“Relax,” Jace demanded. “I’m not going to hurt you. If I leave you here, half-naked . . . I don’t know. Somebody else might come along who will.”
Lena swallowed. Could she trust him? He was strong and gruff and twice her size. She’d always believed there were more good humans than bad on the surface. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure how to tell one from the other. Cautiously, she wrapped her arms around Jace’s neck.
“There you go,” Jace said, his voice breathy with relief. “You’re a bit of an odd one, aren’t you?” He adjusted her weight in his arms, then headed into the gray cover of the trees. “It’ll be interesting to see what my mor says about this. She sends me out to collect firewood and I come back with a shipwrecked girl. Do you hail from a village nearby?”
“No . . . yes . . .” Lena answered quietly. She watched the sea dwindle to a thin line over his sun-kissed shoulder.
“It’s either a yes or a no,” Jace snorted. He peered sidelong at her when she didn’t reply. “Guess I’ll take that as a maybe. I’ll never understand the coyness of females.”
Lena barely registered his muttering. Her mind had lurched away, leaping after the golden beach, the steadily diminishing sea. What was her father doing, she wondered? Was he worried? Would he go looking for her? Would he pray to Poseidon for mercy, for forgiveness? Would he travel to the capital city and try to make a bargain with the king?
What would Asger do? Would he keep his word and care for Carrick? Would he tell the rest of the Fosse-Søfolk what she’d done? Would Javelin’s tragic death become another cautionary tale, like the queen’s?
Lena chewed her bottom lip as the sea vanished altogether from view. She narrowed her eyes against the distance, straining to see it, but it was gone.
“We’ll figure out where you come from later,” Jace was saying. “Someone in town should know where that ship was berthed.”
Lena remained silent. Let him think what he wants about my origins, she decided. Poseidon only knew what he’d do to her if he learned the truth.
“In the meantime,” Jace continued, “I think my mor will insist on a bath for you.”
Lena glanced at him. A bath? She wracked her brain, but couldn’t remember ever hearing that word before.
Jace flicked his gaze to hers and wrinkled his nose. “Don’t take this the wrong way, froken,” he chuckled wryly, groaning as he heaved her sagging body back up again. “But you smell like a day-old fish.”
11
Lena’s sore muscles ached as she was bumped and jostled along in Jace’s arms. He carted her through the sparse, wooded grove, over which a web of sunlight threaded through the leaves. Beyond the tree line, daylight shone in earnest once again. Jace trampled across a rolling field of tall grasses, hissing as thorns and brambles snagged on his shins.
“Try and keep that mop out of my face, would you?” he grunted, shrugging away from Lena’s wind-torn hair. She removed one, cautious arm from around his neck and brushed her limp curls over her shoulder.
Her eyes caught on a cluster of fluffy yellow blossoms and she gasped. They looked so . . . soft. A strange texture she’d never felt before. She longed to gather them up, to caress their petals, to tuck them into her hair.
Jace followed her gaze and rolled his eyes. “I know,” he said morosely, “it’s a lot of weeds. Mor’s been on my case for months, trying to get me to cut it back. As if hauling ass all day at the inn isn’t enough. I’m not a damn groundskeeper too. They’ll all be dead soon anyway . . .”
Lena glanced at him. Perhaps the flowers were commonplace on the surface. Ordinary. Weeds. To her, they were lovely. Heat flushed her cheeks as she was carried along. Droplets of water beaded her brow and dampened the crook of her neck.
A warm, watery sheen slicked over Jace’s bare back, making him glisten like a god. His grip became slippery, his breaths ragged. Every now and then, he hiked her sagging body up in his arms with a groan.
“Where’s your family?” he asked suddenly. Lena parted her lips, startled by his question, then slapped them shut again. “Are they alive? Were they on the ship with you?”
The bluntness of his question struck her like a slap. She blinked rapidly as tears rushed into her eyes.
“Dead,” she managed to say, the word frayed by her swallowed sob. Javelin was gone and her father . . . she’d left him without saying good-bye. She’d never see him again. If Asger broke his promise, Carrick was doomed. He couldn’t hunt anymore, couldn’t navigate the market, couldn’t tend to himself. He wouldn’t survive long, alone and uncared for.
