7 Imogen
Imogen
Green filmy water coated my open eyes again. I could make out nothing but wobbling torchlight.
“I told you, a spell so powerful will require more than you may be willing to pay.” Eusia’s voice was lovely, rolling through her chest like a song, but I could feel it in my own too. I could taste the putrid, salty water that dribbled over her withered tongue.
“No,” said a woman, her words low and softly reverent. Her outline rippled through the water. A coronet of white hair, snowy skin. “I have decided. I am willing to pay it.”
The water cleared from my eyes and a youthful visage emerged. The woman was slight, with broad shoulders. Her face was smooth and plump, but despite her young age, she seemed formidable, with an unsettling steadiness in her blue-eyed gaze.
Eusia gave a hungry, amused hum. “Is that so? And what will your advisors think, Nivala? What will your people say to something so… despicable?”
Nivala’s chin lowered in challenge. “All of them would protest loudly, of course. But they are nothing compared to you. Or me. When you are that small, even your loudest protestations cannot drown out such might.” She turned, giving her back to the pool.
The sleeve of her black gown was shredded, like she’d been in a tussle.
As she reached and bent, the chamber filled with a heavy scraping sound.
“And what of your husband?” Eusia asked, the question a drawl. “How loud do you expect his protestations will be?”
Then, Nivala turned, heaving a long object wrapped in blood-soaked burlap into her arms. “They were loud enough to draw Nemea and his men into my chambers,” she said. “But it was for the best.” She peeled back the burlap, revealing a pale, red-streaked limb, and dropped it into the pool.
I could feel Eusia’s elation as it rushed through her. A burst of saliva flooded her mouth.
Nivala wiped the blood on her hands down the front of her torn dress. “He helped.”
I woke with a rattling gasp. To the metallic taste of blood and that awful, salty water sitting on my tongue. Darkness engulfed me where I hung, suspended in the air. Wood creaked, my head hammered.
“Shit, Imogen.” Lachlan gripped the edge of my hammock and shook it. “Shit.” He looked toward the far end of the dark gun deck, where dozens and dozens of crew members were slung in their hammocks, sleeping. His voice was a low hiss. “What the hell did you do?”
I stared up at him, vision bleary and sparking white. “What? What do you mean?”
He kept scanning the deck. “The ship. Has stopped. Moving.”
It took a drawn-out moment for me to realize that the ship was in fact still, and that my power pulsed through me as hot and quick as my blood did.
I had no recollection of sending a command, and yet even through the nepenthe’s blurring effects, through the still-vivid images of that strange dream, I could feel my tether to the water and wind like they were extensions of my own body.
They’d frozen, waiting to see what I would have them do next.
With a disoriented shake of my head, I released them.
The ship came instantly to life. It lurched forward, and the wind curled once more through the gunport beside me.
Lachlan only glowered. It looked like his teeth were cutting into his tongue. “Get up.”
“What time is it?”
He was already moving. “Quick.”
We were tucked into a far corner of the deck, where few crew slept, but we both moved as stealthily as we could along the wall of the ship’s hull, toward a bank of doors.
“Hide there,” he whispered, pointing to a narrow space between the cannon and hull. I ducked down, grimacing from pain, as he pulled out the key he’d taken from the sailor we’d thrown overboard. He put his ear to the first door. “What the hell happened?”
Confusion rushed me. “A dream… I think. Maybe from the nepenthe.” But it had felt like more than a dream.
I’d never occupied another’s body in a dream before.
I’d been able to taste the foul water and smell the mildew and dank stones.
Perhaps my own mind was punishing me. Illustrating stories I’d been told in harrowing detail.
Forcing my consciousness into Eusia’s body.
Making me look upon my father’s face when I wanted nothing more than to forget it.
Lachlan knocked gently on the door. When no answer came, he forced the key into the lock. It gave way with a loud click and then he urged me inside, where he fumbled with the lantern.
It was a small cabin, with only a narrow cot against the wall, a porthole, and a few hooks beside. In the corner was a small shelf where a wash bucket, soap, and razor sat. It was less than half the size of my dressing room in Fort Linum. The sky framed by the porthole was grim and moonless.
As Lachlan hung the lantern on its hook, I heard collective mumbling coming from the deck above. The group spoke in unison, but I could not understand their words. A smattering of claps followed.
“Lachlan…” I lowered myself to the cot, knees feeling suddenly weak. “How long did I sleep?”
