5 Imogen #2
The healer’s eyes bulged as they took in the dying skin and mottled kelp. “You stand guard there,” they commanded Lachlan, pointing a finger at the forecastle’s ladder. “Be sure no one comes up.” Then they rifled through their bag, mumbling to themself. “By my Gods. That’s a spell.”
I could hardly move now. “You’ve seen one before?”
Healer Carras still rummaged, nodding vigorously.
“You won’t tell me how you acquired this wound, cadet.
” Their tone grew rigid. “It’s festered, so clearly you acquired it before your service began.
But you’re in the king’s navy now, so the next time you find yourself in illicit trouble, you’ll have the captain and the crown to help hold you to your duty. You understand me?”
My eyes stung. “I understand.”
They gave me a dubious look. “It started as a stab wound?”
I nodded.
The healer’s cold fingers pressed into the tender flesh around the edges of the kelp, where the skin looked like it had been burned.
They set a little bottle to my lips. “For the infection.” I drank it in one gulp. Then another vial was pressed into my hand. “And for the pain.”
“Nepenthe?” I asked, remembering the haunting image of Nemea that the last vial of nepenthe had summoned.
“Aye. Down the hatch.” Their fingers pressed into my hurting skin once more, this time deeper.
I jumped and swilled the vial’s contents at once.
Then I felt the warm bloom of Healer Carras’s power.
It was nearly like Theodore’s—a radiating sensation that dove straight through my skin, down toward my bones—but it possessed a fraction of the heat, like the sun fighting to shine on a cloud-laden day.
“Now,” Healer Carras said, a deep furrow between their russet brows.
“I can only remove the pestilence—not the spell. I’ve seen people live with spell-healed wounds just fine.
” There was a troubled note to their voice as they continued to prod and poke and send their power through me.
“Though never one this large. I expect it will continue to give you a good deal of pain.”
“I expect it will.”
“I’ll write His Majesty—”
I shook my head, stomach swooping. “No, thank you.”
“I was not asking.” The healer looked to Lachlan with searching frustration, then met my eyes.
“I feel compelled to chastise you, cadet,” they said, tightly.
“Instead, I’ll tell you a story. When I was new to my post, a young man came to my infirmary with a wound in his leg that dripped thick black blood.
He was so scared that he needed no coaxing to confess what he’d done.
A knife fight over a girl at the alehouse had gotten out of hand, and rather than go to his officer, he waded across the channel to the Mage Seer for healing.
Much like this, it was a strange sort of healing.
The skin was never closed. The blood grew so thick and dark that it acted as a sort of viscous scab.
I went to King Athan seeking guidance, and to my shock, he told me the Great God Panos had once healed a spelled wound. ”
I understood their meaning: Let the king heal you. I suspected that was precisely what Eusia wanted—for me to guide her right to Theodore’s power. Even now, there was a hungry burn in my jaw at the thought of it. “And did King Athan heal the young sailor’s leg?” I asked.
The healer opened and closed their mouth, keeping their eyes focused on my injury. “No. With all respect, the king was blustery and tried, but he was not a powerful healer. The sailor lost his leg eventually.”
They bobbed their chin as they swiped a cold liquid across the edges of the kelp.
“But Theodore is as great as Panos ever was, and if he’s in a benevolent mood, I have hope he can help.
In the meantime, I will administer a daily dose of nepenthe—enough to keep you functioning, but not so much that you become sloppy.
I’ll write your officer that you should work the mess instead of the deck while you heal. ”
“In a benevolent mood…” The words tripped over my sluggish tongue.
If Theodore saw me, proscribed and stowed away on his ship, if he saw my spell-ruined body, and learned that I had come to take his fiancée, I would not expect his mood to be benevolent.
But I had no doubt he would heal me. He would insist upon it.
Though my head swayed from the nepenthe, I sensed that Lachlan had come nearer. “Are we done?” he asked the healer.
