Close Quarter

by Anna Zabo

  Silas took Rhys’s hand and held it between his. “That’s why speed is important.”

  “Yeah, I get that now.” Rhys snorted. “You could’ve warned me.”

  Silas shrugged and let go. “It wouldn’t have helped. The first time is pretty much the same for everyone.” He bent to retrieve the sword but swayed when he stood.

  Rhys caught Silas when he stumbled and righted him.

  “I’m fine,” Silas said, but he didn’t struggle against Rhys’s support.

  “You don’t look fine.” Too pale. Silas’s skin had a sudden clammy feel to it. Rhys walked him over to the edge of the bed. “Sit.”

  Silas rubbed his forehead, sat, and slid his sword back into nothing.

  Aether. It was a freaking scary place, whatever it was.

  “You need to rest,” Rhys said.

  A gesture from Silas dismissed that idea. “I need to eat.”

  And at those words, Rhys’s stomach rumbled.

  Silas chuckled.

  “We could order room service.”

  “No.” Silas looked up. “I want to feel the sun on my skin. Hear the laughter of others. Smell the salt air.” There was a wistful but melancholy tone to his voice.

  Silas still thought he was going to die. Damn it. Rhys brushed his fingers against Silas’s cheek. “We’re going to be okay.”

  A ghost of a smile might have flickered across Silas’s lips. “Quam minimum credula postero. I have no trust in the future.” He stood and framed Rhys’s face with his too-pale hands. “But you give me hope.” This time the smile, though slight, stayed.

  Rhys swallowed, his throat once more too tight to speak.

  Silas released him. “Come. Let’s try the buffet on the lido deck. I suspect they’ll have what I want.”

  It seemed like Rhys’s stomach was better at communicating, since it growled a hearty response.

  Silas’s smile grew. He held out his hand.

  Rhys took it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Alas, the buffet had no liver, so Silas settled for steak, cooked rare, a haunch of lamb, and a salad of spinach and chickpeas. It was a start, iron-rich foods. Not that they would help that much before nightfall.

  But after? It took effort not to dwell on the possibilities that lay along that road, not to give in to the warmth of delight and hope that lurked in the shadows of his heart.

  He and Rhys had made their way outside to the sunny side of the deck. Windy, but it was warm enough for June, even on the open sea. Rhys eyed the contents of Silas’s plate but said nothing. He’d chosen lighter fare, despite the rumblings of his loud gut—fruit, salad, and a small hunk of seared salmon. A wise plan if they had to run tonight.

  They would. Two soulless, likely older ones, plus Anaxandros.

  Silas put down his fork. Why hadn’t Anaxandros killed him? The opportunity had been there. After two thousand years, did the soulless simply wish to recapture him? That made little sense. Surely there had been other fae. The occasional stories that surfaced told him that. Why taunt? Why not kill and take Rhys?

  He should’ve hunted Anaxandros years ago. Yet another failure to crown the heaping pile of inadequacy. The great Silvanus. Hah.

  “Silas?”

  He retrieved the fork from his plate. “Just thinking.”

  “About?” Rhys sat back in his chair and toyed with his water glass. A charming furrow formed between his brows.

  Silas took another bite of lamb, stalling for a bit before speaking. “Anaxandros. He’s…” Jupiter’s balls! He fisted his hand into a ball and tried again. “It’s toying with me, but I don’t know why.”

  “Because it gets off on your pain?”

  There was truth there, yes. This was an old, familiar game, to some extent. Still… “I’m sure it does. But Anaxandros wants something more from me, more than agony, more than despair.” Silas certainly had given more than enough of that during his captivity. “It vexes me.”

  Rhys fell quiet for a moment. “I think you’re the only person I know who would seriously use the word ‘vex.’”

  Silas ever so gently kicked Rhys in the shin. “‘Vex’ is a fine word.”

  “It’s an old word.” Rhys stabbed a piece of pineapple.

  “It’s a Latin word.”

  He pointed the fruit-laden fork at Silas. “I rest my case.” He popped the pineapple into his mouth, looking far too smug.