“Not long at all before you stopped the ship.”
“What time is it?”
Slowly, he turned toward me, a mix of remorse and resolve fixed upon his face. “Our goal was never to stop the wedding, Imogen. The wedding needed to happen to prevent a war. All we need is Halla.”
It felt like my ribs had snapped and punctured my soft heart. I took a moment to find my voice. “I know that. But I… I thought…” I fisted my hands, as a stinging anger began to encase my hurt. “It doesn’t matter what I thought.” I swallowed around the knot in my throat. “You’re a shit, you know.”
Lachlan nodded somberly. “Yeah, I know.”
He’d married her. I struggled to take in a breath, struggled against the brutality of my despair.
Theodore had done just as I’d told him to.
It was for this reason that I’d taken that draught and severed our bond—so that he might do his duty without me pulling him off course.
Because it was right and good. I’d anticipated it would hurt, but this was so much worse than my imaginings.
I’d not expected the absolute misery, the betrayal, the searing fury over him doing precisely what I’d wanted.
Lachlan adjusted his coat and said carefully, “You can’t kill her.”
I reared back at his tone. “I beg your pardon?”
He lifted his hands defensively, as if he were wholly innocent of being a right bastard. “Shockingly, you’ve proven to be somewhat untrustworthy in the short time we’ve been reunited, so I feel compelled to make it clear that you cannot, under any circumstances, kill the princess of Obelia.”
My mouth pinched. “I have no intentions of killing her. I need to learn what she knows about Eusia and her mother. We need her to get to Agatha. Why in the bloody Gods would I kill her?”
Lachlan shook his head and absently reached into the pocket of his uniform coat. He pulled out a hunk of bread and tossed it at me. “Oh, I’m not implying you’d do it on purpose. I think you’re more likely to get mad and do it without thinking.”
My cheeks went hot. Crumbs flew over my lap as I tore off a bite of bread. “Fine. I won’t kill her.” The quiet turned uncomfortable as I ate my bread, so I tried to fill it. “How did you know this was the right cabin?”
Lachlan took a knee and relaced his boots. He adjusted the dagger at his waist. “While you slept, I watched the other officers take to their cabins. No one came into this one and I remembered that the man you killed on the forecastle was an officer.” He pointed to the officer’s pin on his lapel.
Affronted, I straightened. “Don’t say you like that. You drew your dagger too.”
“Like any well-trained soldier, I made a thoughtful decision to pull my blade. I considered all the possible outcomes.” Lachlan eyed me and raised his dark brows questioningly. “Did you?”
I took my last bite of bread, gnawing on it with downcast eyes.
I hadn’t been thoughtful in my attack of that officer at all.
My body had moved faster than my mind. Despite how I’d been so determined to shore myself up and keep myself in line, Lachlan was right.
I’d already proven, once more, that my lack of control put everyone in danger.
“All right.” I met his eye. “Then we need to make a pact.”
Lachlan cocked his head, eyes narrowing with caution.
“If I lose control, you need to stop me.”
“Obviously—”
“No.” He stilled at my hard tone. “Let me be clearer. I intend to stay away from Theodore, but if we end up in the same room, you can never leave me. We cannot be alone together. Not even briefly. And if I lose control—if I accidentally use my lure—you have to kill me.”
Lachlan flinched. “Kill you.”
I nodded.
He shook his head, dizzied. “I’m sorry, kill you? This seems a bit extreme.” He scrubbed his face. “You’re asking me to do something that would make my king and close friend and the woman I love abhor me.”
“I suppose I’m soothed by the fact that you have some qualms about this, even if they are entirely personal.”
He huffed a breath, looking miserable. “Can’t I just knock you out?”
I paused and remembered that dream. The surge of hunger that had gripped Eusia’s body. The burn in her jaw at the thought of being fed. I’d felt that same voracious want in her at the thought of having Theodore’s blood.
“No,” I said, quietly, adamantly. “It won’t be enough.”
My voice must have betrayed the depth of my fear, because Lachlan went rigid.
“Enough?” It was easy to forget how clever he was when I was perpetually annoyed with him.
His look turned keen, and he drew a step nearer to the cot I sat upon.
“Why wouldn’t striking you unconscious be enough to keep him safe? ”
“I don’t…” My heart punched at the suspicion in his eyes. “I couldn’t bear… I just don’t want to risk it.”
“Tell me, Imogen.”