5 Imogen
Imogen
By the time we reached the narrow sliver of the forecastle’s decking, I thought that I might vomit from my pain.
My vision had winked black twice while fighting my way up the wavering ladder, and every flex of my abdomen had sent a violent jolt through me.
The nepenthe was fading fast. I curled up on my side on the deck, pressing my back against a tied-down crate, as hot liquid trickled from my wound.
Lachlan crouched beside me and scanned the main deck below, where the warm glow of lanterns emanated. “Minimal crew,” he said. “Most everyone is occupied with preparing for the wedding.”
My heart gave an ugly kick. “The wedding,” I mumbled weakly.
“We’ll do as you said. Take Halla and use her as leverage so they’ll reroute the ship. We need a cabin to hide her in.” He gave me a grim look. “But first—I’m getting you the healer.”
“No.” I groaned. “No time.”
“Uh-uh.” He glared down at me. “I’m taking over now. A crew this big is easy to hide in. I’ll get us uniforms, and then we’re getting you fixed up.” He held up a hand when I tried to open my mouth. “There is absolutely no point in speaking.”
“Lach—”
“What?”
“My wound…” I pulled in a scraping breath. “It’s not a normal injury. It’s… from a spell.”
He was quiet for a moment. Only the ship’s groans and the far-off chatter from the main deck could be heard. “A spell. Were you actually stabbed?”
I nodded, but his confusion and burgeoning questions were clear. “Eusia taught me a spell to keep myself alive. Through one of the nekgya.”
His brows dipped low, his tone crackling with sudden cold. “So glad you told me now.” He blew out an agitated breath. “Can you walk?”
“If I hadn’t done it, I would have—”
“I asked if you can walk.”
I shook my head. “I’ll need more nepenthe.”
He rummaged through the sack on his belt and pulled out the second little vial he’d taken from the armory.
“Here.” He shoved it into my hand, fuming, then rose.
He gave me a quick and scathing once-over.
“I’d tell you to stay put, but you don’t have much of a choice, do you?
” He trained his gaze on the main deck. “I’ll be right back. ”
The night embraced me as I lay there, contemplating the best way to share the other bit of information I’d withheld from him. I expected that when he learned Eusia could access my lure, he’d want to pitch me overboard.
My fingers shook as I tried to lift the little bottle of nepenthe to my lips, but the plucking of a harp stilled me.
Of course there would be music at a wedding, but I was stunned to hear it amid the ship’s creaks and the hush of the wind, nonetheless.
The first notes called through the air, winding high, then settling over me like a gentle mist.
I gasped and let the still-stoppered vial of nepenthe roll from my grip.
It was the song Theodore and I had danced to the night we’d met.
Instantly, I was transported. I pictured his austere, beautiful face tipped down to glower at me.
I could almost feel the heat and gentle guidance of his hand at the middle of my back.
Green eyes like summer leaves after a storm; a crease between black brows that belied how often he scowled.
It was a new kind of pain that unspooled through my body now.
It was softer and yet somehow more devastating than the pain from my wound.
It was quieter, yet more terrifying than every obstacle that lay before me.
It dizzied me, and I let my eyes fall shut as a quiet song filled my throat.
Eyes stinging, I hummed along, trying to focus on the swaying ship, on the waves fizzing against the hull.
I woke to a boot tapping the bottom of my sodden shoe.
“Did you die?” Lachlan whispered.
A groan scraped my throat. “Not yet.” I cracked open my eyes to see him standing above me with a low burning lantern in one hand and a neatly folded sailor’s uniform in the other. He’d changed into a clean uniform himself. The light caught on the brass buttons down the front of his deep green coat.
“Excellent.” He dropped the uniform in front of me. A coat like his, a pair of black trousers, a shirt, and a tricorn hat. “Get dressed quickly. The ship’s healer is on their way.”
But I couldn’t move, save for the arm that I attempted to extend toward the vial of nepenthe I’d dropped.
He stooped and snatched up the shirt. “Bloody—I’m going to have to help you get dressed, aren’t I?
” He swiped a hand down his face and knelt at my side.
I winced and shook, trying to position myself to remove my tunic as best I could.
When my hem finally lifted over my stomach, revealing my wound, Lachlan reared back with a grimace and a curse.
The wound was large, covering the entire area between my navel and ribs.
But what made it particularly appalling was the way the edges of the kelp had fused to my skin in a char-black seam.
