Chapter 45 Reasonable Suspicion
Reasonable Suspicion
SYORAN
Aspike of anguish tore through my side, a deep groan reverberating from the center of my chest. Hand sprawling against the surface beneath me, my fingers brushed against plush fabric. With my touch gliding like butter, it became apparent I was no longer in the streets of Veilmar, and instead…
Lids shooting open, I sat up abruptly, swallowing the cry that threatened to fall as the pain intensified.
White-hot agony clawed at my ribs, each breath a talon that threatened to carve me in two.
With my senses swarmed by the uncertainty of my overall state, I fixated on examining my body instead of the unknown room I’d woken up inside.
Shirtless, various strips of gauze wound their way around my abdomen. Not a drop of scarlet stained them, but some form of paste oozed out over the edge of the bandage. Whatever had been lathered across my skin to diminish the pain had worn off.
Head spinning, I pressed my thumb and forefinger to my temples. Rubbing generous circles, the unapologetic migraine only seemed to blossom further. Sighing, I pulled back, and with sluggishness from sitting upright too quickly, withdrew the extension of comfort to lift my chin.
Unexpected company lingered in the doorway, and their unannounced arrival instinctively sent me reaching for the blade still strapped to my thigh.
“I’d rather not,” they hummed, raising their arms in surrender. “I am not here to harm. I am here to help.”
An indistinguishable accent clung to their words, something light that overlapped with sharp articulation. It wasn’t anything I’d ever heard before, at least not in our realm.
Those from Veilmar spoke with rhythmic melody and elongated vowels.
Thornebay and Velispar residents often dropped their r’s when speaking too quickly; otherwise, the crispness of their tonality gave away their residence.
And those traversing the lands of Hollowmere enunciated with deep, throaty resonance, a darkness clinging to each syllable.
But this person…
It wasn’t just their speech patterns that were different. It was their eye-catching appearance.
With their skin a light blue and a mix of periwinkle, they appeared otherworldly. Speckles of white freckled their cheeks, nose, and forehead, further highlighting their flawlessness. No irises or pupils in sight, their eyes emanated a glowing cornflower hue as they swept across my bedridden frame.
Running a hand through their frosty locks, their lilac tongue darted out to trail over their lilac-colored lips.
“I suppose your unease is warranted, considering you don’t know where you are or how you ended up here.
” They turned their head to the side to glance at the countertop, an elongated, sharp-tipped ear slipping into view. “But I can promise—”
“What… What are you?”
Their dark brows lifted with a lack of amusement. “Is that how the rest of you humans do things? So… ill-mannered?”
Shaking my head, I swallowed. “I-I… No, I’m sorry. I just… I’m unfamiliar with… this, and I apologize for my abruptness. I never meant to insult you.”
Laughing, their sharpened canines caught the light seeping in through the porthole. “I was joking. Though I do appreciate your willingness to correct your behavior.”
I watched as they nudged themselves from where they stood, only a couple of inches separating the top of the frame from their head. They had to be at least Caspian’s height, if not taller.
Caspian…
Slipping into the space, the fluidity of their clothing earned my focus.
The fabric of their deep purple pants whooshed with each step, breathing life into the room.
And while the cobalt linen shirt adorning their frame seemed rather simple, as soon as they stepped into the light, the sparkles interwoven in the fabric danced across the wood with liveliness.
With my best friend still heavy on my mind, the query slipped from me before I could stop it. “I… Um, where are we exactly?”
Long periwinkle fingers wrapped around a stool, and with one tug, they slid it beside my cot. Settling onto it, they craned their chin toward me, and my breath nearly caught in my throat. Sure, they were stunning from a distance. But closer up? Utterly breath-taking.
“I think what you meant to ask is where you are.” Reaching forward, they brushed against the gauze, testing my tolerance before continuing. “And the answer to that question would be with Alastair Seridean, the captain of the Scarlet Tempest.”
The admittance slithered beneath my skin and burrowed into my bones, challenging everything from perception to factuality.
I thought I’d seen him while I slipped in and out of consciousness, thoroughly convinced that I’d slipped into some dreamscape that laid out my mistakes before me.
But what I thought I saw had existed within this timeline, and Alastair Seridean had…
He’d saved me.
“But why—”
Before I could pose my query, booted footfalls sounded down the hallway just outside the door, and Alastair rounded the corner.
Light bruising peppered his cheekbone, staining it a deep purple with a spreading yellow outline.
Carving through his bottom lip, a harsh red line split through soft tissue, undoubtedly the mark of one of Caspian’s blows.
The low-cut linen shirt he wore made it impossible to tell if any further injuries lurked beneath, but even the minor visible ones were enough to make me smirk.
“Happy to see you’re alive, Kao.”
“Happy to see he finally beat some sense into you, Seridean.”
He scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. “If you want to toss shit at me, that’s fine. I have no issue passing you back to your crew as soon as we port in Serevalen.”
In Serevalen?
“How long have we been at sea?”
The corner of his mouth curled upward as he positioned himself at the foot of my bed. “Oh, now you want to be friends?”
My fist collided with the cot, and it proved to be enough of a hint at my anger for the medic to slip away from me. “Enough bullshit. Where is Caspian? What is the end goal?”
“I’ve been tending to you for—”
Alastair lifted a hand, cutting the medic off.
“His wrath is not your responsibility, Parran.” Turning back to me, striations danced along his jaw—a warning.
“And this is my ship, so I’d be mindful of how you speak to me.
