by Amy Richie
“They aren't paying any attention to us.” She waved her hand lightly in the air.
But she wasn't entirely right. Even though Constantina was fussing loudly over Angelina and Katrina, the nurse Betna had pulled slightly away from the group to stare morosely out at the endless water, and Doctor Gourini was talking to Quinn. I couldn't help but notice that Quinn was not paying much attention to the doctor. His shrewd, dark eyes kept shifting to Sasha and me.
Had he heard what she said? Did he know what it meant? Would he tell his friend, Cyrus?
I moved my tongue awkwardly in my mouth, careful to not look at Quinn too often.
“All I'm saying,” Sasha continued, unaware of Quinn's attention, “is that you should tell him before he figures it out himself. He's a pirate—you probably don't want to make him mad.”
I had never considered that. “Do you really think ...”
“He's not a pirate,” a deep, slow voice spoke up suddenly.
Quinn had drifted closer to us, leaving Doctor Gourini to examine a rash that Constantina had discovered on Angelina.
“Wh ... what?” I stammered, alarmed that he had heard us.
“The Captain,” he clarified, settling himself low on the deck, “he's not a pirate.”
“He ...” my tongue shot out to run across my lip, “he used to be.”
“He hasn't been a pirate in a long time,” Quinn declared in his low, slow voice. “Not since I've known him.”
“Where did you meet him?” Sasha asked, bowing her head quickly to avoid his direct gaze. “How long ago?”
“Seven years ago,” he replied, although we already knew that much. “He was a barterman, and they came to our city. They sent my wife and son away.”
His lips clamped shut, unwilling to say anymore. It happened—we knew better than most. Babies sent away from their homes. How did Quinn end up sailing away with Cyrus though? Where was his family now?
Chapter 11
My eyes narrowed as my thoughts drifted again to Quinn and the things he had told us the previous day out on the deck. Although he hadn't told us where his family was, Sasha and I had spent a long time after everyone was asleep coming to our own conclusions.
Even now, as I gathered the pan in my arms for the lunchtime oatmeal, my thoughts strayed again to the large man who was much kinder than I first expected.
Sasha had wisely suspected Quinn's wife and child must be living somewhere in the Nation. The only thing I knew about the Nation before Cyrus had taken us from Ortec was that it was huge; the second largest piece of livable land in the world. The title of the largest went to the Americas, but the people there were wild to the point of being savage. No one would go willingly to the Americas.
Since coming to the ship, I had learned that a man called Ike ruled over the Nation. An entire panel of advisors helped him, and he used delegates to rule over different parts of the Nation because it was expanding all the time.
If Cyrus' crew was to be believed, Ike was a strict leader with no patience for law breakers, but he was fair. Quinn assured us that Ike would certainly find us all a place in the Nation if we didn't decide to go back to Ortec.
How would we go back though? My hands paused in their work as the realization that I would likely never see my beloved home again washed over me.
“What's with that look?” a now familiar voice boomed from the small doorway.
I jumped at the unexpected sound, sending the hot pan of half-finished oatmeal flying out of my hands. The crash echoed loudly in the small space.
Just as I bent low to pick the pan up, the ship lurched wildly. I fell forward, my face smashing into the oatmeal-covered floor. Before I could do much more than gasp out loud, strong hands were pulling me gently to my feet.
“You're bleeding,” Cyrus' voice growled out, close to my ear.
My heart pounded wildly somewhere in my stomach. “I'm fine,” I tried to rasp out, but for some reason the words wouldn't come out correctly.
A wet cloth ran roughly down my face, making me flinch away out of surprise. “Does it hurt?” Cyrus asked quickly. “You need to see the doctor.”
“Doctor Gourini is tending to Angelina,” I argued in a breathy voice that wasn't my own.
“The ship has a medic,” he answered without hesitation.
“She's been feeling sick,” I continued without much thought.
“Who has?”
“Angelina.”
He stared down at me, his expression blank. “And?” he prompted, slightly impatient.
“I'll need to get back with lunch.” My hands were red and aching where the oatmeal had splattered, and I could tell that my face couldn't be much better. Still, I needed to take the food back downstairs before I worried about myself. Surely, Cyrus could understand that.
“You'll see the medic first,” he insisted, hooking his hand around my upper arm, as if worried I would disobey.
“But ...” I gestured helplessly at the mess on the floor.
“Leave it.”
Constantina wouldn't be happy about the delay in my return, but I had no choice but to follow Cyrus to a small room that looked a lot like any room in which Doctor Gourini saw his sick patients.
I held still while he finished cleaning the oatmeal from my battered face. Barely daring to breathe, I let my eyes slide up to his shadowed chin, which was just a few inches from my face. I sucked in a quick breath and allowed my eyes to finish traveling upward until they rested on his eyes.
Since the first time of our ill-fated meeting, this was the closest I had been to him. His attention was on a spot high on my forehead, so I didn't have to look away immediately.
For so many years, those green eyes had haunted all my dreams until eventually they were replaced by another pair of green eyes. The conflicting emotions rolling through my chest nearly took my breath away.
