His friend would die if he didn’t.
A quiet, intentional cough drew the Captain’s attention. Fynn lifted himself off the helm to find Gracia shuffling behind him. “I can steer,” she said softly. “Arrowbrook’s port isn’t difficult to navigate. I’ve done it before.”
The bustling port of Arrowbrook lay sprawled across the horizon. If Fynn’s Magic could hold out for only a while longer, they’d reach the quay within the hour. Without it, it’d take two, but they did not have that time to waste.
But if Gracia steered the ship, as she had indeed navigated these waters in the past, Fynn could take a few moments to rest. He would need his strength if he was to venture into the port and find what Luca needed.
“All right,” he agreed. Fynn stepped away from the helm and ushered Gracia behind the wheel. “Straight ahead. If you need my help—”
“I’ll call for you.” Gracia promised. “Sit down and rest. You’ve done enough.”
No—never enough. There was always more he could do. But Fynn was of no use to Arden or his crew if he could hardly stay upright on his feet.
Without another word to his helmswoman, Fynn staggered down the stairwell and stumbled onto the main deck. He was not blind to the worried eyes of his crew, nor deaf to their wary whispers. How long would his Magic hold out? Haven’t you heard that people go insane if they push their Magic to its limits?
He certainly felt his sanity slipping away from him, but not from the use of his Magic.
Fynn did not bother closing his cabin door as he collapsed amongst the furs on his bed. He buried his face into a pillow and longed for the sleep that beckoned him, but he couldn’t sleep—not now. Not when his Magic was still needed. He could fill the ship’s sails from here, however difficult and strenuous it might be, though his winds were hardly a breeze now.
Just as he’d begun to drift off, his mind wandering into a lucid dream of mountainous peaks and a frozen courtyard, a quiet knock ricocheted through the Captain’s skull. He jolted awake, an icy blast of wind whipping through the cabin and scattering the papers on his desk.
He rolled onto his side and groaned, squinting against the sunlight that filtered in through the open door. It took a moment too long for his eyes to focus on the silhouette tucked beneath the threshold, Sol’s bottom lip caught between her teeth as she stared at him.
“What do you want?” Fynn complained. Sol flinched back into the light. “We’ll be arriving in Arrowbrook within the hour.”
Sol fiddled with her braid and twirled it around her finger. Nervous, Fynn realized. The Princess of Sonamire was nervous. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Riel and the others seemed worried, and I—”
“I’m fine.” Fynn buried his face into his pillow again. “I’m not dead yet, don’t worry.”
The sigh that escaped from her was a breath of regret that stirred something deep in Fynn’s chest. “What I said earlier,” Sol began. “I didn’t mean it. Nedros is—your life is far more important than your promise to me. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
Fynn tilted his head and looked at her with one open, half-lidded eye. “I believe you,” he said. “That you didn’t mean it.”
And he did. Sol’s flustered speech and blushing cheeks had told him enough about her intentions. But that didn’t make it sting any less.
“I’d like to come with you,” Sol said. Fynn quirked an eyebrow. “To the port.”
Despite the ache in his bones and his yearning for undisturbed rest, Fynn propped himself up onto his elbows. “Arrowbrook is different than Valestorm,” he told her. “It’s a trading port, and the people you’ll encounter are conniving bastards that’ll con you into your grave if you’re not careful.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“I am.” Fynn flopped back down and nuzzled his face into the pillow. “If you want to go, I won’t stop you. Maybe you’ll find something to spend all that gold on.”
Her shuffling feet scuffed over the planks like nails being dragged over stone. Fynn winced. “If you’d prefer I stay on the ship—”
He could not stop himself as he said, “I’d prefer to be left alone.”
Perhaps Sol’s desire for Fynn to live if only to take her to Nedros had wounded him deeper than he’d realized. Even if she had not meant it.
She hesitated and whispered, “All right.”
The shame that roiled in the Captain’s gut was not enough for him to apologize. He hadn’t meant to snap at her, but the exhaustion that gripped him had rendered him incapable of caring.
