Page 35 of The Flame and the Forsaken

“Where did yougetthis thing?” Disgust wove through his words as he continued his inspection. “It’s not even yours, is it?”

“It’s mine,” she said tersely, straining for breath. “And I’ve got only a few minutes to get her readied for open sea. So while I thank you for the rescue, you can go now.”

“Go?” His expression widened in bemusement. “You think you can captain this dory yourself?”

Mariel’s hands shot to her hips in hot offense. “Dory? She’s a proper trading craft! And aye, I’ve captained her myself, Princeling of the Seas. Do ye see a crew?”

“I see a woman who jumped from a feckin’ cliff because she couldn’t think straight.”

“Wh...” she sputtered, unsure what his angle was. It was clear he wasn’t leaving, and she didn’t have time to argue. “Fine. But once we’re off, you’ll be explaining yourself, or I’ll punt you into the sea myself.”

Erran scoffed, squinting as he took in the details of the ship. She knew what he was going to say before he said it. “Aye, it’s no dory. I’ll give you that. But itisa balinger, lass. The draft is shallow. Only good for trading. Transport. It’s built for coastal waters.”

As if she didn’t know. “Aye, and those same waters are going to make it easy to catch up with us, because we don’t have thirty men to run the oars, do we?” She shoved past him and raced for the sails, nearly losing her poise on the slimy deck.

He hissed in through his teeth. “We take it to open sea, we might not come back.”

“Feel free to return to where you came from then,” she replied, baring her teeth as she started tugging on the starboard halyard, twisting her fingers into the knot to loosen it.

Erran appeared on the other side to help. “On three. One, two?—”

Mariel bore down and started tugging before he finished his countdown. He emoted a brief chuckle full of reproach, like she was a petulant child, and joined her. Together, they raised the first and then the second sail. It would have taken her thrice as long by herself, but her gratitude never made it past her tongue.

“Tie them off,” he commanded.

“I’m not one of your crew. I don’t take bloody orders from you,” she muttered, wrenching her halyard over the joint.

“Protests the one running from the law,” he snapped.

When she whipped her head up to tell him where he could stick his words, he was already done with his side and had gone to the starboard beam, where he was pitched over the side. His back clenched with every tug as he wrested the anchor from the water, something she’d only been able to do with the winch.

He carefully lowered it to the deck and into the cradle, but on his rise, he went notably still. “Mariel,” he said calmly.

She closed her eyes and sighed. “They’re coming, aren’t they?”

“Are you more comfortable trimming the sails or manning the tiller?” His hands fisted at his sides as he watched the sea. “There’s hardly a wind this afternoon. It’s going to take some doing to catch air, if we can even do it at all.”

What he really meant was that managing the ropes and rigging would take strength and stamina, and she was at a disadvantage. It burned her to admit any weakness to a Rutland, but it wasn’t the place for pride. “Tiller.”

“Go.”

She raced to the tiller, sliding again when the ship rolled on the tide. Erran had two ropes in his hands, his hips wide and knees bent. He craned his head back and yelled, “Northeast!”

“Are you sure?” She tried to read the waters, the air, but she was forced to concede he knew far more than she ever would. “It almost seems?—”

“Northeast, Mariel!” His feet started to slide. “Come on!”

Mariel put all her weight into cranking the tiller and heaved a relieved breath when it responded. She kept turning until the compass read northeast and then locked it in place before rushing to join Erran.

“Secure the deck and the hatches,” he ordered.

For a moment, she was too awed from watching him work the ropes to do anything but gape. His work was fluid and effortless, like a seasoned artist painting the perfect landscape on their first attempt.

“Mariel!”

There wasn’t muchonthe deck, beyond some frayed netting and a few empty crates. A handful of rusted tool parts, scattered. The buccaneer she’d won it from had had his men loot the vessel before handing over the deed, and the meager supplies she’d brought herself were on the lower deck, stuffed in cupboards. She hadn’t foreseen she might need to be stocked for a harrowing escape. When Erran figured out how ill-fitted they were for where she wanted to go, he’d have plenty more to say about her lack of experience.

She scrambled to grab everything as he teased the sails, working against their lack of wind in a way she never could have managed on her own. Why he’d followed her... why he’d jumped into thefeckin’ seawhen he must have known that aiding a criminal would be the final straw for his father, who was already so close to pulling his birthright for his antics... It didn’t add up. She’d be more inclined to believe it was one big fever dream, but the nightmare surrounding her was unfortunately very much real. The men chasing them, no less so.

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