Princess at Sea (27 page)

At that, he turned, his stance tired and his motions weary. “It's easier if you don't.”

I swallowed, remembering what he had said about my hurting him instead of killing someone I loved in a moment of anger. I knew without asking that he had loved her, but making him admit it would have been cruel. And for that, I pitied him.

Jeck scanned the horizon behind me, his weary gaze lingering upon what was probably the wreck of my boat. “Soon as the tide shifts, we float the raft out on it.” He met my eyes, frightening me with how empty they were. “Don't touch me again.”

Without another word, he went to his raft, his steps slow and his back bowed. I was left standing alone, the wind from the sea tugging at me.
Don't touch me again,
I heard in my memory as he tried to brush the salt from his dried coat.
Don't touch me again.

The sun had gone down, and the wind coming off the sur
rounding water was chill. Despite having spent most of the day in the shade, my skin was warm to the touch and had the rosy glow of a mild sunburn. Jeck was fine. Either his darker skin was not bothered by the sun, or perhaps he was protected by his ability to heal, an ability he wouldn't share with me lest I figure out how to do it. I thought it disgusting that both Kavenlow and Jeck apparently thought it necessary that I should know how to kill with my magic, but neither thought it important to be able to heal with it.

Jeck's raft floated, and if the wind had stayed with us, it would have sailed. We had left our island on the outgoing tide and a midnight breeze. But now the wind had died, and the tide had slacked. We drifted in a silver world of moon and soft waves, far from anything and at the mercy of the currents.

Jeck hadn't said a word since the square sail had grown limp, the canvas and ropes hanging like dead things. He sat cross-legged near the edge of the raft atop the flat panel of the door, pensively watching the rays ghost beside us, occasionally rising to within inches of breaking the surface, then sinking again. The two casks of water were lashed to the mast beside the small bundle of perishables he had managed to save from the floundering
Sandpiper.
I eyed our food supply, hungry but not enough to argue with him that we should eat it now before the waves and sun spoiled it. I recognized the night as almost twin to my first venom-induced dream, and I vowed that it would not end with me tied and his prisoner. Warned was armed, and the future wasn't set.

I sat in the middle of the raft beside the tapped water barrel, the fingers of my good left hand wedged between the wood and the rope for stability. My forehead was pressed against the damp cask, and the fingers of my right hand trailed in the water through a large gap in the planking. The coolness of the water seemed to rise up my arm and soak into me to soothe my sunburned skin. I should have been sleeping, but my concern for Contessa and the memory of that venom dream kept me as awake and jittery as if it were noon.

“How long, do you think?” I said, then coughed, as I hadn't spoken since sundown.

Jeck met my eyes before sending his to the silver-marked horizon. “Longer if we don't get any wind,” he muttered.

“How long?” I persisted, clearer this time. My lips were cracked, and salt stung them.

“I don't know the coast as well as I do Misdev's mountains.”

I did, thanks to my afternoons spent in the solarium copying them. Maybe it hadn't been such a waste of time after all. “We're somewhere south of Yellow Tail,” I said. “It might have been faster to have gone farther south to Dry Fort, and get horses there to ride to the capital.” A growing sense of urgency tightened my stomach, and I forced the tension out of me, imagining it going into my fingers, then out into the water. Nearby, a ray kissed the surface. “I have to get to the capital before them. If Kavenlow believes Contessa's note, he'll be working with bad information. He might not pay the ransom. They'll kill them both. I know it.”

“Kavenlow will manage it.” Jeck bowed his head in what I thought might be embarrassment. The moonlight hid the grime and sweat, making him a shadow of black and white against the slow, flat swells. “It's going to put him in a hell-fire good position, no matter how it turns out. God help me, I never should have agreed to this.”

My back stiffened. “I'm worried about my sister, not the fool game,” I said, allowing a hint of anger to color my voice. My attention dropped to his black sash, tightened about his middle again.
He wouldn't tie me up for arguing with him, would he?

He turned to me, shaking his head. “You really care for her, don't you? Why? She's a piece in your game. You've only known her for three months.”

“She's my sister,” I said, affronted.

His face went unreadable behind his beard in the dark. “Only by law. You shouldn't care for her. Someone will use it against you.”

“You?” I asked belligerently.

He nodded, his dark eyes expressionless. “If I can. If I need to.”

“Chull bait,” I swore mildly, not having the impetus to dredge up anything more. “You are chull bait, Captain.”

The soft sound of water lapping the edges of the raft seemed loud as he turned away. “Players don't have family. You should remember that you have no ties of blood to her.”

“Yesterday you said they bought me a name, and I should use it.”

He cocked his head so the light of the moon fell on him. “Don't confuse ties of law with ties of blood. She isn't really your sister.”

“Kavenlow is like a father to me,” I said, taking offense.

“That's his failing, and it's going to bring an end to his game someday.”

“It makes him stronger,” I asserted.

“Being moved by emotions is dangerous,” he said, his voice mixing with the silky wave tops. “It leads you to take risky chances, ignore possibilities and deny uncomfortable realities.”

I pulled my fingers from between the rope and the water cask, tucking a strand of lank hair behind my ear. “I disagree. It emboldens your spirit and keeps your mind open to possibilities that you might not consider. You're lacking, Captain, and you don't even know it.”

He grunted and shifted his foot so that his bare heel touched the water. I couldn't help but feel we were connected somehow through the water. Immediately, I pulled my fingers out and dried them on my grimy dress. A manta ray jumped nearby, and remembering having seen them in my dream, I vowed to do nothing that would make him tie me up. But it had been stormy in my dream, and after seeing the sun go down in a faultless sky, I was fairly confident we would get nothing but clear weather for days.