I could’ve left you back on Veilmar, and I should have, but it seems I have far more decency than even you would be able to consider. ”
“Captain, respectfully,” Parran started, but Alastair quickly filled the gap.
“I dragged you back onto this ship for Caspian, because had I left you behind, you would be kneeling before Elaros right now.” He raked his fingers through his manicured beard. “Vayne currently resides in the hands of the king.”
“You’re lying,” I seethed, ripping the blankets from my lower half.
Alastair glanced around the room, a lengthened exhale falling from him.
“And what godsdamned benefit would I have in coming up with some bullshit farce?” His arm shot toward the door, finger pointing toward the hall he’d stormed down.
“Feel free to roam the deck. Your men are sailing right beside us, and they would be happy to enlighten you on the events that unfolded during the time you spent unconscious, since, regardless of me sparing your life, you still seem to have an issue.”
The information Caspian had passed on, which he had confided in me, came out like seething venom. “Oh, my apologies for mistrusting the man who mapped out his plan for betrayal and the overthrow of his captain in grave detail.”
Alastair’s brows immediately narrowed, a flash of pain darkening his gold irises. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”
“Did you hit your head too fucking hard when he kicked you off the ship?” I snapped, moving to stand with a hiss. “You want to feign innocence? You wish to pretend you are not responsible for what befell you? How many lies have you told that you have now come to forget the truth?”
Palms slapping against the cot, a deep growl lunged free from his throat. “You will not blame me for crimes I did not commit!”
Ignoring the flash of light behind my gaze as I forced myself to stand, I pivoted toward him. “And you will not sit here and claim the title of victim when you were the one who put Caspian in that position! When you were the one who claimed his heart only to devour it without hesitation!”
Silence consumed the room, the only sound belonging to the erratic pace of our breathing. Nostrils flaring, Alastair held my glare, a darkness swathing his expression. I matched him, unwilling to sink myself for a man who manipulated the details to fabricate his sob story.
A throat cleared, and Parran spoke. “As much as I have no qualms in you two hashing it out with one another, I believe there are far more pertinent matters to attend to—like our arrival in Serevalen and the travel to the palace, alongside both of your… physical states.”
Weaving his fingers through the hair at the base of his skull, Alastair tugged on the locks. “I told you that I am not in need of such catering.”
“And I told you that your fucking ribs are broken, and that you’re one wrong move away from puncturing a lung,” Parran snarled before turning to me.
“And while your wounds are healed completely, your body will still ache as if they are fresh. There is only so much I can accomplish when I use my abilities on a land where magic is suffocated by the throne.”
They… healed me?
“Wait, what?”
Alastair snapped at me, “What? Hit your head so hard on the godsdamned cobblestone streets that you’re now rendered incompetent?”
Clenching my jaw, I planned to spew more ire at him, but was interrupted by a voice so familiar, so entrancing, I immediately knew who it belonged to. “Gods, you two really are mirrors of one another, aren’t you? It’s no wonder Caspian found you both intriguing.”
Heated rage swallowed me whole, blanketing my vision in a red similar to her hair color.
My fingers curled inward on themselves, knuckles whitening until they cracked as my sanity fractured.
Turning without thinking, I stormed toward her, more than prepared to gut her just like she had done to our crew.
“I’ll fucking kill you, you little bitch!”
Rohen took a step back, and I caught the fresh scar looping up to her shoulder from just beneath her collarbone. Face adorned with bruises similar to Alastair’s, it became clear that she had been with Caspian, too. They had both been with Caspian, and now he was gone.
The sharp slide of metal ripped through the tension, and as I grabbed Rohen by the throat, the pointed tip of a sword settled against the base of my skull. “You hurt her, Kao, and I will cut your head clean from your fucking body.”
“You must have a damn good reason to save her fucking life, Seridean, because as far as I’m concerned, this cunt deserves to be butchered and fed to the Vellari.”
Rohen held my stare, unmoved by the threat I posed. Emerald eyes glinted, and something like longing clung to them. “I would take the captain’s word, Syoran.”
“Alastair,” I hissed, the three syllables of his name containing the last of the self-restraint I clung to. “Talk.”
“Rohen happens to be the daughter of the Goddess of the Sea. It won’t do you any good to slaughter her, unless you wish to be spited for the rest of your life.
Besides, after ten days of sailing, we are approaching the palace.
” Alastair loosened a sigh, as if there were things he wished to say but to someone who wasn’t present.
“We are going to get Caspian and the prince.”
“You?” I laughed, shoving Rohen away from me with enough force that she collided with the wall. Turning back toward him, I lifted an unamused brow. “Why the hell would you want to save him?”
“Originally, I didn’t,” he admitted, his gaze shifting slightly. “But she did.”
Spinning on my heel, I glared down at Rohen once more. “For what fucking reason, Levitte?”
“His journals,” she whispered before she held my stare. “Caspian has been working to understand the prophecy for years. He has scrolls, books full of information, hand-written notes… And amidst it all, a confession.”
“How the fuck did you…” Trailing off, the question died on my tongue.
Rohen Levitte was a renowned assassin, capable of executing such a task undetected.
Not only that, but our crew had been cut in half by her blade, making it even easier to slip into Caspian’s quarters.
With the thought, my brows furrowed. “A confession? I’m sure it’s something he’s told—”
“He’s bound, Syoran.” Rohen swallowed, shaking her head. “He couldn’t have shared it even if he wanted to, not without risking his life.”
Alastair sheathed his sword. “He’s the son of Elaros, the God of the Dead, and has reasonable suspicion that he and Rohen aren’t the only ones.”