Chapter 19
I’m low in the belly of a ship, and I know I’m looking for somebody, but I’m not sure who. In the strange logic of dreams I’ve been walking for miles but the deck stretches even further, piles and piles of crates always just past my view.
I finally find him. It’s Roiven, but his face is the only recognizable part of him left. With the fishscaler in his hand he’s removed everything else. He didn’t wait for me to pull the other enchantments from his skin.
“It’s alright,” he says, looking up with a smile as I scream. “Just let it pass.”
I sit bolt-upright in a comfortable bed, coated in a sheen of cold sweat, my throat hoarse like I was screaming for real. Dim light traces vague shapes of furniture but refuses to elaborate. There’s a splashing sound, like a waterfall, but I think I’m indoors. I can’t stop panting for air.
There’s a pitcher of water on the table beside my bed. Rolling onto my living arm, I gulp down one cup, then another. The sweet, clean taste pours down my throat, washing away the briny sting of the ocean and the sour memory of bile.
The door slams open as Roiven bursts through it, his body silhouetted in the frame. I flinch back and grab around me for my sword, but my hands only find sheets and mattress and pillows. Much nicer ones than I had on the Bluff.
“You screamed.”
“Just a nightmare,” I rasp. What is he doing here? Why would he care?
He stays in the entry for a moment, like he’s hesitating. I wait for him to leave, but Roiven steps inside and swings the door shut behind him.
I can’t see any of his features in the dark, except his bright eyes. I know he must be fine—I know dreams have no truth to them—but in the haze of waking, I don’t trust logic.
“Will you be able to sleep again?”
“Your arms.”
“What…?”
“Can I see them?”
I reach a hand towards him. Roiven hesitates.
I think he’s going to walk away, but instead he approaches the side of the bed and slowly offers me his hand.
I grab his palm, then run my fingers up his forearm, muscular and veined.
He shivers lightly at my touch. I skim over his elbow, where I know the pain rings are still torturing him.
Over his bicep. My fingertips trace the contours of his arm, hunting for any wound.
The enchantment still buzzes beneath his skin.
He doesn’t move, but his eyes stare straight down at me.
“What are you doing?” he asks. I let go of him and sit back.
“Nothing. Just… checking.”
“Checking what?” He folds his arms.
“Your skin.”
“...Because of your nightmare?”
I don’t want him thinking that I was just looking for an excuse to touch him. Given that I’ve spent my life hunting Roiven’s people, and that he has at least as much reason to hate me as I hate him, the physical pull I feel towards him is just plain wrong.
“I used to free Enchanted. Sometimes. When I could.”
“I know,” he reminds me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, even though I can barely see anything in the dark of the room anyways.
“There was one,” I tell him hoarsely. “She told me her name. I can’t even remember it. It was… the day you attacked. She woke too soon, and I found her in the ship’s orlop deck, with… she was…”
I don’t continue. The silence yawns between us. My mind is back beneath the ship, seeing the blood; the terrified look in her eyes. I shudder and draw a ragged breath. It’s the first time I’ve admitted this to anyone. But who could he possibly tell that would care?
Roiven sits at the foot of the bed. The mattress shifts beneath his weight.
Slowly, the witch reaches out and rests a hand on my knee, through the blanket. The touch drags me back to the present. I should tell him to get his hand off me immediately, but I don’t.
It isn't the first time he’s comforted me, and I don't like how natural it feels. Or how well it seems to work. But right now, I need it.
“She had a fishscaler,” I whisper. “She was… cutting the marks off her skin.”
“Gods,” Roiven whispers.
“The ship’s alarm rang. You attacked, and…” I grip my fists into the sheets. “Is there any way she could have survived?”
“She was below deck?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t go after anybody who jumped overboard, but… the Hellion sank. I don’t think it’s possible.”
He draws his hand back off my knee. I nod, but I don’t answer.
“I’m sorry,” he adds a moment later.
“It’s my fault. I woke her up just so she could die in pain, alone and scared.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“Still. Because of me…”
“She died free,” he says. “Isn’t that better? I’d rather have my own mind.”
“Easy to say when you aren’t terrified and facing down death.”
“Of course I’m terrified,” Roiven whispers. “Do you know how many people I’ve lost to those ships? And now your Empire is planning something that could finally end this?”
“Still.”
“She didn’t survive,” he says flatly. “But you gave her the chance to fight, to escape. To try. So long as you’re awake you can keep fighting. You gave her back to herself, Cai. I’m sorry you had a nightmare about her, but…”
Why is he being nice to me?
“The nightmare was about you,” I tell him. “You were her. I mean, not her, but—you had the fishscaler, and you were cutting… that’s why I asked if I could touch…”
Roiven is silent for a long moment.