  Americans. “Half the words you dribble from that pretty tongue of yours are Latin.” He cut into his steak. “And you do realize that I’m as old as ‘vex.’” Silas saw the trap Rhys had laid as the words left his mouth.

  “Well, you certainly are vexing.”

  Silas kicked him again, harder this time. Rhys laughed. That was contagious enough. He found himself joining in until the joy overwhelmed him.

  Gods. Silas set down both his utensils and ran a hand over his suddenly damp eyes. When was the last time he’d sat so with anyone, let alone a lover?

  He didn’t remember. Even with his very few friends, he’d never opened himself up this much.

  “Silas?” Humor had fled from Rhys’s voice.

  He waved the concern away and looked up. “You’re absolutely marvelous. Even if you are a complete git. And that”—he pointed his fork at Rhys—“is from German.”

  Rhys snorted.

  “Now let me eat in peace.” He failed horribly to keep the laughter from those words.

  This, the arguments and the humor, and the companionship. Desires of his heart. Everything he’d lost when Anaxandros killed his court. Everything he could build with Rhys.

  If they survived.

  If.

  Hope squeezed his heart. When. They would survive. They had to. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.

  They ate in silence, Rhys’s leg pressed against his under the table, until a waiter came and took their plates.

  Rhys shifted his chair to stare out into the sea. “Why doesn’t he want to know me?”

  Silas’s shifting mood had become infectious, it seemed. “Pardon?”

  “My father.” Rhys wrapped his fingers around the arm of his chair. “My biological father.”

  The half-fae. Silas sat back. “That may not be his motive at all.”

  Rhys turned back from the sea. “Why else would he have given me hush money?”

  Oh, this would be an interesting conversation. “As I said before, most of what I know about quarter-fae is myth. But here’s something to consider. All that you—” He stopped and corrected himself. “All that we’ve done together here, we’ve done while floating in an ocean with only a greenhouse garden to draw on.”

  Rhys furrowed his brows. This was obviously not the answer he’d been expecting. A moment later, however, understanding dawned across his face. “What we’ll be able to do on shore…” Rhys rubbed a hand over his gaping mouth. “Oh shit.”

  Indeed. “A new set of issues, for sure. Quarters are mythic for a reason.”

  “What will happen to us?”

  “I’m not sure. You’ll be noticed by the courts. I don’t think there’s a way to avoid that.”

  Rhys shifted in his chair but kept silent.

  “Do you want me, Rhys? Want me by your side?” He knew the answer.

  “Yes.”

  “Then there’s not a being in this world that will keep us apart.”

  Rhys glanced out to sea, his jaw working. “Even Anaxandros?”

  So Rhys did know the soulless’s full name. Silas held out his hand. “Not even Anaxandros.”

  Rhys nodded and twined his fingers with Silas’s. “About time you came around.”

  That forced an honest chuckle from Silas. Three days. Why did it seem longer?

  He brushed a thumb over the back of Rhys’s hand. “What do you think a court might do if they knew a half-fae was fertile?”

  Rhys reacted as if someone had slapped him. He jerked back, his hand slipping from Silas’s. After a moment, he stood. “You can’t te
ll me that they would—” Rhys made a croaking sound, and sank back into his seat. “That they would force him to have more…” He fell silent, trembling.

  Most likely in rage. It was an abhorrent idea, one he’d never abide. “Not all courts. Not even most. But some, yes. I said fae are passionate. Some let the passion for control and power consume them.”

  A deep frown and clenched fists were Rhys’s only answer.

  “If I were a half-fae who fathered a quarter, I’d hide,” Silas said. “For both that child’s sake and for my own.”

  A change in the wind whipped Rhys’s hair, setting the copper highlights ablaze in the afternoon sun. Element seeped around them, twisted up Silas’s legs like a caress. He doubted Rhys even knew what he was doing, so focused was he on the thoughts in his head.

  Finally he spoke. “If we could find him, would you protect him? From the courts?”

  The question sent a prickling up the back of Silas’s neck. He’d had plenty of offers to join various fae courts. Refused them all. “I don’t know if I could.”

  Rhys’s lips formed a very thin and pale line.

