Chapter 16
Skillful Healer
ROHEN
Syoran’s broad shoulders swallowed the corridor, my gaze fixating on his long, silken hair tumbling down his back as fluidly as the waves we sailed on.
He walked with an air of confidence, a stride I’d become well-acquainted with during my time in the brig.
It was an earned pridefulness, clearly displayed by the deckhands who practically bowed as we passed on the way to Caspian’s quarters.
The title of co-captain implied an unwavering amount of respect and clear access to the captain’s cabin.
Resting his palm flush against the smoothed oak door, he nudged it open without a knock to warn of our arrival.
The hinges groaned, as if the room itself were a sanctuary that had gotten little foot traffic.
Whether that was because of a lack of intrigue or a stated command, I genuinely didn’t give a fuck.
A space that housed someone as vile as Caspian Vayne was one I had no interest in exploring.
But somehow, as Syoran stepped out of my way, every assumption I’d held about my captor seemed to vanish like the water off a sun-soaked deck during a peaked summer afternoon.
A large mahogany desk greeted us first, books stacked in an organized pattern on its surface.
Alongside their towering height sat a map, unrolled and marked in a manner I’d never bothered to understand.
The compass that rested on top of the worn paper glistened beneath the golden rays seeping in through the three windows on the far side of the room, its bright sheen a confirmation that it was crafted from pure gold—likely a stolen heirloom of some rich bastard.
Directly across from the spot I knew Caspian sat frequently, based on the worn leather of the deep crimson chair, were bookshelves.
Each level was filled wall to wall, pointing to a hobby I never would’ve expected from a man of his caliber.
He knows how to read and likes it?
Nestled up against the glass, dressed in blue curtains, was a lounge area, various pillows positioned and dusted as if he were expecting company.
In the center sat a table, adorned with a lantern and a couple of rolls of tobacco, giving away another ill habit of his.
Beneath the area of emanating comfort lay a rug that spoke of regality, woven with high-quality thread and an intermixing of reds and golds.
My eyes ventured past its intricate patterns, spotting a mattress in the very back corner of the quarters, resting atop the carved wooden cove of the bed frame.
And within it was a pale and near-lifeless Caspian Vayne.
Cursing under my breath, I moved with an instinct that completely opposed every feeling I harbored toward him.
The oxygen flooding my lungs seemed to cease its flow with the daunting realization that Malrik really had tried his damndest to kill him, and the ache that threatened to still my heart had me firing off a slew of vulgarities to the gods for whatever the fuck it all meant.
It was as if seeing him there, his chest nearly still and his skin clammy, unearthed a buried care I’d never harbored for anyone.
My bare feet padded against the smoothed planks beneath them, a rhythmic drum that warned of my approach and undoubtedly would send Caspian reeling.
The mere thought of his disgust about my forced decision to cater to him was the only thing that seemed to keep me sane as the distance between us closed, a distance that I hadn’t experienced since the night he’d purchased me from Seirdra’s Veil.
But, as the tension-filled gap ceased completely, he remained motionless.
Fuck.
Ignoring the bedside tray that carried two jars full of Quassia and Ammiadamon, alongside a steaming pot of tea, a singular cup, various other spices, a mortar and pestle, liquor, and a needle and thread, I moved to him—the man responsible for the hellish reality I’d awoken in.
With a shuddered inhale fueled by pure unease, his dark oceanic scent greeted me as I placed the back of my palm against his sweat-ridden forehead.
“He’s burning up,” I said to myself, everything and everyone else vanishing the instant I’d stepped foot into that godsforsaken cabin.
Gods, what is it with this man? He is so maddening, and yet, in the same breath, so fucking irr—
My soul nearly jumped out of my skin as Syoran’s voice filled the room. “Please.” Desperation. Raw and unfiltered desperation. “What do you need? How can we save him?”
“Cold towels,” I replied, my jaw feathering in agitation over the utter yearning I had to help him. “And a pail of water. We need to try to keep his temperature down.”
“It may be beneficial if we take off—”
My fingers curled around the soaked fabric of his shirt, tearing it with a sickening ease that I feared would give away the fact that what was once a coerced expectation had become an instinctual need.
