Page 87 of Heart of the Summer Queen

I sit up to meet his eyes. “A little.”

At once, he abandons the wheel to join me. He pulls me into his arms as he lies beside me on the deck. I rest my head against his chest.

“What bothers you?” he asks gently.

“Just thinking we could arrive any second,” I mumble. Not an outright lie, but not the full extent of my worries either. Voicing the unrestrained truth may spur him to haul me into a carriage and fly me back to the Crystal Palace.

“I’ll wake you at the first sign of Eruweth,” he promises, squeezing my hand. I return the gesture, clasping his fingers.

We fall quiet then, staring at the sky as the waves sway us back and forth.

“Do you know much of the stars?” he says.

I lift my head to study his contemplative expression before settling back against him. “Only a little. I doubt I could name many constellations.”

“Sailors often rely on them for navigation. When surrounded by nothing but waves, it is difficult to determine your position and direction of travel.”

“Would you consider yourself a sailor then?”

“No,” he says with a laugh, “certainly not. But during my travels, I worked as a sailor for a few months and learned much of what I know then.”

“Didn’t the sailors find your proper manner of speech peculiar?”

“I claimed to be a lord’s unwanted bastard son. That usually halted all further questions.” He takes my hand, using it to point at the sky. “That’s the North Star. It always holds the same position, allowing sailors to navigate when all else is lost.” He traces a shape with my finger. “The Archer.”

“Where’s the Ox?”

“It isn’t visible this season.”

“Oh,” I say.

“Is that your birth sign?”

I nod.

His lips twist in barely contained laughter.

“What?” I demand.

“I suppose that explains everything.”

I narrow my eyes. “Explains what?”

“Well, you’re certainly stubborn as an ox.”

I shove his shoulder. “What about yours, anyway? You were born on the sixth of December so your sign is the Tower, isn’t it? Is that constellation out tonight?”

“It is,” he says, taking my hand to trace a line far right. “Just there. Do you see it?”

“I think so.”

“How did you know the Tower is my sign?” he asks, releasing me.

“I may not know much about star gazing, but I know birth signs.”

“I meant more about knowing my birthday. I don’t recall telling you, and there is no one alive to remember it.”

“I read it in your father’s journal. He wrote an entry about your birth and the date was recorded there.”

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