Page 83 of A Storm in Every Heart
“Fine with me,” Jett says after a long moment. “Dessa?”
“I agree,” I say quickly. “Whatever we do, I’d like to do it quickly. I need a bath, a change of clothes and a bed before I can even think about making a real plan.”
We leave the cliff and walk for over an hour. The swamp is disgusting and full of buzzing insects, which sting my face and bare legs. Every so often we hear something slithering along the ground, or a creature howling in the trees above. Every time something moves out of the corner of my eye, I’m certain it’s going to be some sort of jungle beast leaping at me, ready to bite my jugular.
No one says anything about it, but I know I’m not the only one who’s afraid because both Kastian and Jett’s wings are out. Ikeep feeling Kastian’s feathers brush against my arm, and after a while I stop bothering to flinch away on principle.
Connell stumbles over a root on the ground and swears loudly. “You know, when I said I wanted to stay with you, this isn’t quite what I had in mind.”
Jett tugs hard on the belt binding the pirate’s wrists. “You should feel lucky this is all we’ve done. I’m sure I could do a lot of interesting things to a man who can’t die.”
“Really?” Connell asks, sounding interested. “Please, do share.”
“Don’t,” Kastian grumbles. “This walk is hellish enough without listening to graphic descriptions of torture.”
“Suddenly squeamish?” Connell asks, with a smirk in his voice. “I’d have thought you’d be desensitized to violence after murdering my entire crew.”
“There will be a hell of a lot more violence if you don’t shut up,” Kastian grumbles.
I ball my hands into fists and try to tune out their bickering; I’m already barely hanging on to sanity as it is. I’m not used to walking this much and my legs and hips ache. I’m starving, my skin feels dirty and sticky, both from the cell and the humid air.
If I could just fix one of those things—food, a bath, a bed—I think I could pull myself together.
I screw my eyes up and try to think of positive things.
At least I’m alive—at least we’re all alive. At least I’m not stuck in the brig anymore.
As Alix says, it could always get worse…
ODESSA, AGE 16
Ijitter with excitement and anxiety all afternoon, then practically run down the halls to dinner. There’s some sort of dance performance during dinner meant to entertain the courts, but I’m so wound up I can barely eat, let alone pay attention.
“Did you have a pleasant time at the garden party, Dessa?” Aunt Beatrix asks, when she finishes applauding for the dancers and finally picks up her glass of wine.
“Yes,” I nod as I push my food around my plate, making little piles rather than eating.
“Did you meet any of the Hydrattan courtiers?”
“No one important,” I lie.
Daemon and Aunt Beatrix exchange dubious glances, which makes me think they already heard about this afternoon’s chaos with the boats. I meet Daemon’s eye, trying to communicate that I do not want to talk about this—please.
“You might not have met anyone interesting, but I did,” Daemon says loudly.
Aunt Beatrix rolls her eyes. “Girls, you mean.”
“Exactly.” He grins, launching into an overly detailed story about some noblewoman and a dog, and completely taking the attention away from me. I can’t tell whether he did it on purpose or not, but either way I’m grateful because his monopoly on the conversation means I can sit quietly and think.
Part of me wonders if I should cancel this evening.
I don’t go on dates. I don’t have many friends aside from Daemon, and I certainly don’t allow myself to become too interested in anyone.
Everyone I’ve ever cared about has been taken from me against my will, and I dread the day I lose anyone else. Even with Daemon and my Aunt Beatrix, I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop—for the moment we say goodbye and never see each other again.
Prince Kastian thinks he likes me, but I have no idea how that could be possible when I’ve been nothing but rude to him. Not that I regret it—how else am I supposed to act when, in all likelihood, I’ll never see him again after tomorrow?
I’ve been trying so hard not to let my imagination run away from me, knowing if I get my hopes up I’ll be crushed when nothing comes of it. He’s a prince. He’s betrothed—though not engaged, which seemed to be an important distinction that I hadn’t understood—and I’m just me.
