Choices
Chapter forty-eight
The morning light was harsh on Finn’s tired eyes.
He had not slept well in the slightest. The hammock was uncomfortable, and he couldn’t get warm all night.
Some time in the early hours of the morning he had abandoned hope for sleep altogether and left the cabin, forcing himself not to stare at his wife, alone in their bed.
Instead, he trudged up to the main deck and watched as dawn tugged away the blanket of night.
He rubbed his eyes and glanced over his shoulder when he heard the captain’s quarters’ door open.
Castien emerged, but Wren did not. Finn frowned as his cousin went below deck without a word of good morning.
Not long after, Castien appeared again, holding one of the paper sacks of tea Wren had brought aboard.
Finn left his spot atop the forecastle deck and called out to his cousin. “Cas?”
Castien paused at the doorway.
“Is everything all right?” Finn asked as he approached.
Castien turned around, and Finn was struck by the dark circles beneath his cousin’s eyes. It seemed he was not the only one who slept poorly.
“Wren is not feeling well, that is all,” Castien replied.
Anxiety turned Finn’s stomach.
“What is wrong? Is she Tidesick?”
Castien ran a hand through his dark hair.
“I do not know, but I don’t think so. Perhaps she is merely fatigued by recent events and life on a ship. There are not nearly as many accommodations as we are used to traveling with.”
Finn nodded in understanding. That much was true.
Wren was born into a high-ranking noble family, then married into a royal one.
Though traveling by ship was never without its discomfort, each of them was accustomed to more than this experience offered.
Not to mention fending off a beast and a band of pirates in a matter of days.
Still, he could not help but fret over the woman who had become a sister to him.
“Is there anything I can do? I could brew the tea, or is she feverish? I could bring up a cool rag. Retrieve some blankets! Or—”
Castien set a hand on Finn’s shoulder to silence him.
“I will bring her tea, and she will rest. I don’t think there is anything else to be done.”
Restlessness zipped through Finn’s muscles. The thought of Wren sick and his wife at odds with him did not allow him to settle.
“There must be something I can do,” Finn insisted.
Castien met Finn’s gaze. He sensed his cousin calculating and assessing even in his state of disarray. Castien glanced over Finn’s shoulder.
“Perhaps you could see if Cora could make a tonic for Wren?” Castien suggested.
Finn glanced behind him and saw the alchemist had settled into her work for the day. Her auburn locks were pulled up high on her head, out of her face, and she stared intently at a bulbous vase filled with murky yellow liquid.
“I can do that,” Finn said in agreement.
Castien let out a sigh. “Thank you. I will let you know if we are in need of anything else. Oh, inform the captain of our circumstance if he inquires of us, too, please.”
Finn nodded. “I will.”
One more squeeze of his shoulder, then Castien was entering his darkened bedchamber and closing the door on Finn.
Finn turned around and headed toward the alchemist with purpose. She did not look up when he took the empty chair across from her.
“Wren is sick,” he stated without preamble. “Can you make something for her?”
Cora’s green eyes flicked to Finn, then back to the liquid.
“What is wrong with her?”
“I do not know, only that she is sick and cannot leave bed. You could assess her, if that would be helpful.”
The alchemist turned her attention to the notebook splayed before her. She picked up a quill, dipped it in violet ink, and scribbled something Finn could not read.
“I am not a healer.”
A frown tugged Finn’s mouth down at the corners.
“Do you not know the properties of various herbs?”
Cora set down her quill and gave Finn a pointed look.
“I know the properties of every discovered herb in the Seven Havens, as well as some that are deemed myth. That does not mean I know how to diagnose a woman.” She shook her head with disdain. “Would you like me to formulate something, only for it to interact badly and make her worse?”
Finn heard footsteps and threw a quick glance over his shoulder. His frantic heart settled. It was only Petals. The tall, broad-shouldered man nodded to Cora and Finn, then walked over to where Kelwin was adjusting a rope.
“You are disturbing my work,” Cora grumbled when Finn didn’t respond. “And I have limited time. The captain says as soon as we cross into Splinter Point, it won’t be safe to have my materials out. The storms might damage them.”
