Survivors
Chapter fifty-one
Lucianna tipped her head back against the wall of the quarterdeck and closed her eyes. Every time she took a breath, a dull ache yawned in the spaces between her ribs. Her hands stung from being scraped by the ropes, and her muscles were as useful as wet parchment.
“Lucianna.” Wren’s soft voice broke through the haze of exhaustion.
She forced her bleary eyes open. The princess smiled down at her, the warmth in her expression almost disguising the heavy darkness beneath her blue eyes. She was damp, but nothing near what the rest of the crew was, given that she had been hidden away from the worst of the storm.
“Do you have any wounds that need tending?” Wren asked.
Lucianna splayed her hands and winced at the sight of her shredded palms.
“You and Finnick have similar injuries, though his are worse,” Wren murmured as she knelt beside Lucianna and produced a red leather briefcase.
Agony pulsed in the base of Lucianna’s throat as she tried to call on her Gift.
She wanted to ask Wren how Finnick was. When the storm had calmed some, Castien returned to the deck, took one look at his cousin curled up against the side of the boat, and had Petals help him carry Finnick to the captain’s quarters.
Lucianna had crawled toward the door and propped herself nearby to wait.
He’d saved her life and prevented her from harm more than once today.
She hoped he did not pay too dearly for his sacrifice.
Lucianna wouldn’t be able to live with herself if he did.
Guilt clung to her like tar. After all that she had said and done, he risked his life for her.
She couldn’t fathom why. She wasn’t worth the trouble.
Wren opened the briefcase to reveal bandages, metal instruments, and small amber jars.
She grabbed one of the jars and opened the lid.
The scent of calendula and lavender washed over Lucianna.
She breathed in deep despite the pain in her side.
Anything to rid herself of the brine that clung to the inside of her nose and back of her throat.
“Finn is badly bruised, but Castien thinks he did not break any bones. I worry that he may have fractured a rib, but he claims to be fine.” Wren shook her head and began applying the salve to Lucianna’s cuts with a gentle touch.
“I told him he always claims to be fine, even when he is not. He just smiled and said Cas would get jealous if I kept fretting over him so much.”
A huff escaped Lucianna. That did sound like her husband.
“Hopefully, he is not lying and he heals quickly,” Wren continued, seemingly unaffected by Lucianna’s lack of response.
“The captain says we are not out of danger yet. Of course, this is to be expected, given that we are on the Heartless Tides.” Her tone was wry, as was her smile. “But he seems quite stressed.”
Lucianna hummed in acknowledgement, then winced when Wren applied the salve to a particularly nasty cut. Wren murmured an apology, then finished her work in silence. She bandaged Lucianna’s palms in soft cotton strips. The only dry stitch on her person.
“Do you need any assistance changing?” Wren inquired. “The captain has said we can retrieve a few materials from below deck before we have to batten the hatches again.”
Water dripped down Lucianna’s temples as she shook her head. There was no point in changing if the captain thought they’d encounter danger again.
“All right,” Wren hedged. “I will bring you some tea to warm you, then.”
The princess closed the medical kit, then went to stand. Lucianna grabbed her wrist, ignoring the pain in her palm.
“Thank you,” she mouthed, incapable of producing sound.
Wren smiled. “You’re welcome.”
She stood up, her face screwing up in displeasure with the movement.
The princess placed a hand over her abdomen and took several measured breaths through her nose.
Lucianna frowned. She’d thought that Wren’s presence on the deck meant she was doing better, but it seemed that was not the case.
After gathering herself, the princess walked across the deck to where Cora was propped up against Petals’s side.
The alchemist was unused to hard labor in any capacity.
Lucianna hoped she would survive the elements.
Perhaps with Petals’s help it would be possible.
While most of the crew was resting and tending to wounds, the captain had not left his post at the wheel.
Lucianna could not see him, but she knew he was up there, for she could hear him shout orders or encouragement to his young quartermaster.
Kelwin had weathered the storms better than the rest—aside from Wren—and was now unfurling some of the sails to aid in the navigation through Splinter Point.
Lucianna gazed ahead. The downpour had faded into a soft pitter-patter against the deck, but it did not lessen the intimidation of the infamous location.
Jagged black rocks jutted out from the sea like dagger points.
Remnants of failed expeditions clung to the obsidian formations.
Bits of rigging, blankets of sails, and chunks of wood served as reminder that the Tides bowed to no man. They would take as they pleased.
They’d almost taken the Maralyn. The tempest had been unlike anything Lucianna had ever experienced. If it hadn’t stopped when it did, she wasn’t sure if everyone would be alive right now. She worried about the captain’s words that Wren had spoken.
Could they make it through another storm like the last?
Did they have the strength to fend off a monster if it came?
What if more pirates appeared, this time more deadly than the last?
“Finnick!” Cas’s voice shouted through the wood, pulling Lucianna from her spiral. “What are you doing?”
The door opened. Lucianna rolled her head in the direction of it.
Her husband slumped against the doorway, his blue eyes surveying the deck until they landed on her.
His hair was still damp but pushed back from his face as though someone had combed it.
He’d abandoned his coat and wore only a loose black shirt that hung over the waist of his trousers.
Somehow, he still managed to look more portrait than man.
Lucianna was certain the same could not be said of her.
She felt the gritty crust of salt on every inch of her skin and knew her hair was tangled beyond recognition.
“Why must you insist on being an idiot?” Castien growled, attempting to tug Finnick backward. “I told you she was fine.”
One of Finnick’s bandaged hands grabbed the doorframe. Blood stained the fabric.
“Are you, little thief?” her husband rasped. “Fine, that is.”
Lucianna nodded, exhaustion making her head swim.
Her eyes dropped shut, and she had to force them open again.
A smile tugged at one corner of Finnick’s mouth.
He pulled away from Castien and came to sit beside her.
The side of his body pressed against hers.
She couldn’t help but lean into him, desperate for a semblance of comfort.
Her head rested on his shoulder, the dry fabric warm against her cold cheek.
“Finn—” Castien demanded, but was cut off.
“Let me be, Cas. Help the others,” Finnick replied. His voice was weak but sure.
Castien heaved a sigh, then stormed across the deck, muttering the entire way. Lucianna’s eyes fell shut.
“We survived a storm in Splinter Point,” Finnick murmured. “That is more than most can say.”
She mustered a low hum in response. Her husband chuckled and shifted so that his arm was around her. He tucked her against his side.
“Your ribs,” she whispered in protest, the use of her Gift like sandpaper in the back of her throat.
She couldn’t bring herself to pull away, though. He was so warm and dry. His shirt smelled faintly of cinnamon tea. Lucianna barely resisted the urge to nuzzle the fabric.
“Best you not worry, wife of mine. I might start to believe you care about me. And that would be more dangerous than anything Splinter Point has to offer.”
Lucianna couldn’t help it—she smiled.