Her fault.
Shame settled, heavy on her sternum. She collapsed her chin to her chest, apologizing again and again in her head.
Jace sighed. “My fader died in a shipwreck too,” he murmured. “When I was a boy.”
Lena lifted her gaze, but his blue eyes were focused dead ahead.
“He was a fisherman. One day, he went out to sea . . .”
Lena felt a twisting sickness coil around her stomach as he trailed off. She already knew what he was going to say—the Fosse-Søfolk. They had killed his father.
“That day, there was a freak storm,” Jace continued. “No one saw it coming. One minute, the sun was shining, and the next, rain was hurtling down from the sky.”
Rain. Lena remembered the weeping heavens. Poseidon.
“My fader tried to save the crew, but . . . the ship sank, and he went down with it. Maybe he would’ve survived if he’d focused on saving himself . . .” Jace exhaled a heavy breath, as if he could expel the story from his memory. From existence.
“For all his efforts, only one sailor made it back to shore.”
“Does it ever get easier?” Lena whispered. “Losing the people you love?”
Jace fell silent. “I’ll let you know,” he replied after a long moment, and Lena’s heart sank.
She tightened her arms around his neck, a soothing gesture, though she’d only just met him.
“For God’s sake, loosen up a little,” Jace grumbled, ducking out of her grasp. “I’m not going to drop you.”
“Sorry,” Lena mumbled, a dark blush burning her cheeks.
Jace came to an abrupt halt and jerked his chin forward. Lena turned to see why he’d stopped. In the clearing ahead, she could make out a planked wooden structure, somewhat like the hull of a ship. Its walls were flat instead of curved, and its roof elbowed sharply in the shape of a peak. A pavilion of muted stone was laid across the threshold, bordered by small, simple flowers, the same vermilion shade as Carrick’s tail. Lena had never seen a structure quite like it before and yet, she was sure it was a home of some sort. There was something warm and cheerful about it. Something inviting.
“That’s my mother’s place,” Jace explained. “The Lundby Wyatt Inn.”
“Is that where you live?” she murmured.
“For now.”
A fierce homesickness gripped Lena’s heart. She cringed as sorrow tore through the pit of her stomach, whipping its barbed tail about like a stingray, braising her eyes with salt. Jace glanced at her.
“Not quite what you’re used to?” he asked. Lena shook her head. He returned his hard gaze to the inn.
“It’s a bit rundown, I’ll grant you that. But it beats sleeping on the beach.”
He marched forward, crushing blades of grass beneath his boots. A white awning flapped over the doorstep, providing some relief from the glare of the sun. Jace lowered Lena to her feet and linked their elbows together to keep her steady. He pushed the door open a sliver and peeked through. With a satisfied hum, he led Lena inside.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll find you some clothes to wear, then we can worry about mor.”
Nerves speared through Lena’s veins. Who was this “mor”? Why was Jace so afraid of being discovered? She latched onto his arm as he guided her over the floor—mismatched planks, weathered and brown. She studied the easy rise and fall of his feet, trying to mimic his movements, but her legs wobbled. Her
knees knotted together like rope. Jace exhaled, impatience rippling around him like a frenzied current.
“I’m trying,” Lena insisted, somewhat defensively. She was trying.
“Try harder,” Jace replied. “If mor catches you here before I’ve had a chance to explain things—”
“Jace Daan Wyatt!”
Lena froze. Beside her, Jace heaved an exasperated sigh. He tilted his brow to a tall channel of ascending planks in the corner. Stairs. Lena had seen them before, though these were wider and sturdier than the fractured stairs she’d observed in sunken ships.
An equally sturdy woman was stationed at the height of the staircase, her knuckles white as she gripped the rail. She wore a sweeping length of unembellished fabric which flowed loosely from her neck to the cusps of her covered feet. A flimsier slip of cloth was draped over her pale blonde hair and knotted at the nape of her neck.
Her footfalls echoed as she descended, stomping, a punishing expression on her face.