Certainly, Sol would understand. She’d nearly clawed him into pieces when Fynn had roused her from her nap.
He took a breath and shuddered. Fynn’s Magic was a summer breeze, one that would soon be spent if he did not let himself rest. His harsh dismissal of the Princess could be addressed when Arden’s life wasn’t at stake. His bruised and battered ego from the shame that his cruelty had brought him… he’d deal with that later, too.
Fynn did not hear Sol leave, did not know how much time had passed since she’d gone, but the gravelly voice that barked at him from across the room did not belong to the Princess.
“You really are as fine a bastard as any.”
His groan was muffled by his pillow. “Go away.”
Riel sat on the edge of Fynn’s bed. “Your Princess is out there sniffling,” she said. “What’d you do to her?”
“Nothing,” Fynn grumbled. “Told her the same thing I’m telling you: go away.”
“Ah.” Riel crossed her legs at the knee. “So, I’m guessing she didn’t realize you’re the world’s biggest asshole when you’re tired and to not take your nastiness to heart.”
“Is there something I can do for you,” he asked. “Or is there a reason you’re in here pestering me over a girl you don’t even like?”
The Quartermaster picked at her fingernails. “I was just curious, is all. Most people don’t leave this room in tears, especially with you sprawled across the bed.”
Fynn kicked his foot against her hip. “I don’t bring my flings onto this ship.”
“What about that one boy—”
“I don’t bring most of my flings onto this ship.”
Riel snorted. “You dropped him off in a foreign port and even he didn’t leave here in tears. Nothing but smiles as he walked the plank and yet your Princess is weeping near the mizzenmast. So cruel, my Captain.”
He kicked her again. “Stop referring to her as my Princess. She’s not my anything.”
“True,” Riel mused. “Perhaps I should start referring to her as ‘your cargo’ instead since all we’re doing is transporting her from port to port.”
“You’re a bitch, Riel.”
“And you’re cranky when you’ve gone without sleep.”
Riel shoved Fynn aside and stretched across the bed beside him. He rolled towards the wall to make room for her. “We haven’t shared a bed since we were children,” he grumbled. “And now I remember why. You don’t know the meaning of personal space.”
Nose to nose, Riel grinned as she nestled her head against his pillow. “And you always stole the blankets. We bickered so much that my father threw that godsdamned cot overboard and told us we could sleep on the planks.”
The ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “It smelled like piss, anyway.”
Riel chuckled and closed her eyes. “I talked to Luca,” she said. Fynn held his breath as if waiting for some facet of bad news. “Arden’s condition hasn’t improved, but it’s not gotten any worse, either. If you wanted to get some sleep, he said she’ll be all right until we reach Arrowbrook. He’s concerned about you exhausting yourself to get us there.”
“I’ve got enough left in me to get us there within the hour. I’ll be fine.”
She did not argue, knew that doing so was futile. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Should I make an announcement?”
/>
Riel punched him in the arm. “We should dock in Arrowbrook for a few days.”
Fynn angled himself towards the Quartermaster. “Why?”
“Luca’s a talented healer,” Riel said. “But if Arden doesn’t get better, he may need supplies we don’t have.”
“Or there might be a healer in Arrowbrook who can help.”
“Exactly.” Riel rolled onto her back and folded her arms beneath her head. “The crew could use the break, too. I know you’re anxious to reach Dryu, but—”
“Dryu can wait,” Fynn said. If his crew needed a break, he would give them one. It was the very least he could do. “I’m in no rush to be speared again.”
Or to fling Sol Rosebone down another pit of despair.
“Thank the Gods,” she rejoiced. “That inn near the merchant quarters with the hot spring serves a breakfast fit for royalty. It’s positively divine. Not to mention Gracia and I—”
Fynn interrupted, “We’ll dock in Arrowbrook for three nights. What you do with those nights is your business.”
Riel’s smirk was feline. “My business indeed.”
