23 Imogen
Imogen
Theodore moved about the stateroom with such resolve that he seemed almost wild.
He was skilled as ever at hiding his emotions, but they’d grown too violent, too thrashing for anyone to deny that they existed now. They were a beast and he a cage, and while he could contain them, he couldn’t stop them from rattling the bars, fighting to be freed.
We settled Agatha upon his bed as Theodore made for the cabinet in the gilded wall and pulled out glasses and wine. He set them atop the table, then darted for the door.
“Send food,” he bellowed across the deck, “and hot water for washing.” Then he slammed and locked the door once more.
Lachlan took a shirt from the armoire and, within the privacy of the curtained bed, helped Agatha from the filthy ritual robe she still wore.
He threw it with a splat to the ground. I was tempted to shred it, light it aflame, cast it into the sea.
But instead, I went to an aft window, wrung out the last of the water from the flimsy fabric, and folded it neatly. To be kept as proof.
In silence, Theodore uncorked and poured the wine.
The resounding clink of the lifting anchor filled the quiet, and the ship began a gentle sway.
When Theodore finally lowered himself to the settee, cup of wine in hand, I nearly went to him.
I wanted to smooth the buckle in his brow with a kiss and wrap my arms around his neck, but I knew some space would do him good.
I’d seen the look on his face and the adamant way he’d gripped that sword. He’d nearly executed Eftan, at least in part, for me.
The bedcurtains opened, and Lachlan stepped from the mattress.
Theodore offered him a glass of wine, silently, eyes fixed on the middle distance.
Lachlan fell to the seat beside him and took up the glass.
He drank half of it in a single swill. It was easy to forget how long they’d known each other, how close the years of camaraderie, and trial, and training, must have made them.
At the foot of the bed, I peered in on Agatha, who was curled up so tightly it made me ache. Her shorn head, dotted with new white scars, pressed into the soft pillow, and my ache morphed to fury. I rounded the foot of the bed and rested myself on its edge beside her.
The ship creaked and swayed and I watched her in silence until she lifted her head, just barely, and gave me a groggy attempt at a grin. “Stop worrying,” she rasped.
“I don’t think I can.” I adjusted the blanket at her shoulder. “Do you need anything?”
“What did I just say?” But her chin trembled, and though her eyes were closed, a tear slipped out from beneath her black lashes. It slid down her cheek to the white silk. I reached for her hand and gripped it tightly.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “The empress meant to take me, not you. None of this would have happened if I—”
Agatha opened her eyes. “Stop.” She sounded like her old self, teeth and steel, and the vise on my heart loosened a single turn. “She would never have been able to take you.”
“What?”
“Even I was a threat to her ship and crew,” Agatha said.
“And I have hardly any power at all. Even gagged, I was able to drown a good portion of her sailors by just humming. She was ill-prepared. No wax, no experience. She had to beat me and force-feed me draughts to keep me incoherent enough to remain safe.” She shook her head.
“She would never have gotten you to her ship.”
“But if I—”
She let go of my hand and fixed me with a stare. “I don’t have the energy for this, Imogen. No more unnecessary guilt. You insist on carrying more than you have strength for. You must stop it now.”
No one could make me feel as known as Agatha could. No one could strip me so bare with so few words.
From the settee, Theodore gave an agreeing snort.
I searched for a defense, found none, then realized I was too tired to keep searching.
She was right. Though the cabin was lit only by a few weak-burning lanterns, Agatha must have seen the revelation in my eyes, because she took my hand in hers once more.
Her voice was softer now, rasped and slow.
“You will not succeed if you doubt or pause or fret.” Her thumb stroked my knuckles, and then she whispered, even gentler than before, “I see how tired you are. Rest will come. It will. It’s not fair that you must fight so madly for it, but here we are.
This will take all your strength, so please, please stop wasting it on me. ”
She bobbed her chin. That was that. But she didn’t know how deeply her simple, brusk command touched me. Her grip on me gentled, eyes growing heavy.
“Sleep,” I said. “I’ll wake you when food comes.”
She burrowed her face deeper into the pillow, then popped it up a moment later. “Where’s Lach?”
He was there in a breath. “Here. I’m here.” He pulled back the covers, slipped himself beside her, and looked up at me with wide-eyed awe. In the loudest whisper I’d ever heard, he said, “She wanted me instead of you.”