“Where have you been, Jace? Your grandfather and I needed you today. Lord Jarl will be here to collect his rent, and there are customers to clean up after and meals to prepare and . . . I’m only one person, Jace!”
“Mother, I went to—”
Mor, Lena realized. Mother.
“Who is this?” Jace’s mor planted her hands on her hips and nodded at Lena. “Jace,” she repeated, who is this? And why isn’t she wearing pants?”
“Look,” Jace huffed, “I was walking on the beach this morning, collecting driftwood for the fire, just like you told me to, and I saw her laying on the beach. I gave her my shirt because she didn’t have . . . anything else.”
His mother’s eyes bulged. Jace flushed.
“I thought she was dead at first,” he rushed to say. “I mean, look at her! I couldn’t just leave her there. I think she was on that ship that went down yesterday.” He peered at Lena for confirmation, and she nodded hesitantly.
His mother sucked in a breath. “God rest those poor souls,” she quickly whispered, drawing a cross over her chest. Her hardened gaze softened slightly, and she let out a sigh.
“What exactly do you expect us to do with her?” she said, half to herself, half to her son. “Keep her here?”
“I don’t think she has anywhere else to go,” Jace replied. “She was traveling with her family, so . . .” Guilt nagged at Lena’s conscience, hearing the lies she’d let him believe. But she didn’t correct him.
“I can barely afford to feed the three of us,” Jace’s mor muttered. She flicked her eyes to a half-covered window, as if yesterday’s sailors were there, just beyond the glass, drowning in her red-speckled hedges.
“Fine,” she relented. “She can stay. But only if she earns her keep.” At this, she snapped her no-nonsense gaze to Lena.
Lena barely noticed herself nodding. This was why Jace had worried about his mother, she realized. She had a frightful way about her, a clear talent for commanding a room.
“Take her to the chambers closest to ours,” she instructed. “And for the love of God, find her some clothes that actually fit. Something from my trunk. But be quick. Lord Jarl!”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Jace shifted his attention back to Lena. Without a word of warning, he strapped an arm beneath her legs and scooped her up. His mother darted an inquisitive glance between the two of them, then shook her head and clunked into a shadowy hall.
Lena’s eyes traveled over the steadily vanishing foyer as Jace hoisted her up the stairs. Trinkets were littered over shelves and mantels and windowsills. Here and there, she recognized objects she and Javelin had collected for their undersea cove.
Pain blossomed at the base of her, remembering her brother. Her treasures. She pressed her eyes shut and tipped her brow against Jace’s shoulder, willing the memories away. Strain creased Jace’s forehead as the stairs leveled off. He lugged Lena down a long, narrow hallway, each step more arduous and swear-inducing than the last. He shuffled to a stop before an arced door, struggling beneath her bottom for the knob, then kicked inside and crossed to the edge of a fabric-strewn bed. He plunked Lena down on top of it.
“Wait here,” he said on a harried breath. “I’ll be right back.”
He lumbered out of the room, leaving her alone.
Lena stroked the plush coverlet beneath her hands, so much softer than her stony bed in the cavern. Her eyes strayed to a two-paned window bordered by shafts of delicate cloth. Sunlight beamed against the glass, striping the floor with long yellow bars of light. She straightened as Jace returned, a heap of pale fabric hanging over his arms.
“My room’s just around the corner,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder as he crossed to her. “And my mor is at the end of the hall, so you won’t be far from either of us.”
Was that important, Lena wondered? Jace shoved the fabric into her lap before she could ask.
“A little more your style, maybe?” he asked as she drifted her fingers over the bodice and lifted a frilly sleeve. “Mor’s never really had a taste for fancy dresses. But, I don’t know. I thought it was . . . pretty.” He scowled. Lena offered a quick nod to reassure him, and he mustered half a grin. “It might be a little bit big.”
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, and meant it.
“Here.” He reached for her. Lena stiffened, and he withdrew. “I mean, I could help you put it on,” he said, stammering slightly. “Do you . . . need help?”
