Chapter 15 #2
But that wasn’t an option. That would never be an option.
Even if the ring burnt her finger to a crisp, she would toss it overboard and keep going.
She owed it to those children—the next generation of Centarians.
They deserved to live healthy, full lives in their homeland.
It wouldn’t make up for what their parents were denied, but it was better than nothing at all.
Carried by her anxiety-fueled steps, the gangplank of the Lupus Star was upon them in an instant. Deckhands scurried up and down, hauling wooden crates and burlap sacks of rations and supplies.
“Ahoy, Yer Highness!” Captain Verden called, waving from the stern. He hustled over to the gangplank and barely skirted around a Lycanian man rolling a barrel up to the deck.
He bowed low, then shook her hand up and down in a wild manner. “‘Twas a pleasure to receive your request to charter our humble ship for such an important job!”
“Only the best will do,” she replied with a chuckle, watching his hand continue to shake hers.
“And we’ll do our best ta’ serve you.” The captain finally released her claws. “His Grace already issued cabin assignments. He’s helping inventory the supplies now. I must say thank you for the ale! It will surely lift our spirits on those still nights at sea!”
“Oh, aha, yes—you are most welcome.” She didn’t register what he said, just accepted his gratitude absentmindedly as she ran up the gangplank.
How did that bastard get here so quickly?
She must have spent more time at the library than she thought.
She wanted to take over inventory, but it would only waste time.
Roderick was out of the way and being useful.
While voyages from one end of Valeria to the other or to Eteross and back could be easily managed by the captain and first mate, an expedition of this length and a crew of this size doubled the work, requiring her and Roderick to shoulder some duties.
There had to be something else she could do.
Cabin assignments, done. Inventory in progress. Think, Anya, think.
She finally settled on inspecting the ship and rigging.
She breezed through her inspection, pleased to see every board and sail in perfect shape.
With that done, she took Roderick’s cabin assignment list and accounted for every deckhand and sailor.
Dame Theresa Fletcher arrived by mid-morning, marking their final passenger.
“Ahoy, Captain! All hands accounted for!” Anya called from the bow, waving the parchment to catch his eye.
“Aye aye!” The captain yelled down to the deckhands, “Prepare ta’ set sail! Get those tails moving! Pull the main anchor! Flag the bollard man! Haul back the brow!”
Her shoulders relaxed as the captain barked out command after command. They were ahead of schedule, and the winds were fair. She reclined against the crook of the bow and went into a trance observing the organized chaos of the deckhands.
“My Lady!” Blackbird ascended the steps with a scroll in one hand. “I thought you may want to review our course. I think you and I can shave a day off it.”
“An excellent idea.” And not only that, it was an opportunity to shed these awful boots. They seemed to put pressure right on the gash in the arch of her foot, and it was only beginning to heal. It was an annoyingly painful reminder of her near-tryst with Roderick.
They settled into the captain’s quarters, which boasted long lateral windows that would be the lens for her final glimpse of land.
Instead of being fashioned as true sleeping quarters for herself and Lady Rowan as the captain offered, she’d requested it be outfitted as a war room.
Three shiny oak tables were pushed together to form the perfect place to spread out their maps, quills, and ink.
The quarters were lined with matching oak bookcases bursting with nautical texts and tomes.
The ship lurched just as the captain’s voice rang out. “Anchors aweigh!”
They settled in and worked until the early evening.
She was pleased to find about half a day they could save by moving further away from the coast to avoid the increased leeway from the windfall coming off the Beak Bluffs.
It seemed counter intuitive, at first glance.
But the amount of time they’d waste correcting their course would be far greater than the time spent sailing a few extra miles.
The repetitive scratch of Blackbird’s quill on parchment stopped, pulling Anya out of her thoughts.
She lifted her brows a few times to loosen them from the lingering furrowed sensation, then blinked and glanced at her friend.
Blackbird was squeezing her palms with her thumb and forefinger, alternating sides—a telltale sign that her condition was flaring up.
“Are your hands bothering you? Oh dear, did you pack your remedy?”
“It’s in our cabin,” Blackbird mumbled, glaring at her hands as though she could intimidate her nerves into releasing her from their vice. “I can keep going. We’re making such good progress—”
“Nonsense. I’ll go get it.” Anya stood. “I’ll be right back.”
She dashed down to their cabin, where Blackbird had neatly arranged their belongings on their respective bunks.
She quickly found the little glass pot of salve and hurried back up the stairs but had to hide behind a mast to narrowly avoid crossing paths with Roderick.
When the coast was clear, she slipped through the door to the captain’s quarters.
Was it juvenile? Sure.
But so was he.
She pulled a chair close to her friend and uncapped the salve.
The scent of ginger and turmeric boxed out the stench of seabirds and damp wood as she slowly massaged the salve into Blackbird’s hands.
Her friend’s pain was a cruel one. Only heat and pressure seemed to alleviate it, which was hard to do when your most effective tool was the source of your pain.
The door creaked open with no announcement. Her eyes flicked to Roderick as he sauntered in.
“My Lady, you can stop now,” Blackbird whispered. Anya ignored her. She knew from experience it took about ten to fifteen minutes of pressure for her symptoms to improve. So she kept massaging, squeezing from the palms up to the tips of Blackbird’s fingers.
Roderick set his hands on the table with a thump and silently surveyed the sprawl of papers, then swiveled his head to them.
“Giving each other manicures?” He scoffed and sniffed the air, then crinkled his nose. “Whatever it is, it is rather strong.”
“I’m sorry…” Blackbird shrank down in her seat, eyes misty. Her friend was always self-conscious about the overwhelming scent of the salve. Anya wasn’t about to let the haughty Lord make her feel worse for needing it.
Roderick picked up a map and peered at it, then tossed it back down with aplomb. “Princess, quit wasting time hiding in here indulging your luxuries under the guise of reviewing our route. I already looked it over. It’s perfectly efficient.”
Anya’s chair scraped against the plank floor as she shot up to meet his gaze.
“Shut your noble yap!” she growled. “I don’t care what you think we should be doing, nor do I owe you an explanation.”
In the corner of her eye, she caught Blackbird wiping the salve off on her handkerchief. There was no way she felt better. She was starting to withdraw. This moment was no different than the comments from passive aggressive debutante bullies back in their younger days.
Rage built in Anya’s chest. Roderick’s eyes flew wide as she poked a claw at his chest. “I may tolerate your impudence toward myself, but you will not disrespect Lady Rowan. Don’t you ever insult her for using this salve. If you do, I will throw you overboard and tell the captain full speed ahead.”
He stepped back. “Salve? Anya, I—”
“Unless the next words out of your mouth are an apology to Lady Rowan, get out.”
“You don’t—”
“Get out!” She shoved him toward the door. “Mind your business and I’ll mind mine. You’ll be the cock-of-the-walk in Petorus again before you know it, free to insult whomever you please.” She slammed the door in his face.