to the light-hearted unexpected emotion welling up there and change the topic again.
“You could have just given me the dagger back, you know. You didn’t have to embarrass yourself in the process.”
His smile returns, but his eyes stay trained on the mountain. “I could have, but it was more fun this way.”
“I just can’t wait to get back and tell everyone what a horrible shot you—”
“Quiet,” he hisses, holding out his hand toward me.
I stop talking automatically and walk over toward him, leaning in to see what made him so on edge.
Storm stalks down the main path, heading to the stone bridge, his crossbow loaded and drawn, as if he’s waiting for some kind of confrontation.
He seems more on guard today than he did when we saw him and Dane a few weeks ago.
I wonder if he is still searching for the healing waters, or if he’s searching for us.
Us.
Am I included in that collective now?
Weston and I watch as Storm hops off the bridge on the other side and follows the path around the lagoon before he disappears into the forest.
Neither of us moves once he’s gone, and I let out my held breath slowly.
“Is that why you wanted me to have my weapons back?” I ask quietly.
He nods. “You need to be able to protect yourself.”
“They won’t hurt me.”
He stands upright, and turns, towering over me, and I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. His eyes darken as they roam my face, and my cheeks heat under the scrutiny.
“I’m not willing to take that chance.”
I’m too aware of the breath of space between us, and the fire low in my abdomen at his words. My eyes scan his, and he doesn’t shy away, just stays gazing intently at me, as if he has more to say, but won’t.
Why does he care this much? Is he this protective of everyone in the crew? As the captain, I know he feels responsible for everyone’s well being, but he saved me before he knew me, before I was anywhere near his ship and his crew.
Blinking rapidly, I break out of his trance and step away, turning to cross the lookout again and plopping down on the wooden floor. I pull the bow off and set it next to me, extending my legs out in front of me and crossing my ankles.
I’m exhausted, both physically and mentally. I didn’t expect to have to pick apart every word that Weston uttered today, but that is all I’ve done, and I need a break. I need to get my mind straight and figure out what is really going on.
This is the first time Weston has actually talked to me. Not commanded me, or made comments. Actually talked, and it feels like it came out of nowhere.
Taking him up on his offer to rest, I close my eyes and lay my head back on the boards, trying to piece together everything I know with everything I learned today. Seeing Storm walking around Dawnlin like he was hunting something makes me uneasy.
The Castaways have never spoken of harming anyone. Weston has only ever talked about protecting and defending themselves. But seeing the way Storm was ready to shoot, and knowing the beliefs back at camp, I can’t help but wonder if maybe I am making the wrong decision, trying to get back to them.
What if I’m not on the right side after all?