“Let go of your guilt, Cai. You freed her. I killed her. There’s nothing either of us can do to change it now.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” I ask.
“You could start with getting some sleep,” he offers. “If you want to atone for the Enchanted, you do it in the present, not by letting the past consume you.” He stands up off the bed and I feel the whole mattress shift.
“You won’t do it, will you? Cut the marks out?” I whisper.
“Of course not, knight. That’s what I have you for,” Roiven tells me. “Sleep.” He leaves the room, shutting the door all the way behind him.
It’s brighter in the room the next time I open my eyes. I drag myself out from beneath the blankets and frown around me. This doesn't look much like a prison.
The splashing noise is a waterfall, kind of. Water pours from a spout on the wall and splatters into a shallow stone basin on the floor. There’s a drain somewhere in there because I’ve heard the sound all night, but the liquid in the basin is still only an inch deep.
My sword is gone. I check everywhere, even beneath the bed, but Roiven must have taken it from me when he carried me here last night.
I grit my jaw. I offered to remove the enchantments, and he decided to leave me defenseless in whatever witch hideout he’s brought me to?
I get it, but that doesn’t mean I like it.
The floor is smooth black stone beneath my feet, the furniture pale wood and canvas, simply but carefully made.
There’s a low bookshelf against the far wall with a couple tattered, stitched volumes.
Golden light filters through a curtain. When I peel it aside, all I find is bubbled, warped golden glass, so thick I can’t see anything through it.
Roiven’s room must be nearby if he heard me scream last night.
Either that, or he was waiting outside to guard me. That idea sends a chill down my spine.
The nightmare is still fresh in my mind, even though I slept again after. Last night, all I wanted was to confront the War-Father and hear the truth from his own mouth. But now I’m not sure that’s enough.
Roiven said so long as you’re breathing, you can keep fighting. Have I really given up on freeing the Enchanted, and stopping the war? Am I really content to die if the War-Father says that's what he wants?
And can I live with myself if I let Harfor and the others get away with Malkin’s murder?
On the chair next to the bed, I find a sleeveless, pale pink floor-length dress. Beneath it are fresh underthings. It’s that or the dirty, salt-crusted clothes I’ve been wearing for the past few days, which Roiven thankfully did not try to take off me.
I stare at the dress, then slide my eyes over to the fountain against the wall. Back to the dress, then the fountain. There’s dark soot and grime beneath my fingertips. Dust and streaks of salt on my arms. I am crusty. Disgusting, even. There’s grit between my teeth.
We don’t bathe in indoor fountains in the Empire, but there are soaps and a towel beside it that make the intended purpose obvious.
I check the door and thankfully find a lock on it, then swiftly strip.
In the process I realize I’ve still got on the leather necklace pendant with the War-Father’s letter.
I take it off and let it fall to the ground, my heart heavy.
I still can’t believe Harfor sank the Governor’s ship. It feels impossible, like as much of a nightmare as the one that brought Roiven to my room, but I trust my memories. It was real.
The water is warm and clear as it splatters and sloshes to the floor.
No matter how much filth washes from my skin, the fountain keeps flowing, always clean and only an inch deep in the basin.
I wipe the water from my eyes and savor the feel of it coating my salt-chapped lips. It tastes sweet and fresh, saltless.
I wash quickly and thoroughly, scrubbing every inch of myself before toweling dry.
My remaining hair goes into a wet braid down the left side, and I drag the pink dress on, relieved it fits over my metal arm.
The low bodice clings to the dampness of my skin, hugging my breasts and baring the skin above them. The skirt swirls around my thighs.
Could I somehow get the truth out, about Malkin and the others? Get back to Barivum and tell the council that the witches weren’t the ones to kill everyone at the Bluff?
I need to find food, figure out where I am, and tell Roiven I want my sword back. Maybe not in that order. I throw the door open.
My room opens to a small courtyard. The stone walls have a few other doors in them, and there’s an open arch across the way into another courtyard.
Goosebumps raise on my arms as I stare in disbelief. There are green things growing here. My heart pounds faster and I take a half step back without meaning to.
Plant life. Out here. On an island in the Wild Seas? The War-Father taught me the witches killed everything in these lands, but it seems like they’ve been keeping some of it for themselves.
Bright pink and yellow flowers, growing straight out of the ground, surround a circular stone table with curved benches. Small trees flourish in ceramic pots. A wall of vines grows up the right-hand side of the wall.
I can’t remember the last time I saw something so pretty. My face breaks into a smile for the first time in ages as I step through the doorway. And then a woman peels herself off the wall beside my door and levels a sword at my throat.
I should have known this place wasn’t as friendly as it looked.