Page 59 of The Lost Reliquary
With a lurch, Nolan pitches forward and vomits over the side of the ship. I take an automatic step back to avoid any wind-carried spray, smothering a smile. It’s certainly not in character to relish my employer’s suffering. But I’m enjoying it on the inside. And understanding what Cleophas meant about seeing whether I had a sailor’s constitution. Nolan, for sure, does not.
“Oh, are you all right, sir?” One of the other passengers stops a few paces away, eyes wide with concern.
Nolan straightens to reply but only manages a weak, dismissive gesture before another heave takes him.
“He told me he’s fine,” I say. The man is of nondescript height and build, maybe a decade older than we are, with a receding hairline that ages him beyond that. He’s also the only other passenger that’s acknowledged us since boarding. I know there are more on the ship, but they’ve kept to themselves. “Been a while since my employer was last on a boat, that’s all. C’mon.” I take Nolan by the shoulders. “Let’s get you back to the cabin so you can lie down.”
Nolan doesn’t resist. “Thank you for your concern, sir,” he mumbles thickly as we pass.
“Ask the ship’s cook for some of his special tea,” he calls after us. “Settles things right down.”
I wave thanks as Nolan and I make our way below deck. But as soon as no one is in sight, Nolan breaks away from me and stumbles to our cabin, where he collapses onto the bunk.
I consider the other passenger’s suggestion, about fetching the tea, then return to my aquatic vigil instead.
We follow the coast for the first few days, making brief stops at smaller ports along the way to take on additional cargo. Nolan is scarce, only appearing when we are docked, as if needing to remind himself that solid land is still nearby. Then comes a morning when the land is completely gone, and we’re surrounded by nothing but a dark, salty wetness. My wariness about leaving behind the known for the unknown grows, as does the ache for the Goddess’s light. It is no longer a nagging discomfort, but a deepening, encompassing ache that leaves me tossing and turning, struggling to push past it into sleep.
It doesn’t help that our cabin smells like vomit more often than not.
Driven below deck by a late-morning squall, I find Nolan exactly as I left him earlier, exactly where he’s been for the majority of our time on theSquid: curled up in his bunk and miserable.
“You know, I have to wonder…” I take a seat at the desk, rubbing my tired eyes. “What would Prior Yiorgo say if he could see you now, felled by a rocking wooden tub?”
The angry glare I get is as strong as the sour smell of sick. “I’m not ‘felled.’ If I need to prove that to you—”
“You’ll what, spit up on me like a toddler? No thank you, I’ll take your word that you’re fine and dandy.”
He begins to retort, but the ship hits the roll of a wave, heaving up and down. Nolan’s complexion pales further, mouth snapping shut.
I stifle a smile, affect a sigh. “If you’re going to be laid up indefinitely, I guess it’s on me to see what I can pick up about what awaits in Cyprene.”
“I told you”—he starts to sit up, a movement that clearly costs him—“I’m perfectly well enough to—”
“Oh, shut up.” I slump, annoyed at his pathetic defiance. “And stop pretending. It’sexhausting. So our blessing doesn’t protect against seasickness—what’s the big deal? It’s not like you’re less of a Potentiate because you got a bit nauseated.”
His face hardens further, pale lips thinning to near white.
I laugh, understanding. “Oh, that’s exactly what you think, isn’t it? You’re reeeeally worrying you’re less worthy to become Executrix because you getseasick?”
His mouth purses. “Weakness in an Executrix isn’t—”
“Isn’t what?” I roll my eyes. “How fanatical were they over in the Dusk Cloister? Do you really think any of us are perfect? That Andronica didn’t have any weaknesses? Of course she did, or else she wouldn’t have gotten torn to pieces and neither of us would be sitting here right now!”
“That was different. The reliquary blood… none of us could have been prepared for something like that.”
The same way we weren’t prepared for the Renderers. Which is what this is really about.
“No, none of uswereprepared. Intentionally. Of course, if wehadbeen, if we’d known about things like the reliquaries, the potential danger from them, then maybe we wouldn’t have had to make such a big deposit at Cineris, huh? And maybe you wouldn’t have gotten snared outside Novena?” As good as he is at hiding his thoughts, I can tell that question vexes him. But whether he thinks I’m being insolent or that I’m right or maybe a touch of both, I can’t tell. “Relax. It’s not like I’mgoing to run to Tempestra-Innara as soon as we get back to the Cathedral and cry ‘Look, we found the reliquary even after Nolan nearly got butchered like a spring lamb, and oh, he started puking his guts out the moment we stepped off dry land.’?”
Nolan turns over partway, so I can’t see his face anymore. “Then you’re foolish—to have an advantage and not use it.”
“Youjust implied you could still kick my ass. So not much of an advantage, is it?”
He doesn’t reply, and a heavy silence falls over the cabin, broken only by the creak of the heaving ship.
“Don’t—” I bite the word off at first, but once the question starts, I can’t stop it coming. “Don’t you get tired of it? Being in competition all the time in order to get the best of a life we never had any real choice over anyway?”
Silence. Then: “The Goddesschoseus. Blessed us. It’s our honor to serve.”