My grasp made him look down at me so that our gazes locked. “Does it hurt?” he whispered.
Soundlessly, I shook my head; I still couldn't look away.
“There's a lot of ... blood,” he swallowed loudly.
With a great effort, I peeled my eyes away from his face. “Big Al will be upset,” I commented in a small voice, “because of the mess.”
“I'll have someone clean it for him.”
“I can do it myself.” Doctor Gourini had warned us not to become a burden on anyone else.
“No,” he said sharply. “Don't think anymore about it. It was my fault anyway.”
“Your fault?” How could he think it was his fault that I had dropped the pan?
“I startled you.”
I wasn't able to respond before the door swung open. Cyrus jumped backward, putting some much needed distance between us.
“What happened here?” a short dark haired man asked with a broad grin.
“Nothing,” Cyrus half-snapped.
“To her head,” he pointed in my direction, his grin slipping slightly.
“She fell,” he glanced back at me, “in the kitchens.”
“What's a little thing like you doing in that kitchen anyway?” he playfully clicked his tongue. “I'm Dan—ship medic.” He thrust his hand close to my face.
Not knowing what to do, I glanced up at Cyrus. “Just patch her up, Dan,” he growled, pushing Dan's hand away. “I'll be back for her.”
The door slammed behind him.
Chapter 12
Pressing two fingers gingerly to my newly bandaged forehead, I pushed open the thin door to the long guest quarters.
“Where have you been?” Constantina asked angrily, her thin lips set in a tight line.
“I fell … in the kitchens,” I explained quietly.
“You fell again?” She let her mouth fall open.
Lowering my eyes to my feet, I slowly nodded.
“Who gave you the bandage?”
“Captain Cyrus took me to see the ship's medic.”
“The C ... Captain,” she sputtered. “You were with the Captain
again?”
Not having anything else to add, I stayed silent.
“Why are you making such a burden of yourself?” she snarled.
I winced at her accusation, but still didn't say anything.
“You are a servant of Ortec,” she continued angrily. “You're to go about your duties without being seen.”
I bit hard on the inside of my lip to stop myself from speaking out. I had never gone out of my way to meet Cyrus; in fact, I avoided him whenever possible. This was his ship, though, and running into him wasn't something I could prevent.
“What must he think of you—and us by association—that he has had to patch you up two times now in the short time he has known you?”
I hung my head lower.
“This behavior will not continue.” She pulled her shoulders back so she could tower over me even more.
“You are not to speak to Captain Cyrus,” she said in a high voice. “Doctor Gourini told me that you often seek out the Captain's company.”
I very carefully did not look around at the doctor. Seek him out?
“You will stop this at once. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” I responded in a clear voice, even if it was directed to the floor.
“You are becoming an embarrassment, falling over him every chance you get. What is wrong with you, servant of Ortec?”
I pulled my shoulders closer together.
“And where is our lunch? Isn't that what you were sent out for in the first place?”
“I ...” My lips snapped shut on any excuse I had tried to come up with. What was wrong with me?
“You didn't even get our food,” she flared up again. “Too busy trying to follow the Captain around?”
There was a soft noise from somewhere behind me, but I didn't dare turn around to see what it was.
“Do you think because his hair is white, he'll take pity on you and your disgraceful son?”
The metallic tang of blood hit my tongue as I bit harder on my lip.
“We should have sent you away eight years ago,” she sneered through clenched teeth.
“Avery ...”
“My husband was a fool ... a sympathetic fool. Always was a pushover for pretty young girls. I don't know what you did to convince him to change the laws for you ...”
“I ... never,” I spluttered, unable to form any comprehensible words.
What was she saying? Convince him how? I never said anything to Avery about staying on Ortec. It was his decision, not mine.
“Go and get more oatmeal,” she waved her arm at me, dismissing me. “And stay away from the Captain.”
“I've told the cook to prepare enough for you all to eat lunch,” Cyrus spoke from the open doorway.
I spun around, shock from Constantina's words still wreaking havoc with my senses. My eyes stung from the effort of not blinking.
A small muscle in Cyrus' jaw throbbed as he watched me. Unbidden, unwanted, and unexpected—a strong desire to smooth the lines between his eyes overcame me.
“I'll send someone down with food when it's ready.”
“That's really not necessary, Captain,” Constantina crowed in a sickly sweet voice. “Rani is glad to go.”
“She needs to lie down.”
My eyes slid closed with his words. His kindness wasn't doing me any favors.
“You should have brought the girl to us,” Constantina continued in the same voice. “Doctor Gourini would have seen to her wounds.”
“He was busy.” Cyrus didn't smile.
“I hope she wasn't too much trouble to you. We'll keep a closer eye on her from now on.”
“It was no trouble,” he replied stiffly, “the fault was mine.” With a small nod, he left again.
My heart was hammering so hard, I felt the need to put my hand against my chest to stop it from pounding its way out of my body.
“I wonder what's for lunch,” Angelina mused out loud; oblivious to the tension that still hung heavy in the air.
“Big Al said it was called Salmon,” Nurse Betna replied in a flat kind of voice.
“What is Salmon?”