Finn’s stomach was as knotted as the rigging of the ship. They would enter the most harrowing part of their journey thus far with Wren ill and Lucianna at odds with him. He did not know how they would fare against the monsters and turbulent waters when they were not at their best.
“Is there a way I can assist you?” Finn inquired. “In truth, I am restless and need something to do.”
Cora snorted. “No doubt you are restless.”
Finn’s brow furrowed.
“Why do you say that?”
“You stole my hammock last night,” she said wryly. “So I imagine you are fighting with Lucianna and it has driven you to madness.”
“Madness is a bit dramatic,” he mumbled. “I apologize for stealing your bed. I just chose the one—” He cut short and winced.
“Farthest away from her?” Cora offered with another pointed look. “It is fine. I have no attachment to material objects. A hammock is a hammock.”
She picked up a granule of some blue substance and dropped it into the vase.
“I prefer to complete my work myself, but you may remain here if it aids in your distraction,” she said.
“Thank you,” Finn replied, though he wasn’t sure the alchemist cared for polite speech.
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds the clinking of vials and lapping of waves.
“How long have you known my wife?” Finn asked when the silence started to make his skin itch.
“A little over two years,” Cora answered. “Though to say I know Lucianna is a bit of an exaggeration. We have worked together that long. She brings me materials; I make her what she needs.”
“Yet you trusted her enough to escape onto a boat?” Finn questioned.
Cora shook her head. “Trust was not a factor in my decision. Lucianna stated plainly what I would gain. The reward outweighed the risk in my eyes. I was tired of living under my mother’s iron thumb.”
“You must have trusted her in some capacity. Enough to believe she wasn’t lying,” he challenged.
“I suppose that is true. Lucianna has proven her character to me during our acquaintance. I knew her well enough to believe she would not deceive me.” She paused. “About a job, at least.”
Interest sparked at the alchemist’s words. Finn thought over his next question. He’d be revealing his hand with it, but how else would he get answers? His wife was not forthcoming, that much was certain.
“Has Lucianna always sounded the way she does now?” Finn kept his voice casual. Judging by the quirk of Cora’s brow, she didn’t buy it.
“No.”
The plain answer hit him in the sternum. He’d been right, then. She was lying to them.
“She used a different voice every time we met,” Cora continued. “This is the longest I’ve heard her speak with the same one.”
Her words sent another wave of shock through Finn.
“That did not bother you?”
Cora pulled a face.
“Why should it?”
“She was lying to you,” Finn insisted.
Cora shrugged and picked up another vial.
“I do not see it that way.”
“Then how do you see it?”
“Lucianna operates in a particular manner. She likes patterns and systems, at least in her work. That was a part of her system. I imagine in her profession she felt the layer of separation necessary for her protection. I cannot fault her for that any more than she would fault me for my preferences.”
Another granule, this time red, was placed in the container. The yellow turned a sickly green color and made a faint hissing sound.
“Did you ever wish she would abandon her system? Did you want to be friends?” Finn pressed.
He got the sense that if given the chance, Cora would be friends with Lucianna. A locked-away noble girl, stuck with a tyrant for a mother? That was a recipe for loneliness.
Cora did not answer at first. She picked up the vase and swirled it, analyzing the way the liquid foamed.
Then, she spoke softly. “Lucianna was more a friend than she ever intended to be. She did things . . . things that were not required of her. Even in bringing me here she showed kindness like I have never known. She gave me a choice where I had none.”
Finn sat with her words. He had not known his wife long, but he felt that Cora’s assessment rang true.
Lucianna kept everyone at a distance, but she cared, too.
That made his chest ache all the more. He desired to repair things between them, but he was at a loss as to how.
Her words had hurt him deeply, yet he only wished to change her mind, not punish her for voicing what she thought was the truth.
She gave me a choice . . . The alchemist’s words swam in his mind, creating ripples of thought.
That was what had brought out Lucianna’s ferocity the first time, back in the castle drawing room.
The matter of choice. His wife did not like to be deprived of decisions.
And she felt his Gift snatched that away from her.
Somehow, he would have to convince her that wasn’t true.
Somehow, he would have to convince himself of the same.