Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Sig and I walk straight to the infirmary, ignoring the stares and questioning looks aimed at us the entire way.
I can’t wait to wash all this grime off and crawl into bed and shut my exhausted mind off from the constant onslaught of thoughts.
Mara’s attack, seeing Dane, and now Weston.
I just need this pain to go away so I can start over tomorrow, and hopefully figure out where to go from here.
“Sit,” Sig says, pointing to a chair tucked against the wall.
I plop down on it and start to remove the sling, wincing with even the slightest movement.
The wound stopped bleeding hours ago, but has rendered my arm almost completely useless.
I’m grateful for Dawnlin’s magic, so I don’t actually have to let this heal.
The pain will be gone in moments, but the memory will last.
Commotion erupts on the other side of the door and it sounds like something is happening in the mess. Muffled shouts and laughter float through the air, followed by the scraping of tables and chairs on the wood.
“I’m sorry I’m keeping you awake after the shit day we had,” I say. She’s already cleaned herself up and healed her leg, but instead of joining the rest of the crew or heading to her room, she stayed with me.
Even after all the danger I put her in.
“Don’t worry about it. We need to get this taken care of,” she says. “Besides, with all that,” she tilts her head toward the galley, “we’ll be lucky if we get to sleep anytime soon.”
She crosses the room and opens a cabinet filled with supplies before scanning over them and pulling out specific items. The familiar jar of salve catches my eye and I almost heave a sigh of relief at the sight.
She sets everything down on the chair next to me and sits on a stool in front of me, angling herself so she can better see the puncture that goes completely through my biceps.
“What are they doing in there?” I ask as I watch her practiced hands move across my skin, cleaning and dabbing with a linen bandage.
“Playing games. Probably drinking.”
“You don’t want to join them?” I grumble as she moves my limb, trying to better access the other side, biting my lip and trying to remember the pain is almost over.
“Someone has to keep their wits about them,” she says as a chorus of roars erupts outside.
Her movements are gentle but firm, and I hiss when she douses the opening with some liquid.
She doesn’t flinch at all, and no one would guess that this strong woman tending to wounds is a princess like me.
It makes me wonder if she learned it all here, or if this is part of who she was back home, too.
“I probably should have offered you a drink before I did this,” she says with a chuckle.
“No, I’m fine,” I grunt out. I don’t want to do anything that might loosen my inhibitions, not after what happened on deck.
Not after how that kiss made me feel, especially knowing he regretted it before it was even over.
I still have to sleep next to him tonight, and adding alcohol to my already muddled mind won’t result in anything good.
“Why didn’t the captain use this stuff when I cut him in training?” I ask. He walked around with his arm bandaged for days before a dark pink line took its place on his skin, but I never asked why. I was avoiding him then, and I wonder if Sig will tell me, or if she even knows.
“He doesn’t like using too much of the magic. He says he’s thankful enough for everything Dawnlin does for us. He doesn’t need to ask for more of it.”
I must have made a face because Sig laughs.
“I think it’s stupid too.”
“Is that why he has that big scar? He refused it then too? I’m sure you gave him a piece of your mind about that one,” I say.
She hesitates, and I can see her thinking, choosing her words carefully. “We actually didn’t have it when he got that one. He probably would have taken it then. That was a nasty slash.”
Her lips press together like she wants to say more, but stops herself. She leans in to look at my arm a little closer, so I don’t pry.
Someone shouts ‘no’, which is met by a chorus of laughs and cheers, the sound so loud it feels as if we’re in the same room.
Once she’s satisfied with her cleaning, she grabs the salve and smears it over the opening on both sides. At the first touch, the pain disappears, a cool tingling left in its wake, followed by the warmth of healing.
I breathe a sigh of relief and drop my head back against the wall.
“Why does he treat me like this, Sig?” I murmur.
I can’t let it go. I have to ask. It is blatant that Weston treats me differently than the rest of the crew, and after tonight, I thought it might be because of some repressed feelings.
But after watching him walk away, without so much as a look back or a word other than cursing his actions, I don’t know what to believe.
Sig knows him better than anyone else. She isn’t afraid to challenge him, and he clearly trusts her. Maybe she knows something I don’t.
Her lips form a line, and she stays focused on her task, wrapping a clean bandage around my healing arm.
“Cap has his reasons.”