“Fish,” Doctor Gourini replied, “imported from the Americas.”
“Fish?” I turned in time to see her nose crinkle at the thought. “You mean from the waters?”
“Yes,” he nodded without smiling.
“You can't eat the creatures that live in the ocean,” she shrilled, “everyone knows that.”
“They eat them in the Americas.”
“The Americas have a barbaric, wild, ignorant people. Certainly, we're not going to stoop to their level?” She turned to Constantina for confirmation.
“I think we'll have to at least try it.” She hurried forward to perch on the edge of Angelina's bed, her hands trembling slightly. “Now that the Captain has offered, I fear it would be rude to refuse.”
Slowly, I made my way across the room to where Sasha and Dais sat, talking in excited whispers.
“What are you two so happy about?” I grinned, careful that my back was to Constantina and the others.
“Dais is excited to taste Salmon,” Sasha chuckled.
“Eww,” I wrinkled my nose at him.
“Big Al said it's delicious,” he assured me with a smile that didn't quite hide all his worries.
Chapter 13
I opened my eyes as wide as they would go and kept them directed to the only light in the room. The door stood halfway open; I could just make out a bit of moonlight spilling over from the upper deck.
The Salmon had felt funny on my tongue, but Dais liked it. Angelina and Katrina had flat out refused to eat theirs, and so it fell on Sasha and me to eat what no one else would or could. Sasha's stomach handled it better than mine did.
The near constant rocking in the room below decks didn't help any, but Constantina insisted that I stay downstairs—claiming I needed to follow the Captain's orders and lie down. A little air might have been welcome.
I raised my head slightly to see the sleeping forms of Constantina and Doctor Gourini. They had been the last to go to bed—besides myself. I had spent most of the day in bed, and sleep wouldn't come easily now that it was night. Constantina and the doctor were deep asleep.
Gathering my often-flighty courage, I swung myself into a sitting position with my feet on the floor. Just a few moments of fresh air—that's what I needed. And no one would ever know.
Sucking in a deep breath, I tip-toed across the room and slid out the open door. I moved slowly up the short flight of steps, so they wouldn't creak, and pulled myself up onto the deck—out in the fresh night air.
I waited until I was a good distance from the door before sighing loudly into the cool breeze. If I had my way, I would stay above deck until we reached the Nation.
“Your doctor said you were feeling sick,” a deep, familiar voice called out softly.
“Cyrus,” I squeaked, not entirely disappointed to see him emerge from the shadows.
“You do look a bit pale,” he remarked casually.
“I'm feeling better,” I half-smiled up at him.
“That's good to hear,” he smiled back. He walked a few steps past me to lean heavily on the railing. “The leader of Ortec doesn't like you,” his comment broke the silence that had fallen comfortably around us.
“She's under a lot of stress right now,” I cleared my throat softly.
“Even so,” he shrugged, “she doesn't like you. I see it in the way she looks at you. Is it because of your son? Because he looks different?”
“Maybe,” I croaked out. That was certainly part of it—the fact that I had hidden Dais for so long, and then was allowed to stay on Ortec with him.
“Your people are earth walkers,” he continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. “All of you are brown.”
“Yes.” I glanced up at him, and away just as quickly.
“Why is she so mean to you?”
“I am a servant of Ortec,” I automatically answered. “She can trea
t me however she likes.”
He shook his head, pushing forward slightly. “Other cities treat their servants well, even with respect. The servants are the widows and orphans; they aren't treated badly. Why doesn't she like you? It's not only because of the boy.”
“How do you know?” The words came out without thought.
“I notice things that other people don't. I see everything, and I've been watching you.”
He didn't even seem embarrassed about that. “I suppose it could be because ... of Sid.” I swallowed the repulsion I felt with his name.
“Was Sid your husband?”
“And the lawman,” I nodded.
“The lawman?” His eyes widened briefly. “Was it a love marriage?”
“I was only fifteen at the time.”
“What?”
“It was always assumed the lawman would marry Constantina's oldest daughter, Lizabel. She made her feelings for Sid very public. But then he chose me.”
“That wasn't your fault,” he said quickly. “Did Lizabel marry someone else, become unhappy and bitter, and blamed you for that?” His lip turned up in anger at his own imagined scenario.
“No,” I said in a low voice, unsure why I was even telling him so much. “Whether she fell or jumped by her own free will, two days after Sid and I were married, Lizabel fell to her death from the watch tower. I think Constantina has always blamed me for her death.”
“Did you even want to marry the lawman?”
“No.”
“Did you love him?”
“No. I'm quite glad he was killed.” It was impossible to know where my courage came from, but I wouldn't feel bad for my confession. “He was a cruel man.”
“Some of the lawmen are,” he agreed without judgment. “I've never heard of them taking a fifteen-year-old bride though. How long ago did he die?”
“Almost nine years ago.”
“By pirates?” he whispered, guessing the truth.
“Yes.”
His hand rose to cover his mouth. “Fate,” he said after a long moment, “is a funny thing.”
“My mother ... she talked about fate.”
“Why weren't you returned to your parents ... after ...”