He turned onto his stomach and closed his eyes. “Either lay there quietly so I can sleep, or make yourself useful and inform our crew we’ll be spending a few nights in the port.”
“Aye, Captain.” Riel jostled the bed as she curled onto her side and rolled beneath the furs. “Happy napping, little brother. I hope you’re on the right side of the bed.”
Fynn nudged her with his foot as he settled down into the mattress. “Shut up.”
Darkness swept him into oblivion as he embraced sleep with open arms, Riel’s quiet laughter withering away into the snow-capped peaks of his dreams.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SOL
Despite the grave circumstances surrounding their stop in Arrowbrook, the crew’s excitement was palpable. But it did not extend to the Princess, their merriment as they romped about the deck and prepared to dock in the port. Sol was not eager to reach Arrowbrook, to spend even a moment on dry land after all this time at sea.
Not when Fynn was so upset with her.
Sol wiped at her eyes with the back of her sleeve. She did not understand why she was crying, why she cared that the Captain had dismissed her so carelessly. She was nothing to this man, to this crew, and it would do her well to remember it. Fynn was not her friend, just the man who had promised to sail her across the sea and eventually leave her in Nedros. He would not remember her when this was over, and Sol should take strides to ensure she wouldn’t remember him, either.
Without the Captain’s Magic, the Refuge inched towards Arrowbrook on an ocean breeze and the calm pull of the tide. From the mizzenmast, Sol could see the smile on Gracia’s face as she navigated such gentle waters, as she steered them through the quay with the confidence of Thymis herself. She had done this before, had been here before, and Sol wondered how frequently the Refuge traveled so far south.
She knew they’d drifted into Arrowbrook when an old chain began to rattle near the prow of the ship. Amael untangled the rusted links, twisting them around a wooden spool as if the chain were nothing more than colorful yarn twined around a bobbin. His muscles strained as he lifted the anchor, hefting it over his shoulder and tossing it over the ship’s rail. It splashed into the water below, hitting the seafloor with a dull thud that yanked the ship to a jarring halt in the harbor.
Toppling against the mizzenmast, Sol threaded her fingers through Draven’s fur and used the direwolf to steady herself. So many days since the Refuge had last stood still. Sol could hardly gather her bearings without the ocean’s current dragging at her heels.
As if the shore were a summons, Fynn emerged from his cabin with a warm gust of wind that ruffled the Princess’ hair. He was grinning, his cheeks less pallid now that he’d gotten to rest. Riel slipped through the threshold behind him, her arms stretched above her head as she sauntered towards the quarterdeck. Gracia bounced on her toes and grinned down at her.
Diverting her attention to the planks, Sol managed to avoid the Captain’s eye as he prowled over the deck and spoke quietly with the members of his crew. He appeared to be in much higher spirits as he laughed with his friends, Amael going so far as to wrap Fynn in his arms and shout, “Thank you!” to him and the Gods.
Sol did not realize that Fynn was crossing the deck, that he’d spotted her near the mizzenmast and was stalking towards her with a look of regret etched into the lines of his face. The Captain nudged her with his foot, and as Sol tipped back her head and squinted against the sunlight that veiled him, Fynn smiled at her. “Are you coming or not?”
She frowned. “Into the port?”
“To Hell.” His smile broadened to a toothy beam that set Sol’s stomach at ease. If he harbored any further ill-will, the Captain did not show it. “Yes, into the port. We’ll be docking here for the next three nights, and I need someone to accompany me to the nearby inn while I book the rooms for our stay.”
The Princess raised an eyebrow. “You can’t do that on your own?”
“Of course I can,” Fynn said. “But I need someone with sense to keep me away from the market.”
She could not stop herself as she giggled. “You like to shop, I take it.”
“For fancy rocks and dragon scales.”
Sol gripped his hand when he offered it to her. His palm was rough against her fingers, her thumb tracing over what felt like a thin, slashing scar as the Captain pulled her to her feet. “Won’t you need the market for Luca’s supplies?”