I sigh heavily. “That’s all everyone ever says. He has his reasons. What are the damn reasons, Sig? Why won’t anyone tell me?”
She looks me in the eye, her face serious. “I’m not trying to keep things from you, but it’s not my place. I understand what you’re saying, and I’m not saying I don’t see it. I know he doesn’t treat you like the rest of us. I just hope you can be patient and trust him enough to accept it.”
The fabric constricts as she pulls the knot tight, and I try to wiggle my fingers, the movement already coming back painlessly.
I don’t know how to respond to her, so I stay quiet. I know I’m coming to trust Weston and everyone else in the crew, but I don’t understand why he doesn’t trust me enough to give a reason. Why will no one tell me the truth?
We clean the infirmary quickly, the strain between us evident after her continued secrecy. The noise from the game has not let up and instead has only escalated to the boards shaking under our feet. Once we’re in the hallway, she gestures to the galley.
“I’m going to grab some food to eat in my room. I don’t want to listen to their shouting in that proximity. You’ve got to be starving, too. You should grab a plate.”
Sig is right; with all the developments of the day, food hasn’t even crossed my mind. I’m starving and exhausted and confused, but the last thing I want is to be in the same room as Weston.
“Sure,” I agree and follow her into the galley. A resounding cheer rises from the group as soon as we enter the room, followed by a yell from Jorn.
“Sig! Lennox! Come play!” There’s a chorus of agreements, but Sig shakes her head.
“Go back to your game, Jorn,” she calls as we fill up plates.
I keep my gaze trained on the food, refusing to look over at the crowd, at Weston. The back of my neck tingles as I feel like one particular set of eyes is on me, watching me move through the galley behind Sig.
“Boo!” the group yells at our response.
Sig waves them off and we walk straight back to the door, just as Stassia walks through it.
“Stass!” Everyone cheers.
Is part of the game saying everything in unison?
I must be hungry, or flustered, or both, because something as simple as that doesn’t usually grate on my nerves like it is right now.
“I want in on the fun!” Stassia yells and saunters over to the group. “Scoot over!”
Chairs scrape and bodies shuffle, but I keep my eyes averted, my shoulders relaxing the moment I step back into the hallway.
Another round of laughter sounds behind me and I ignore it, instead bidding Sig a good night and heading to my room.
The sconces brighten as I enter, and the lantern on Weston’s desk lights as I set my plate down and slide into his chair.
I want answers, and I feel like I deserve them. I can’t keep being treated differently without knowing the reasons. So many of my feelings have changed based on my time here, but there’s still a sliver of doubt that I can’t get rid of, especially with all the secrecy.
What if how I’m feeling is wrong?
What if it really is all a trick?
Do I really believe that?
It feels like there’s something looming, something that Weston doesn’t want me to know, because maybe it would change everything.
More than the kiss did.
I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut.
The kiss changed nothing. It was obviously a mistake, nothing more than a release from the tension of the other night.
A roar erupts from below, and the room shakes with the noise.
Sig was right, again. Sleep is going to be futile until whatever is going on down there dies down or breaks up.
My eyes roam over the maps spread across the desk as I pick at my food. Since I’m going to be awake, I might as well try to do something useful with the time. I think back to my map, and how the island gave me the tools to create it when I wanted to be methodical.
There’s got to be something we are missing, just like we all missed when searching for the healing waters.
Eventually we deciphered the signals, the pattern.
The ship is full of people who figured it out, but not the dust. After all this time, the same people who found the waters can’t find the dust.
Is the dust something that can even be found?
Does Dane actually know how to replenish it, and is lying about it? Or is it all real, and our time on the island is about to be infinite?
While I don’t believe what Dane says about the Castaways anymore, I don’t think he’s lying about the dust. He can’t be.
But what I can’t figure out is what he could possibly gain from keeping everyone here?
He’s the Guardian, the one that can bring us to and from Dawnlin, but why can none of us go back to him and ask to return?
Does he really care about who comes and goes?
I scan the maps, trying to find patterns just as I did with the waters, but nothing stands out to me. All it is doing is making my head hurt and my frustration grow.
After I finish my food and still have come up with no new tactics, I finally give up and get into bed.
A stack of books sits on my bedside table, and I grab one off the top.
The island brought me some I haven’t read before, and I hope they will provide a solid distraction from the continued laughter below.
I’m definitely not using them to stay awake until Weston returns.
Absolutely not.