Monster
Chapter thirty
The day had been spent helping the captain with various chores and attempting to converse with Castien.
But the prince was in a state that dictated he talk to no one, save Wren.
There were times when his Gift seemed to take over, and all parts of Castien that weren’t strategy or logic went dormant.
Finn took no offense. His cousin had a great responsibility on his shoulders.
Finn trusted that whatever madness Castien succumbed to would lead to a worthwhile outcome.
Besides, Cas had Wren. He didn’t need Finn to force him to eat or drink water anymore.
Wren took care of all of that, and better than Finn ever had.
She knew how to draw Castien out of the haze long enough to take care of himself.
Still, it was his instinct to check in on his cousin, no matter how unproductive the task seemed at times.
Finn heaved a sigh as his boot stepped off the final stair, almost blowing out the candle he was carrying.
His eyes took in the dark and crowded place.
He hadn’t much regarded it since boarding the boat, but now he saw just how cramped the quarters were.
To his right was a row of hammocks hung on the beams that lined the ship’s upper deck.
Petals was scrunched in one, a bare foot hanging off and his glasses askew.
He did not snore, which Finn was grateful for.
Next to the soft-hearted brute was Kelwin, who fit much better in his hammock, his head of sandy-brown hair nestled into a small pillow.
Beyond him was an empty hammock, and then Cora with her back facing Finn.
He frowned as he realized there was but one hammock left, and the captain would sleep eventually, though he was still keeping watch above.
For that matter, where was his wife? Finn looked left, and in the darkness, surrounded by stacks of wooden crates, was a pallet made up of what looked to be quilts.
Above it, a small porthole let in a sliver of moonlight, which illuminated Lucianna’s soft, loose curls.
She sat on the makeshift bed, a pastel yellow nightgown stretched over her crossed legs.
Lucianna gave no indication of knowing he was present.
Her focus was on the palm-sized throwing star she was running a velvet cloth over.
Once she finished with one, she set it down and moved to the next.
Each one was placed in a precise order. Above them were several daggers of varying shapes and makes, all laid out in a manner that resembled something one might see in a display case at a shop.
“I don’t think our fellow crewmates would sleep so soundly if they knew what you were doing,” Finn commented quietly as he neared the edge of the thin pallet. She did not startle. Finn suspected she knew he was there and simply did not wish to acknowledge him.
“Why should they not be comforted?” she inquired in a similarly hushed fashion. “I am one of them, not an enemy.”
“So, if you awoke to me sharpening my daggers, you’d be elated?” he challenged with a smirk.
She gave him an annoyed look.
“I am not sharpening—I am cleaning.”
He huffed a soft laugh at her dodge of his question.
The air went still as silence fell over them.
Finn watched as she laid out a long stretch of velvet-lined leather and began placing her weapons atop it.
Once all but one of her blades were secured, she rolled the fabric over itself, then tied the parcel shut with matching brown leather ties.
As she formed the knot into a bow, she spoke.
“We are to share a bed.”
Finn stared blankly at her, certain he did not hear her correctly. She looked up when he did not say anything and let out an exasperated sigh.
“The captain had Kelwin prepare us a bed as we are married, and he thought us adverse to sleeping apart.”
“You did not correct his assumption?” He was too surprised to tease her.
She accidentally pulled the strings too far and unraveled the bow she had been fashioning. Her fingers went to work again, and Finn wondered if he was imagining how rosy her complexion was in the soft glow of the candle he was holding.
“Kelwin was the one who showed me. You were in Castien’s quarters doing Tides knows what, and-and he was so thrilled with what he’d managed to make,” she whispered.
Finn’s smile grew the more she said. His wife had a soft spot after all.
“You did not want him to feel bad,” Finn said.
He glanced about the cozy alcove once more. Yes, he could see how a young boy would be proud of putting this space together in the midst of a cramped pirate ship.
“He does not speak much, but he is very sweet and persuasive when he does,” she muttered as she finally got the tie right.
“Perhaps he is the one with charm, for I don’t know that even I could convince you to share a bed with me,” Finn mused.
Lucianna scowled.
“I should have refused him.”
“But you didn’t,” Finn said with a grin. “So, move over, wife of mine, for I am exhausted.”
She glared at him as she scooted to the left.
“If you so much as try to hold my hand, I will make you regret it.”
Finn shook his head. It stung that she thought so low of him as to do something without her consent. He toed off his boots and blew out the candle he was holding.
“I have never been so desperate as to need to take from a woman that which she did not wish to give,” he grumbled as he knelt onto the pallet.
Lucianna pressed herself further into the wall of crates she was up against. Finn tried not to let her apparent distrust of him bring the shadowy monster within his mind to the surface.
He wished simply for one night of blissful, dreamless sleep.
But if the creature got its talons in him, he’d toss and turn until daybreak, if he didn’t give in and get up before then.
He lay on his back and stared at the outline of the wooden beams above.
“I’m certain your Gift handles any reservations on their part,” she snapped under her breath.
Finn clenched his jaw. Lucianna was unaware of the fears she was calling up.
Finn had wrestled with wondering if he ever went too far, let his Gift flow too freely, with certain women.
He’d only ever kissed them, though admittedly he knew that could damage their reputations.
But not once had he convinced them to do so with purpose.
His mind spun up a memory he had long buried.
A young noblewoman, Delphina. They were both too young to understand the consequences of a simple kiss.
So they’d snuck away into the gardens of her estate on more than one occasion.
She’d whisper fears of them getting caught, he’d whisper things that made her forget .
. . but was it different than what any boy would have done?
At the time, he’d thought there was nothing wrong with it.
Even after they were caught, nothing bad happened.
Their reputations were secure with a few careful words from his father.
And yet, in dark moments such as these, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d used his Gift to force her to linger.
He drowned the vile thought. No. Even unaware, Finn could never stoop so low. He would not believe it.
“You speak too freely about matters of which you know nothing,” he growled into the darkness. “I would never persuade a woman in the manner you’re insinuating. Degrade me as you please, but I am no monster.”
Lucianna said nothing. Finn shifted so that he was under the blankets.
He would not be cold on account of her peace of mind.
Perhaps if she weren’t so Tides-cursed infuriating he’d seek out additional blankets so they wouldn’t have to share.
But tonight he was tired—of everything. So he would not go out of his way.
For he knew she would not if the roles were reversed.
His thoughts ran rampant despite his desire for rest. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands beneath the blankets.
Was it too much to ask for a shred of peace?
Finn knew the sweet taste of the feeling.
He’d glimpsed every now and again since returning from the academy.
Times where the restless energy that occupied his limbs settled and the crashing waves in his head stilled.
So rare were they that he could recall the specific days in which they occurred.
But still, it was possible. He wished it would not elude him so thoroughly when he needed it most.
“Finnick?” Lucianna’s voice pulled Finn out of his despairing thoughts.
“Yes?” he whispered, uncertain she had truly said his name.
“I am sorry,” she murmured.
Finn waited for an elaboration, but none came. He considered asking: for what? But thought better of it. She had not conceded once since he’d met her; this was the first time. So he would take the apology, and hoped that it was a sign of further understanding to come.
“I forgive you,” he replied softly.
Out of the corner of his eye, Finn saw Lucianna turn so her back was facing him, a cascade of dark curls flowing across the thin pillow she rested upon.
“Lucianna?” Finn ventured.
“Hm?”
“You don’t have to call me Finnick, you know. Most everyone calls me Finn.”
She was silent for a moment, then, “I know.”