I huffed a breath and smiled.
I started to leave when Lachlan grabbed my arm and gave it a firm squeeze. He mouthed the words Thank you, then quickly let me go.
“The same to you,” I whispered.
I closed the bedcurtains, heart swelling now that Agatha was warm and safe and cared for, then turned toward the settee. Theodore still sat there, a new wineglass upraised for me. One of the books on magic he’d stolen was propped open on his knee, his eyes darting over the page.
I lingered a moment, watching him. “The hermitess will give you a proper beating with her stick for getting that book wet, you know.”
He gave a half smirk, raised the glass higher, and said in a low, disgruntled voice. “Drink.”
It was a bark of an order, and considering the circumstances, I should have taken it silently, but my exhaustion got the better of me. I dipped into a grand curtsy instead. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
His eyes flicked up to mine. They were dark and troubled, and I understood right away that no jest could buoy his mood. I wrapped my hands around the stem of the wineglass, grazing his fingers softly as I did.
He looked back to the book and patted the cushion beside him.
We sat together in a consoling kind of quiet.
The sort that let one know there was nothing they needed to do except be.
The cabin filled with Agatha’s sleepy breathing.
The ship swayed gently as it carved its new path across the sea.
I took a sip of the wine. Then another. We sat like that in companionable silence until Theodore finally reached a hand toward my knee.
He held it tight and I let myself enjoy the fleeting charge of his touch.
I settled my head atop his shoulder, for a moment, content.
I must have fallen asleep there, lulled by the cradle of the water, soothed by Theodore’s warmth and steadiness because when I finally woke again it was full night.
Out the windows, the sea was lined in silver, and the sky was clear and vast. I could still hear Lachlan’s and Agatha’s soft snores coming from the bed.
Theodore had tucked me in on the settee under a blanket, and as I slowly rose to sit, he was there with a plate of food.
I took it, groggily, and noted that he’d changed his clothes. A heavy cape was pinned under his chin. “Where are you going?” I whispered.
“We,” he said. “Eat up, then put these on.” He set a clean sailor’s uniform on the settee beside me. Then he gathered up the small stack of books that were on the low table and waited for me by the door.
Theodore’s mood had become solemn and thoughtful, and I mulled over the oddity of it as I ate quickly and dressed even faster. When I was ready, he jutted his chin to a chair near the door.
“Put that on.”
Another of his cloaks was draped over the it, his deep-green one, trimmed in gold-threaded vines.
I threw it over my shoulders as he watched me intently by the low light of the lantern in his fist. I couldn’t parse that look, but it was dark and unwavering and made my skin flush.
When I was ready, he led us out into the night, books and lantern in hand.
The evening was cold, the wind fair and water gentle, which left need for only a small crew.
I thought we’d be sneaking over the deck, but Theodore walked straight down its middle, head high, until we reached the ladder of the forecastle.
He led us to the bowsprit and nodded to the net below it. “After you.”
The pulse in my middle felt like a temperamental companion now, familiar but still dangerous. My control and confidence in it had grown, but I felt more tenuous on the sea than I did on land. The salt air was a fuel that I wasn’t certain I’d be able to fully douse. “What if I—”
His mouth curved, dimple flashing. “Do you think I’d miss an opportunity to tie you up? There’s some rope down there already.”
We climbed over the rail and settled onto the netting as the ship breathed up and down like a massive beast. The night air bit at our cheeks. Theodore sat close this time and hung the lantern from a little hook beneath the bowsprit that I imagined he’d placed there himself.
The anger I’d felt toward him the first time we’d been here had banked, but in truth, little had changed.
There was still no way for us to keep one another, still no guarantee that I could end Eusia without ending myself.
It had made me want to keep myself as far as possible from him then, but now the terror and uncertainty made me greedy for as much of him as I could get.
Quiet, thoughtful, with the wind mussing his dark hair, Theodore lifted the rope. “Give me your hands.”
I lifted them and was enthralled by the languid way he brought one of them to his lips. He kissed the end of my fingers before looping the rope around my wrists tormentingly slowly.
My breaths came quick and I glanced at the books he’d brought with us. Their titles shone in the lamplight.
The Art of the Spell. The Mage’s Draught. Prophecies, Seers, and Intention.