Healer Carras wiped their hands on a cloth. “Yes. I’ll just go and write that note. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow at least for the king’s care. He’s getting married tonight.”
Getting married. I’d not meant to make a sound, but a pained whimper slipped from me regardless.
Lachlan helped me up, slowly, then gripped my shoulders as I began to tilt. The healer sat back on their knees, tight eyes darting between Lachlan and me.
“Thank you,” I slurred, and meant it. My pain had eased considerably, though I still felt it thump beneath the hearty dose of nepenthe.
Healer Carras kept their face impassive.
“She needs rest, officer.” They rummaged through their bag, pulled out a strip of blue fabric, and tied it to my forearm.
“This will allot her bedrest. She is to report to me every morning and afternoon for care. Get her a hammock near the infirmary, by a gunport so she can have fresh air.”
Lachlan gave a nod. “Aye.”
The healer’s gaze narrowed. “Your name, officer?”
“Um.” Lachlan’s fingers tightened around my arm. “It’s Ioan,” he finally said. “Third Officer Lachlan Ioan.” He gave me a little shake that made me feel like I was spinning. “And this is my thorn of a sister, Imogen Ioan. Mariner Cadet.”
The healer rose and slung their bag over their shoulder once more, then gestured wildly toward the main deck. “Well, go. It’s getting late. She needs sleep.”
“Right.” Lachlan turned me so swiftly that I let out a gasp. “Sorry.”
“If I sleep…” I waited until Healer Carras was halfway down the ladder. “We’ll run out of… time. I’ll miss the wedding.”
Lachlan stared down at me with something soft and pitying in his eyes.
Something like remorse. He set a tricorn upon my head and lowered the brim, before guiding me down the ladder too.
“The ship is already heading toward Anthemoessa,” he said.
“We have to pass it to get to Obelia. We have time for you to rest.”
Once on the main deck, I managed two steps, then stopped.
Flowering vines had been grown around two of the ship’s masts.
They crept out over ropes that suspended golden lanterns and small clusters of elegantly dressed guests stood below them.
The musicians tuned and polished their instruments beside Theodore’s stateroom door.
My voice wavered. “What if—”
Lachlan cut me a suspicious look. “If what?
“If we stop the wedding… if we take Halla before… They’ll be more motivated to reroute the ship.” Panic at the thought of him marrying her set my heart fluttering. “Wake me before, all right?”
Lachlan gnawed his cheek, an uncomfortable silence straining between us.
“Maybe.” His eyes were wary. And sad. “Come on. Keep your head down.” He lowered the brim of his own hat too before he started weaving us through the courtiers and toward the lower deck’s scuttle hatch.
He tried for some levity. “Imagine me having to tell Agatha and Th—” He gave his head a quick shake.
“That I let you die because you refused to nap.” He extended a hand to help me down the ladder.
“So for the love of the Gods, just sleep.”
I gave a silent nod and took his hand. I could hardly keep myself upright. “The wedding—it’s…”
“It’s at midnight.”
We stepped onto the upper gun deck and its expanse of hanging hammocks.
A sparse scattering of lanterns swayed with the movement of the ship, but as the nepenthe spread further they began to look like streaks, like little balls of flying light.
Lachlan led us toward one of the open gunports, where a cool swirl of salty air pushed its way through.
I adjusted the hammock’s canvas and cautiously settled myself inside. “You’ll wake me… wake me before?”
Lachlan wouldn’t meet my eye. “Sleep, Imogen.”
I settled into the hammock and forced my focus to the sway of the black sea, the hush of the wind through the gunport, the syrupy effects of the nepenthe. “Lachlan,” I whispered a moment later.
“Hmm?” It sounded like he sat below me, but I couldn’t be sure.
“Maybe…” I swallowed around my thick tongue. “He… maybe he… call it off.”
There came a long pause, or perhaps I had started to drift. Finally, a soft word echoed through the dark.
“Maybe.”