It had sealed in the blood-soaked sand and viscera, and the flesh ringing the dark edge had become an angry, venous red.
Lachlan sat horror-struck. “What in the name of the dead Gods did you do, Imogen?”
I ripped at the buttons of my tunic, and though it was agony to do so, peeled it fully from my body. Sitting there in only my binding and trousers, I met Lachlan’s stare. “I survived.”
His look softened somewhat as he held open the uniform shirt for me to slip my arms in.
A heavy grunt sounded at the forecastle’s ladder. “What’s this?”
I snapped the shirt closed over my front and looked up to see a burly sailor with a dark beard and downturned eyes glaring at us. The musicians’ practice had drowned out the sound of his footsteps.
Lachlan cleared his throat and stood. “I was helping my sister—”
“Your sister?” The sailor threw his head back on a barking laugh. “Ain’t no one been found helping their sister like this. You know there’s no fraternizing on the ship.”
Lachlan made an easy gesture with his hands. “While I’m sure there’s been someone in our great history who’s… uh… fraternized with their sister, I can assure you that it’s not me.”
The sailor gave a derisive snort and stooped at my side. “It’s to the boatswain for your flogging, then, cadet.” His hand clamped around my upper arm and he hauled me up with a jerk.
I gave a scream as pain flashed through me. The sounds and sensations of the world collided and blurred. Lachlan lunging, grunting curses and protests. Metal rang, a guttural bellow sounded, then I heard the thick, wet sound of punctured flesh. The music still played.
When my awareness finally cleared, my taloned hand was clamped around the sailor’s throat. Rounded eyes were locked with mine. He gave a gurgling choke as his blood gushed over my fingers in bright red ribbons of sticky heat.
Lachlan stood beside the sailor, dagger mere inches from the man’s throat, breaths heaving. He blinked. “You beat me to it.”
My heart lurched as I took in all the blood, and the way his eyes began to drain of their light.
There was no rationale in my shock—he was not the first person I’d killed.
But the speed with which I’d done it, the ease.
I had no recollection of choosing to, I’d simply needed to keep myself safe and my body had seen it done.
I fell back against the crate as the sailor swayed. “I killed him.”
Lachlan reached for the man’s collar. “Almost.” The sailor took short, watery gasps as Lachlan forced him toward the forecastle’s rail. He pulled the silver pin that signified his rank from his chest, then searched his pockets. He pulled out a brass key before he shoved him overboard. “There.”
Lachlan spun where he stood, and through the dim lantern light, our eyes locked.
Our hands were smeared with red. Our breaths raced, but neither of us spoke.
We didn’t need to. A certainty sat between us now.
Our remorse was clear and yet a mutual desperate madness had transformed even the most despicable actions into necessary ones. We’d never get to Agatha otherwise.
The musicians finished just in time for the sound of languid whistling to reach our ears.
“Shit.” Lachlan pinned the badge he’d stolen to his coat and tucked his red-stained hands behind his back. I wiped the blood on mine across my black trousers.
The ship’s healer—for that was all they could be—stopped at the top of the forecastle’s ladder, lantern in hand and suspicious gaze bouncing between the two of us.
They wore the same thick white cap that the healers in Theodore’s palace did.
A heavy canvas bag was slung across their stout chest, and there were soft creases at the edges of their pale eyes.
Their olive skin was spangled with a dense layer of freckles that matched the rusty strands of hair that shot out of the edges of their cap.
They nodded at me. “Your sister, I take it, officer?”
Lachlan stood at attention, convincingly insouciant. “In all her glory, healer.”
I was slumped and grimacing. A sweat had broken out over my skin from exertion, and shock, and pain.
The healer stepped toward me, gingerly, and lowered themself to a knee.
They met my eye with a kind look, but beneath I could sense their mettle.
They seemed a person who would be shocked by little and tricked by even less.
“I am Healer Carras. Your brother pulled me from my meal to tell me you’d been a ‘bold idiot’ and have landed in some trouble.” Their gaze cut to my stomach, where I held my unbuttoned shirt closed with a hand. “And just in time for your first voyage too.”
I cut Lachlan a glare. “My dear brother is correct.”
Healer Carras took their bag from their shoulders. “Let’s see, then.”
My fingers tightened on my shirt. “You won’t be able to help.”
Lachlan made a sound that was close to a growl. “I swear to the bloody Gods, Imogen—”
“Fine.” I yanked open my shirt, revealing the putrid wound. “Here.”