“I know how to put on a dress,” she lied, fingering a tidy line of stitching, perhaps where a tear had once been repaired. Jace’s mother had been draped in something similar to this. The sailors she’d seen yesterday had worn leg-coverings, like Jace. It must be customary for humans to conceal their bodies with cloth.
“Sure,” Jace agreed. “I only asked because, on the beach, well . . .” he trailed off, shaking his head.
“I was just a little mixed up. That’s all.”
“You’ve been through a lot, I guess.” He began to back toward the door, eyes flickering around the room—as if he were looking for some reason to stay. “Just shout if you need me,” he decided, and retreated completely, snicking the door shut behind him.
Lena splayed the dress in her lap, laying a sleeve over each of her knees. She flipped the bodice back and forth, wondering which was the proper side to wear in front. Wondering if it even mattered. Then she slipped out of Jace’s covering and tugged the dress over her head.
She squirmed her arms into the sleeves. Then she stood, bracing her weight against the bed, and smoothed her hands over the garment’s thin panels, following its creases down to her hips. The dress was pretty, she decided, even if wearing it felt a bit odd. The fabric was soft and light, the same white as sun-bleached shells. The frayed hem tickled the tops of her feet.
A knock startled her. Jace cracked the door and tilted his head inside. Something flashed in his eyes when he looked at her—disappointment? Lena ducked her chin to study herself. Had she put the dress on wrong?
“Just checking,” Jace mumbled. “You look nice. The dress, I mean. It’s a little baggy, but it looks . . . nice.”
Relief flooded Lena’s system and poured over her lips on a sigh.
“What’s the matter?” Jace asked. Everything, Lena wanted to say. But in this moment, at least, the weight on her heart felt lighter. She lifted her chin and offered him a small smile. Then, on a whim, she twirled, allowing the dress to flutter around her legs.
“Easy!” Jace exclaimed, dashing forward as she stumbled over her feet. He clamped onto her elbows to keep her from tumbling to the floor. “It’s just an old dress mor wears to market. Nothing to make a fuss about.”
Lena giggled. A smirk quirked at the corner of Jace’s lips, then spread across his jaw.
“You are an oddball, aren’t you?” he chuckled, slipping his arm around her hip. “Come on,” he said. “There’s a meal waiting for us in the kitchen. Mor will chop us up like yesterday’s mackerel if we let it go cold.”
12
Lena sat at the far end of the kitchen table, apart from Jace and his mor, who were standing at the arced entry speaking in hushed tones. She kept her gaze pinned to the steaming bowl of stew she’d been offered, trying her best to be discreet as she strained to hear their conversation.
“Lord knows we need extra hands around his place,” muttered Mrs. Wyatt. “Will she expect to be paid? You know we can’t afford to spare a dime.”
Jace sucked in a breath and let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t think she’s after our money. Or lack thereof. If lodging and meals aren’t enough for her . . .” He trailed off.
“High season’s just started. The Gyldne Havrue is due to dock this afternoon. We’ll be booked solid soon—no extra rooms to let. Or food to waste, for that matter.”
“It won’t be a waste.”
As if to confirm the sentiment, Lena shoveled into her stew. She stifled a cringe as she thrust a heaping spoonful into her mouth, expecting the worst. It smelled nothing like the sea fare she was used to. It was . . . delicious.
Lena’s puckered lips relaxed as the muddy texture of meats dissolved on her tongue. She inhaled another spoonful, slurping it up, and Jace glanced at her. She blushed.
“Maybe she can help Pops,” Jace said. “We’ve both been busy lately. You know how he gets when he’s left alone. The nonsense he starts to believe. This could be a good thing.”
“We can’t just let anyone take charge of him, Jace. She’s a stranger—”
“And he’s a burden.”
“Bite your tongue!” Mrs. Wyatt’s sharp, elevated voice startled the spoon out of Lena’s fingers. It clattered against the brim of her warm, ceramic bowl.
“Excuse me,” she apologized, wincing at the hard stares she received. She plucked up the utensil and turned her gaze to the window, searching for fluffy yellow blossoms in the tangled meadow beyond. Relief coursed through her when the whispering conversation resumed.
Between the Sea and Stars Page 7
