Black Sun (Between Earth and Sky, #1)(61)

I’m a prisoner, she thought suddenly. They’ve locked me in here.

She didn’t know what exactly had happened on the deck in the heart of the storm to make her crew lock her up, but she had that same feeling she had upon waking up after a night of being blackout drunk.

I’m sober! she wanted to scream. Whatever it was, it’s over. Let me out!

“Let me out!” she cried loudly, banging a fist against the door. Another flash of memory rocked her back. Another jail cell, this one on her home island, her mother weeping outside, her auntie cursing her name. Panic welled up in her chest, and she heaved, fighting for breath, fighting back tears.

A voice outside, one of the crew, and she yelled again. But the voice was moving away, not closer.

“I’m the fucking captain!” she screamed.

“They know that.”

She whirled to find Serapio facing her, expression alert.

“What?”

“I said—”

“I know what you said! I meant why? Why am I in here?” She pushed down the anxiety threatening to overwhelm her and turned to rattle the door again, this time peering through the small spaces between the thin wooden poles. Her stomach dropped. “And why are there crates blocking the door?”

“To keep you inside.”

“Why? Why would they need to block off the door? It’s not like…” Her headache swelled again, and she tried to shake it off, pull out those memories that refused to coalesce into more than flashes. It’s not like I killed anyone! she wanted to scream, but the truth was she wasn’t sure what had happened.

“Loob didn’t survive,” he said.

She swallowed, some of her anger and confusion giving way to sorrow. “I know. I… I tried.”

“Baat is blaming you. Saying you cut the rope between them, and if you hadn’t done it, they both could have made it to the surface.”

The tick of sorrow morphed into disbelief. “Loob was dragging him down, flailing his arms in a fucking panic. If I hadn’t cut him loose, Baat would be dead, too!”

Serapio was silent for a moment before saying, “That makes sense. But it is not what Baat thinks. Or the others.”

“The others… how do they know? How do you know?”

“I can hear them.”

That pulled her up short. Quieted her, and she pressed an ear to the wall to see if she could hear anything. Voices talking, no, arguing, but she couldn’t make out any words.

“My hearing is better than yours,” he said.

“By magic?”

“No. By necessity. I am better trained.” He tapped a finger against his right eyelid, a reminder of his blindness.

She gave up on the door. Serapio had calmed her, keeping her present and not lost to bad memories. She would get out; it was only a matter of time. And if he was here with her, the wait would be tolerable.

She looked around. Nowhere to sit in this damn tiny room except on the bench next to Serapio.

“Mind if I sit?”

He straightened, reaching up to tuck the pouch back under his robe and run his hands through his hair, brushing it back from his face. “Be my guest.”

She grinned, a small twinkle of joy. His attempt at grooming was for her, she was sure of it. And she liked it.

She dropped down on the bench next to him, tucking her legs beside her. She leaned back, resting her head against the wooden slats behind her, and cursed softly. What had happened? What had she done? A familiar shame rolled through her body. Usually that feeling came after a night of drinking. She hadn’t had a drop, so why the fractured memories, why the feeling that she’d ruined something precious?

“Do my eyes uncovered bother you?” Serapio asked. His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. It was the first bit of uncertainty he’d shown since that night on the cay.

“Not at all,” she said, and meant it. This close, she could see now the jagged raised edge of flesh, a keloid scar at the lash line. Whatever had happened to his eyes, it had healed smoothly, not that terrible at all. Not terrible enough to always keep covered, unless he was ashamed.

“Does my nakedness bother you?” she asked.

He flushed. “You’re naked?”

“Very much so.”

He laughed, breathy and incredulous. “I’ve never sat next to a naked woman before,” he admitted. “Or at least, one who told me she was naked.”

“We’ll have to work on that, my friend,” she said, grinning. But of course, he couldn’t see her smile. But maybe he sensed it anyway, because he grinned back, red-stained teeth and all.

“Would you like my blanket?” he asked.

“I’d prefer some clothes if you have them,” she admitted. “Perhaps you have an extremely out-of-fashion black robe you can spare?”

“Are my clothes that terrible?”

“For a crow man, no. For the rest of us…”

He grinned a little wider, and despite her dire circumstances, she felt something untwist inside her. He doesn’t judge me, she thought, as the loosening in her chest manifested in tears. She pressed the meat of her palms to her eyes. She didn’t realize the sense of relief that would come with simply being accepted.

“I have pants and a shirt,” he offered, standing. “But I cannot promise they are any more fashionable or any less black than my robes.” He made his way over to a small chest in the corner behind the door. He opened it smoothly, hand moving inerrantly to neatly folded clothes in the top drawer. He brought them back and handed them to her. They were pale cotton, soft, almost luxurious, and thick enough to keep out the cold.