Looking down to avoid Syoran’s prodding gaze, Caspian’s hairy and chiseled upper half came into view, and the fucking chain—the fucking chain—that dangled from each nipple had me gulping down a mouthful of saliva.
What in Ellira’s name is wrong with me?
But then her claim washed over me like a frigid wave. “Mizani recognize each other eventually. Have faith in the gods.”
Shaking off what I presumed was pure imagined madness, I grabbed the bottle of alcohol, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to my lips.
The familiar burn assaulted my throat first before warming my chest, dampening the spiraling internal monologue that I’d found myself in.
After two mouthfuls, I lowered it, looking up at the co-captain who remained unmoved from the doorway.
My brows furrowed as I dipped my head to the side. “I believe I told you to go get cold towels?”
“And I believe you told me you never wished to help—”
Hurling a jar of turmeric from the tray, it exploded into fragmented shrapnels of spice and glass as soon as it hit the wall where his head had been. “Go before I change my fucking mind.”
“Riiiiiight…” He chuckled, deep and hearty, pivoting on his heel as he vanished into the shadows beyond the room, leaving Caspian and me alone.
My eyes greeted the back of my skull with a roll as I dropped the bottle back where I’d snagged it from.
Working to draw myself back from conflicting emotions, I ran the back of my hand over my mouth to clear any remaining liquor from my lips.
With a steadying breath, I gathered every ounce of fabricated courage I could muster, turning back to the man who was seconds away from meeting Elaros.
He was no longer the merciless captain who’d greeted me beneath the sultry lanterns of the sanctuary that belonged to the goddess of illusion and seduction.
He was just… Caspian Vayne.
The light stubble lining his jaw and scar-covered throat softened his features instead of hardening them, a sight I would’ve paid to see again.
His curled raven locks clung to his forehead, dampened by the sweat covering them.
What was once an olive complexion had turned porcelain, accentuated further by the gaping wound in his side that leaked crimson.
No longer concealed by linen or soaked by rain, the inky patterns sprawling across his skin became apparent—darkened lightning trailing up his left arm and the side of his neck before jutting across his chest and down his side.
While I took my time tracing every peak and valley of his frame, my eyes danced over numerous scars littering his skin.
The healed blemishes were far too familiar to what covered my own body: long lacerations, jagged cuts, precise puncture wounds, but there was one thing separating us from similarity—a branding of the royal crest positioned just over his heart.
It was the same emblem those working alongside the crown wore with pride, the serpentine creature staring back at me with a mockery that shackled Caspian’s freedom.
While its sight caught my attention, there was something that lingered beneath it, pulsing with a corrupt edge that made my skin crawl.
Reaching forward with a desire to brush my fingers along it to test the limits of my psyche and understanding, something buried within me recoiled.
Heat seared up my arms in response, and my fingertips burned with an unspoken warning.
What the fuck?
“By the gods,” I muttered, sinking into the bed as I grabbed the jars, dumping the allotted amount of Ammiadamon into my palm. “What the hell did they do to you?”
His throat bobbed, his eyes fluttering open just enough that I caught their dimmed crimson hue. “B-Believe me… You don’t want to know…”
Every thought vanished, words evaporating from my tongue as we sat, unable to peel our stares from one another.
Silence blanketed everything, the world and its complexities vanishing into a peaceful nothingness.
Our hatred was dampened by whatever energy surrounded us, snuffed out by the unexplainable tension like a dying flame.
It was as if there’d never been an ounce of venom spewed between us, and instead, a duality of respect and… longing?
Blinking, I shook my head, scoffing as I turned away from him. “You’re right. I don’t.”
“Careful, my little siren,” he muttered weakly, still somehow coherent enough to use the annoying pet name he’d selected for me. “It kind of sounded like you cared for me for a moment.”
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” I snarled, dropping the herbs into the mortar before reaching for the jar of Quassia.
“The only reason I’m in here is because I have to be.
If it weren’t for your lovely co-captain threatening to feed me to the Tide Eaters, I would’ve gladly let Malrik’s poison eradicate your nauseating presence from this world. ”
It was merely a partial truth, and I couldn’t fucking figure out why.
“Funny…” He swallowed, his words fading with the encroaching darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. “I don’t believe…”