Truthwitch (The Witchlands, #1)(85)
There was little for Safi to see outside, though. Rock walls and spindrift misting the glass. If she craned her neck, she could just glimpse pale dawn skies.
“Where are we?” she asked Evrane.
“A cove that belongs to the Nihar family,” the monk answered. “It has been a secret for centuries. Until today.” Her tone was icy, and when Safi glanced back, she found the monk scowling as she wound a fresh bandage around Iseult’s arm.
“The cove is inaccessible from land,” Evrane went on, “since cliffs surround it and there is only enough space for a single ship. But”—she tied off the clean linen with a satisfied nod—“I think you will see it for yourselves soon enough. The admiral plans to take us ashore. From here, we continue to Lejna on foot.”
TWENTY-NINE
Merik stood in Kullen’s cabin, staring down at his Threadbrother. Kullen’s face was gray, his knuckles massaging his breastbone as he watched Merik from a low cot. Ryber had stuffed a sack of flour behind Kullen’s back to prop up his head and lungs, so now white powder stuck to his hair and cheeks. With only the pale dawn to illuminate his face, he looked like a corpse.
The cabin, however, looked very much alive.
Kullen’s single trunk beneath the window overflowed with his usual organized chaos, and there was no missing the clear trail of shirts and breeches that led to the bed.
“Too busy reading to fold up your uniform?” Merik asked, settling onto the edge of the cot.
“Ah, you caught me.” Kullen clapped shut a red-leather book. The True Tale of the Twelve Paladins. “I can’t resist rereading the epics. If I’m forced to stay in bed, I should be entertained.” He pitched a glance at the clothes on the floor. Then winced. “I suppose I did make a mess.”
Merik nodded absently and leaned onto his knees. He didn’t care about the uniform; Kullen knew that.
“I shouldn’t be gone more than half a week,” Merik said.
“Don’t rush on my account.” Kullen flashed one of his frightening attempts at a smile—but it was almost instantly shattered by coughing.
Once the attack had passed, Merik went on. “I’ll go north to the estate and find Yoris. I don’t think he’ll mind Safiya, but he might make trouble over Iseult. He never liked the ’Matsis.”
“He also never liked your aunt.” Kullen hissed out a careful breath and leaned onto the flour sack. “I assume she’ll join your little party?”
“I doubt I can keep her away.”
“Well, if Yoris gives you any trouble, tell him”—Kullen twirled a hand, and a current of cool air tickled over Merik—“I’ll crush him with a hurricane.”
Merik scowled at Kullen’s display of power, but again, he held his silence. They’d argued for years over how often and how deeply Kullen tapped into his witchery; Merik didn’t want to leave on that note today.
“Should I visit your mother while I’m inland?”
Kullen shook his head. “I’ll go once I’m better. If that’s all right with you.”
“Of course. Take Ryber with you. Just in case.”
Kullen’s eyebrows sprang high.
“I’ll tell Hermin I’ve ordered it,” Merik hastened to add. “Ryber knows how to help you in case of an attack—and the crew is aware that she knows. It’s only logical she join you. Besides…” Merik frowned at his fingernails; there was flour and dirt beneath them. “I don’t think it matters anymore if the crew finds out about you. The admiralty’s over, Kullen. Lovats won’t answer, and it’s looking more and more like Vivia spoke the truth about my father.”
“I’m not surprised,” Kullen said quietly.
Merik grunted and picked at his thumbnail. This was another long-hashed point of disagreement—Kullen believed that Vivia’s nature was spurred on by Serafin. That the king wanted his children forever at odds.
But Merik considered that theory complete crap. For all of King Serafin’s failings, he wouldn’t waste his energy on stirring trouble—particularly when Vivia instigated plenty of it on her own.
“What I do know, Kullen, is that this grave is deep, and I still haven’t dug us out.”
“You can, though.” Kullen angled forward, flour puffing from the top of the sack. Were the situation any different, it would’ve made Merik—and Kullen—laugh. “If you get to Lejna and you get your trade agreement, then it’ll all work out. You’re destined for greatness, Merik. I still believe that.”
“Not much greatness. The trade will only be with one Cartorran estate out of hundreds. And the land here…” Merik gestured to the window, a self-deprecating laugh stuck in his throat. “It’s no better than a year ago. I don’t know why I keep hoping, but I do. Every cursed time we come back, I hope it’ll be alive again.”
Kullen exhaled, a rattling sound that made Merik sit up. “You’re tired. I’ll go.”
“Wait.” Kullen snagged Merik’s jacket sleeve, and the warmth in the air vanished again. “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me you’ll consider a tumble in the sheets while you’re away. You’re so tense”—he gulped in air—“I can’t even look at you without my lungs wanting to seize.”