Jeck pulled his foot out of the water. It was very slow and casual, but I could tell the rays were making him nervous.

“They eat shrimp and small clams,” I said, dangling my hand back in the water to prove I wasn't afraid. I felt restless, and the dark water seemed to help.

“It's said they jump out of the water to capsize small boats,” he said wryly.

Landlubber,
I thought, shrugging. “Only if you have shrimp with you.”

He was looking at my submerged hand. Smug, I took it out and replaced it with my foot, sinking it almost to my knee. I had done it only to bother him, but it felt so good, I decided to keep it there, even when a ray bumped my calf with its rough and smooth skin.

“And how would they know if there're shrimp in the boat unless they sank it first?” he asked, clearly uncomfortable.

A second ray jumped, bigger and closer, and the water thrown up from its clumsy reentry sent splatters of seawater across the raft. “That one knows. He'll tell the rest.”

Jeck made a scoffing noise. “Bring your feet in, Princess. There are things in the water that want to eat you.”

So of course, I left it there, enjoying the slow current brush against me with the softness of silk. I felt odd and disconnected from the late hour and the unreal look of the moonlight. The chill from the water was soothing. It was closer to sunrise than sunset. “Don't call me that,” I whispered, feeling the rise of quiet anticipation in me. The sail was flat. It should be full. I'd never beat them to the capital. Not going this slow.

“Faster,” I breathed, pulling my foot from the water and lurching to a stand. The raft hardly moved, heavy and low in the water. The sluggish numbness of my leg and arm had eased, and though I was still stiff, and my stamina was nowhere near where it should be, I could function without pain if I was careful.

I stood with one hand on the mast for balance, sending my dripping bare foot up and down to test my limits. There was a definite improvement, but even so, I was concerned. The venom was still in me. I could feel it, hanging right below my awareness, silent and still. It wasn't leaving my body as it ought to, almost as if it was renewing itself. As if by fixing in my tissues, I had unintentionally given it a home and a way to make more of itself, much like the punta did.

Tension pulled through me, and my grip on the mast tightened. If that was true, I'd never be able to reduce my residual levels no matter how long I shunned using the poison.
Kavenlow. What would I tell him?

“Do they often follow rafts like this?” Jeck asked, jerking me from my uncomfortable thoughts. “The rays,” he prompted, seeing my confusion.

He hadn't moved, still sitting by the edge of the raft with his head bowed. Moonlight had turned his black hair to silver. Letting my foot touch the planking, I shook my head. “No.” From my higher vantage point, I watched them escort us. They seemed to be waiting for something as they flew under the raft from side to side, seldom more than a foot below the surface. Their dark shadows looked like the waves come to life, flowing like a current.

A restless feeling rose in me like a mist: an impending something. I needed to be going faster. I gazed toward the unseen mainland, fidgeting.

“From Yellow Tail we can purchase horses,” I said, but I knew from his slumped posture that he wasn't listening. “If the wind would pick up, we could make better time by water to the coast. They have a stable at Sharp Bend, too. They'll remember us and give us horses. We might reach the capital before the pirates—if the wind would pick up.” I was babbling. The restiveness in me wouldn't let me keep my mouth shut. I had to be moving.

“The wind isn't going to strengthen,” Jeck said to his ugly feet. The canvas slapped the mast and ropes as a slow swell rolled under us. “Sit down before you tip us over. Your master will take care of them.” His head rose to show his eyes were pinched and worried. “We're out of this game,” he said, the sound of confession in his voice.

“I'm not.” I wanted him to be quiet so I could think. Wind. All we needed was wind. It irritated me to be dependent upon something so fickle.

I scanned the black horizon. The sun had gone down in pinks and blues. No wind likely tomorrow, either. I'd be stuck on this raft with Jeck for days. By the time I got off, there would be nothing I could do but mourn my sister. If I got off.

“Wind,” I whispered, closing my eyes. I would give anything for it.

A distant splash pulled my eyes open. Bubbles showed where a huge ray had touched the surface. Three more swam just below. I put my second hand atop the mast and stood before the slack sail, feeling the lack of movement all the way to my feet. The mast was like a dead thing under my palm. Even a tree had movement.

“Wind,” I breathed, a sudden thought striking through me. The punta had called a gust of wind to confuse his escape. I had felt it: the surge of power through our shared thoughts. “I can do that,” I said softly.

“What?” It was flat and emotionless, just like Jeck pretended to be. He lied to himself if he claimed honor and the game moved him alone. He had loved once. That he hid all emotion now proved it.

“I can call the wind,” I said.

He pulled his head up at that, and I shifted from foot to foot, feeling the rough boards upon the bottoms of my feet. A thrill of anticipation struck through me, seeming to set my fingers and toes to tingle.

A snort escaped him. “You can't call the wind. This isn't a child's bedside story. You're stuck here until time and the tide bring us in. Accept it. Think beyond it.”

My lips pursed. “I am a guttersnipe who is slated to secretly rule a kingdom. I can kill with a touch, thanks to you. I can walk through a crowded room unnoticed and can call my horse to me upon command. My entire life is a child's bedside story. Don't tell me I can't call the wind.”

I didn't know why I was trying to convince him. It wasn't as if he could forbid me from trying. “I saw how the punta called the wind,” I said, and he turned away in scorn. “I was trying to charm him so he wouldn't bite me,” I admitted, and Jeck swung his head back to me. “It almost worked, and it hurt both of us when he bit me. He called the wind to hide his escape when I told him how to get out of that pit. I saw how he did it. I can do it, too.” A shiver raced through me, the night air cool through the tattered dress that I had washed in seawater and dried hanging from a palm frond on an empty beach while Jeck built his raft. I would tell no one that the punta had turned the tables and charmed me.