“Gracia will be gathering what he needs.” Fynn tucked his hands into his pockets. “She may not be a healer, but she knows what herbs and medicines Luca prefers to work with. I’m afraid I’ll bring back the wrong thing.”
“I see.” Sol ruffled Draven’s fur as he pressed himself against her knees. “Is it safe to bring Draven into the port?”
Fynn glanced at the direwolf and grimaced. “It’s best if he stays here.”
Draven ducked his head and snarled at him, his ears pressing flat against his skull.
“Just for now,” Fynn amended quickly. “Direwolves are worth their weight in gold, and in case you weren’t aware or haven’t looked in a mirror recently, you’re a beast. It’s best to wait until nightfall when we can smuggle you into the inn unseen. They have a ‘no pet’ policy.”
Sol chuckled as the Captain addressed her companion with flailing arms and eyes wider than the shore. “You do realize he can’t speak to you, right?”
“Yes.” Fynn crossed his arms over his chest in absolution. “But he understands me.”
“Oh, he certainly does.” Sol idly scratched behind his ear. “I won’t be long, Draven. I can manage on my own without you.” Draven huffed through his nose and stamped his paws, his claws clicking against the planks. “Don’t you give me your theatrics.”
Fynn placed a tentative hand on Draven’s head, and the massive creature whipped himself around to glare at him, his silver eyes glowing bright. Fynn winced. “I’ll keep her safe,” he promised. “And I’ll return her to the ship in one piece. You can eat me for dinner if I don’t.”
Draven snarled half-heartedly, his lip curling back over pearly white teeth as if to say: you’re more of a treat than dinner.
Sol tapped him on the head in warning.
“He’ll be fine—I’ll look after him.”
Amael was wiping the sweat from his brow as he joined them near the mast, his dark eyes squinting against the sunlight. He did not pay Sol any mind as he slung his arm over the Captain’s shoulders. “Unlike you, I happen to like mythical creatures. Draven will be fine until you return.”
“Thank you,” Sol told him earnestly. “He shouldn’t be too much trouble.”
The boatswain regarded her warily, narrowing his eyes against more than just the sun as he looked at her. His gaze stripped Sol bare, like the Princess had exposed all her secrets and Amael was the Irican God of Truth. But even Meritas would not have looked a
t her so skeptically; his judgement upon her death would have allowed her into the afterlife. But Amael’s…
He’d send Sol to Hell and watch her burn amongst the flames.
She shuffled closer to Fynn, ducking beneath Amael’s stare until the Captain was positioned between them. “Can we go?”
Fynn motioned to the gangplank. “After you.”
As the Princess rushed for solid ground, Sol did not miss Amael’s quiet grunt of pain as Fynn slammed his elbow between his ribs. “Watch the godsdamned animal, you ass. I ought to make you sleep on the ship tonight.”
If Amael bothered to respond, Sol was halfway across the deck and did not hear him.
Arrowbrook was not unlike Valestorm with its markets and dozens of trading posts, but it did not reek of death and decay. The cobblestone streets were polished and swept clean, and the merchant stands were built of exquisitely carved stones Sol was certain could withstand Thymis’ wrath.
The Princess was escorted through Arrowbrook on Fynn’s arm, her own looped through the curve of his elbow. His amber eyes had scoured every stall in the market, roving over their goods and brightening with mirth as he beheld the treasures that awaited him. Sol did not doubt that Fynn would spend time at every stand, his pockets jangling with a generous amount of gold that confirmed he certainly liked to shop.
Though perhaps his coins were for the inn, a beautifully constructed building that was carved into the base of a mountain. Sol gasped as they approached what she’d initially mistaken for a naturally built formation in the bedrock; only the ornate wooden doors and wide open windows had given away what it truly was.
“The inn is built inside a mountain?”
Fynn nodded. “People travel from all over the world just to stay here. There’s an indoor hot spring that is absolutely marvelous.”
“They must have tunneled far beneath the mountain if the spring inside is heated.”
The Captain shook his head in disagreement. “The mountain is an active volcano. They didn’t need to tunnel down at all.”
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