Page 33 of Dragons' Bride
The next person I seek out is Hauck, but he is neck deep in magic as he tries to find and repair the leaks in the hull. Tavias is holed up with Captain Dane discussing plans I’m not privy to. Lacking both skills and muscle, I join Nora in helping Corvus in the sickberth – only to be sent away at once.
“The sailors are naturally superstitious, my lady,” Corvus tells me as he shows me the door. “Your presence would cause stress that may be detrimental to their recovery.” From the tight set of Corvus’s face, I get the sense that he doesn’t altogether disagree with his patients’ sentiment.
On the third evening after crossing over the rift, I’m on deck keeping out of everyone’s way and practicing a knot every sailor here uses, when a familiar energy flickers through the crew. The chatter dies, the men move with greater purpose, and the younger officers straighten their uniforms. I’ve seen this before and know what it means. Cyril is about to come on up.
I look for an escape route, but there isn’t one to be had, not before the prince clears the hatch. I’ve not talked to him – to any of them – in three days. Not felt their touch in three nights. And without the protection of their presence, I’ve learned exactly where I stand in the fae world.
Which is somewhere akin to holy vermin, which no one wants around, but cannot harm for fear of being smited.
“Wind’s holding steady sir,” the officer of the watch informs Cyril at once, touching his hat. “Course steady at twelve knots, due south by southeast.”
“Very good.” Cyril acknowledges, his attention brushing over the rigging as he surveys the ship. Despite working nonstop for the past days, he looks as calm and perfect as ever, the buttons of his high collared vest polished to a golden shine. But one thing is different tonight. Tonight, he strides forward toward me with sure, measured steps.
I tense. Although part of me is relieved that the confrontation that’s hovered over me like a dark cloud is finally going to happen, another part just wants to run the bloody hell away. But what good would it do?
Stopping a few paces away, Cyril leans back against the rail and looks down at me from his greater height.
I shift my feet. I’ve almost forgotten how intense being the sole subject of a dragon’s focus could be. Stars, I hate this. Just as I hate myself for being a coward. For being, well, me.
Cyril motions toward the piece of rope in my hands. “If that’s a bowline you are torturing, the free end needs to come through the loop first.” His voice is smooth like the sea, thick lashes hovering above brilliant blue eyes.
“That explains why it’s not working.” Suddenly I don’t know what to do with the rope. Or with my hands. I don’t even know what to do with my voice, because the truth is that while I know I’msupposedto be sorry for defying Cryil’s orders and helping the dragon, I’m really not.
I did it then and I’d do it a thousand times over. Which is very much not what Cyril and everyone else on the ship is expecting me to say.
I swallow and put my knot work down on the deck, the ship choosing that very moment to rock out from under my feet.
Cyril’s hand shoots out to steady me before I can lose my balance, the brush of his fingers along my elbow sending a jolt of awareness through me. After three days of being held at arms’ length I’m embarrassingly starved for his touch. Perhaps enough so that a part of me welcomes whatever punishment he intends to dole out just so I can feel his arms around me again. Even if the embraces are fake, a game we play to prepare for the trials. The more reasonable – and experienced – part of me, knows better than to welcome a dragon’s wrath.
“Why does everyone keep watching the sea as if the rift might come alive at any moment and chase us down?” I blurt out. I’m not stalling. Really. It’s a legitimate question.
Cyril blinks, plainly caught off guard by the sudden question. “The rift? I imagine that’s the least of anyone’s concerns right now. It may be treacherous, but it does stay put.”
“And what doesn’t?”
“Priveteers, ships from the other courts, the ocean itself. Did you imagine the Phoenix's guns are just there to miss shots at shadow serpents?” He drapes his hands behind his back, the way I’ve seen him do when instructing sailors. “Serpari and Ebonreach – the serpent and bone courts – are closest to us. We’ve avoided an all out war thus far, but the seas here have always been a battle ground.”
“Oh.” I file away that bit of knowledge while I study the prince’s harsh profile and wonder how I’d ever let myself be so weak as to start believing the very same web of lies I’m helping to spin. I’m not the princes’ lover or bride. They bed me because my body needs the preparation lest my human anatomy rips during the trials. I’m not their friend or equal. I’m temporary pack only because my cooperation makes it easier to achieve our – very different – goals. They are trying to protect their throne and their people. I’m just a tool to that end.
It was an agreement I went into with my eyes wide open, and the sharp reminder of my place that is coming – hell, it will do me ironic good. I’d let the princes too far into my soul, but I think I can still recover. If I can get my head on straight and keep it there.
Digging down into the void I’d learned back at the Agam estate, when Cordelia liked to order me whipped for no reason at all, I pull the nothingness around myself like a shroud.Cyril does not matter,I tell myself firmly.Nothing he does matters. You feel nothing.When I speak next, I’m pleased to find that my voice has steadied.
“I take it you’ve spent a lot more time at sea than anyone on the Phoenix suspected before we went through the rift?” I say.
“Not anyone,” Cyril corrects. Despite his deceptively calm tone, the blue in his eyes has a hard edge. A chill that would make anyone want to slink away. Except me. Because his anger or lack thereof cannot reach me anymore. “My brothers have always been well aware. And Captain Dane.”
“Captain Dane knew?”
“Of course. I was the one who gave him his commission.” Cyril turns slightly, the muscles shifting beneath his midnight blue tunic. “It was a long time ago. The crew wouldn’t have met me.” His attention returns to me, piercing through the settling dusk. “Is it greatly surprising that someone with water-magic might be attracted to the sea?”
“Not at all.” I scratch the slave brand on my forearm. “I was simply curious as to why you initially concealed your expertise.”
“I didn’t. I simply didn’t advertise them. A ship should have only one lord and master, and on the Phoenix that’s Captain Dane.” He adjusts his weight easily with the rocking deck. “After all, when an order is given, especially in the middle of action, there can be no hesitation on the part of the crew. No confusion about who is in charge and who is not.”
He cocks his brow slightly.
Despite my racing pulse, my breath is steady as I lift my chin and meet Cyril’s gaze. Clearly the time has come for the next installment of our dance. The dragon prince is yearning to remind me of his dominance and the crew is thirsty for blood. I cannot stop it, and I will not try.