  “It’s not a lack of desire, Rhys. I have power, yes. I’m old, yes. But the courts leave me alone because I’m of little concern to them.”

  The muscles near Rhys’s right eye twitched. “That’ll change, won’t it? When we reach New York?”

  “Yes.” Silas folded his hands in his lap. It kept him from gripping the edge of the table. “I’m not without resources, and I do have a few favors I can call on.”

  “But if we find my father?”

  “There are not enough strings in this world to pull to keep the courts from hounding us.”

  The deep thrum of the ship’s motor changed pitch for a moment. Rhys exhaled. “That doesn’t exactly sound like a fun life to live.”

  “No.” Silas reached across the table, palm up. Rhys covered Silas’s hand with his own. Warm, a slight tingle of element. “But if you wish it, I’ll do all within my power to keep you and yours safe.”

  “But you said—”

  “I said I didn’t know if I could. I never said I wouldn’t try.”

  Astonishment filled Rhys’s expression in the same manner that a sharp clap of thunder might shock someone. His mouth worked, but no words came forth.

  Silas couldn’t help but smile. That earned him a bruised shin of his own.

  “Bastard.” The word was wrapped in affection.

  If only they could stay like this for the rest of the cruise. If only.

  Damn the Messengers. Or bless them. Looking at Rhys, Silas couldn’t decide which.

  His sudden change in mood must have been noticeable. Rhys squeezed his hand. “Do you have a plan? For tonight?”

  No. He had nothing. “We’ve lost the element of surprise. Our trick from last night won’t work again.” It would’ve never worked on Anaxandros, anyway. He must have been— He. “Juno’s tits.”

  Another squeeze. “We’ll work something out.”

  Silas stifled the urge to sigh. “I suppose the only thing to do is to hunt. We wait until dark, find them, and kill them.”

  Rhys snorted. “Easy as ice cream.”

  So very young. But not at all naive, despite his flippancy. Silas studied the man who held his hand. His fae blood had sharpened his features, coppered his hair, but there was something still so very human about him, most likely that sense of cocky assuredness.

  It might save them both. “Your thoughts?”

  Rhys tapped his water glass and chuckled. “You won’t like it.”

  “Probably not.”

  “We hunt now. During the day.” He picked up his water glass and sipped. “And if we don’t find them, then we wait in hiding and pick them off as they hunt us.”

  He pulled his hand from Rhys’s. “We have no idea where their—”

  Rhys had enough manners not to smirk, not to gloat. He sat there, as calm as any Stoic.

  Silas stood. Of course they knew where the soulless’s lair was. It was on the boat. Probably internal, likely deep in the bowels. Hunting alone, it had always been too dangerous to confront the soulless in their stronghold. He walked to the rail and stared down at the twirling white ripples along the side of the hull.

  Behind him, a chair scraped across the deck. Rhys wrapped his arms around Silas, kissed the back of his neck. Pine and sea grass. “Stop berating yourself.”

  There was no point in asking how Rhys knew his thoughts. Predictable. Constant. Like the little cyclones of white that spun out from the boat to be lost in the churn of the ocean waves. He didn’t bend into Rhys’s embrace. “I’m better than this.”

  “I know.” Rhys didn’t let go. “I remember.”

  Hades. Those memories. “For that I’m sorry. I should’ve never—” Rhys’s fingers pressed against his lips, blocking the words. He knew the taste of that skin.

  “Let’s find the fucker and put a stake through his heart. Or a sword. Or whatever.”

  Silas had to blink back the salt spray when he opened his eyes. “It’s a good plan. I’m not sure I would’ve thought of it.”

  He felt Rhys’s laugh. “Good. Then the bastard won’t expect it, will he?”

  No. While Anaxandros knew him, the soulless didn’t know Rhys. Deep within, the shuttered spark of hope flared to life. Minerva bless them both with wisdom and strength.

  They were going to need it.

  Coffee. Rhys needed coffee to get his mind in gear. Not just the drip-brewed stuff at the buffet, but a nice, hot double shot of espresso. Thankfully, the boat had a coffee bar by the library.

  He glanced back and grabbed Silas’s hand. Damn everyone else on the ship if they had an issue. Last thing he needed was to lose Silas to the crowd around them. Midafternoon seemed to be a very popular time to roam the decks.

  Silas wasn’t well. Worse, he didn’t seem to notice his ill health. Pale and shaky, he wasn’t putting much into his glamour, given the looks he was garnering. Rhys attempted to push element toward Silas, but he couldn’t concentrate on that while walking.

  Silas’s mind certainly wasn’t in the game. Not that Rhys blamed him. Flashes of memories not his own had been intruding into his thoughts over the past day. Scarred didn’t even begin to express Silas’s mental state.

  But there was a will so strong there—strength Rhys doubted he could match, not in the face of that much pain for that long.

  He understood now how someone could rip apart a vampire. He certainly had that desire.

  “Two double-shot cappuccinos to go, please.”

  The woman behind the bar nodded and set to work.

  “Cappuccinos,” Silas murmured, then shook his head.

  “What?”

  “Somehow I don’t think we’ll find what we’re looking for at the bottom of a cup.” The dry tone, as whip sharp as it was, warmed Rhys’s heart.

  Good. This was the Silas he needed now, the arrogant one. He handed one of the paper cups over. “Fuel for the road.” He took the other.

  “If only we had a map.”

  Rhys glanced over at the entrance to the library. “Librarian.”

  “What?”

  Oh, he’d regret this. “You know, book person. From the Latin?”

  Silas choked on his coffee. His expression moved from shock to annoyance, then straight into that smile he got whenever he thought about sex.

  Yup. That would cost. But in a good way. “Come on.”

  “If we didn’t have other plans…” Silas trailed his warm fingers down the back of Rhys’s neck.

  “I’ll hold you to that.” But later. Last thing he needed was Silas passed out again. Rhys stepped around two ladies filling out a giant crossword puzzle printed on a table and headed toward the back of the library.

  The librarian was a woman with short black hair and three piercings in her left ear. She smiled as they approached. “How can I help you gentlemen?”

  Rhys matched her smile. “Well, this is kind of odd, but do
you have a map of the ship?”

  “There’s a digital map on every level by the elevators. Touch screens.” Her cheerful tone didn’t waver, though creases formed in the corners of her eyes.

  “We’re actually looking for the ship plans,” Silas said. “My friend was curious to know what all those other decks are used for.”

  “Oh!” The tightness around her eyes vanished. “There’s an old copy of the plans hanging in the aft stairwell between decks eleven and twelve. It’s not quite accurate, but it’s very close.”

  “Excellent.” Silas sipped his coffee. “Thank you.”

  “Anything else I can help you with?”

  Rhys stifled the urge to ask for a Latin-to-English dictionary. “Nope. Thanks.”

  He let Silas lead the way to the map. Once off of the main entertainment decks, the crowds thinned down. Only cleaning staff roamed the halls, wiping down banisters, refilling hand sanitizers, and vacuuming. The crew must have been working their way down the ship. Once Rhys and Silas climbed past deck ten, they saw no one.

  The map—ship’s plan—spanned the entire wall of the landing between decks eleven and twelve and included a cross section of the ship and detailed deck plans for every deck—even the ones without any cabins.

  “It’s huge,” Rhys said. “I hadn’t thought…”

  Silas rubbed his chin. “Well, we can discount all the cabins with windows, I should think. I doubt any of Anaxandros’s followers can stand the light.”

  That made sense. “If only we knew the names they used to board.”

  “It’s highly unlikely they bought tickets.” Silas swirled his coffee cup. “That would require the whole check-in procedure. Photographs. Passports. Documentation. It’s rather a bother.”

  That never occurred to him. He inspected Silas’s profile. “You have all that?” And what did he look like in a photograph anyway? Did his glamour appear on camera?

  Silas shrugged. “I do. To live in the world, you need such things now.”

  Vampires didn’t live. They preyed. Rhys suppressed a shudder. “How? I mean, I guess they’re faked, but you’d have to keep getting…”

  Silas turned. “I have an exceptionally good lawyer.” The amusement in his expression shifted to worry. “If I don’t survive…”