The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)(49)

In my father’s voice, an accusation. But both Sun Tsu and Machiavelli knew the best defense was a good offense. I attacked. “Go back to sleep, Slate. I’m doing fine without you.”

He took a breath to respond, then coughed into his fist—just standing had taken so much out of him. But he was fueled now by an inner fire—that old familiar drive—and he did not back down. “And what the hell are you doing, exactly, on this godforsaken rock?”

“Looking for answers.”

“Don’t play games! What did you mean about Crowhurst?”

I clenched my jaw—there was no use denying what he’d heard. “He told me he knows how to change things, Dad. I’m going to learn if that’s true.”

“And then what?”

Slate’s expression was half disbelieving, half mocking, and I faltered—but of course he knew what I would change. I lifted my chin. “Then I’ll be the master of my fate. Captain of my own damn soul.”

“What happened to all your grand arguments about unmaking the world?”

“What happened to your quest to save the one you love?

His face paled, but his eyes caught fire. “You’ve fought me for years, but now that it’s about Kashmir—”

“What did you really expect, Slate?” My voice shocked me—the anger in it. “After all this time watching you, what did you think I would do?”

“I don’t know!” he shouted, flinging his arms into the air. “Maybe learn from my mistakes?”

“I did,” I shot back. “Just not the lessons you thought. And now I have the chance to learn from experience.”

“From Donald Crowhurst? Nixie.” Slate shook his head in disbelief. “He’s crazy.”

I gave him a significant look. “Yeah, well, speaking of which . . .” I tossed his map on the table. “I got this back for you. And who knows? If I learn how to change the past, maybe we go find Lin next.”

“Find . . . Lin?” He blinked at me, brought up short, and his voice was suddenly soft. His entire demeanor had changed at the sound of her name. “And what? Stay in Hawaii instead?”

“It depends, doesn’t it?”

“On what?”

“On what’s possible.” I turned then, unable to watch his face, the hope growing in his eyes. “Stay here if you want. I’m going.”

“Are you kidding me?” He went to the closet, picking a shirt from the floor and giving it a sniff. “I’ll be ready in five.”

Frustrated, I stormed out through the doorway and stomped down the ladder to find a change of clothes. I was halfway into a dress when I heard voices abovedecks—Kashmir’s low comment, Blake’s quick retort, and then . . . laughter? I poked my head out of Kashmir’s door as the boys slid down the ladder, grinning. Clutching the frothy lace of the dress in front of my chest, I leaned into the hall. “Where have you two been?”

“Drinking, amira!”

I made a face. “I wish you’d brought me along.”

Kashmir’s lanky body stilled; he frowned at me. Behind him, Blake’s eyes flicked down to my bare shoulders, then quickly back up. “What’s the occasion, Miss Song?”

“Dinner with the king.”

“Really?” Blake’s face was eager. But Kash raised an eyebrow, affecting a casual disdain.

“Isn’t that just what you wanted, amira?”

I sighed and hiked my dress higher. “Slate’s coming too.”

“Ah.” Kashmir tilted his head, his green eyes softening. It struck me then—he missed so little. He must have known how worried I’d been. “Well. It’s a pretty dress, but of course you can’t go to dinner at a palace without your best accessory.”

“Which is?”

“A handsome man on your arm.”

I raised my eyebrows, but a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “And where could I find one of those?”

Kash gave a half shrug and turned to Blake. “Do you think Rotgut’s free?”

“Maybe one of the fishermen at the bar,” Blake suggested, grinning. “After all, a lady can’t be expected to attend dinner with a strange man without an escort.”

“My father will be there,” I reminded them.

“Is there any man stranger?” Kash laughed as I smacked him, almost losing hold of my gown. “All right, all right, amira! I’ll come to dinner!”

“I will too, if you’ve got a free arm,” Blake said. “I’m eager to meet Crowhurst. And I’ll make sure Mr. Firas doesn’t steal the silver.”

Kashmir pretended to kick him, and Blake laughed as he dodged down the hall toward his room. I stared at Kash, half amused, half amazed. “How much did you two drink?”

He gave me a crooked smile. “Not enough to miss your wardrobe malfunction.”

I passed a hand over my eyes. “It’s all these damn buttons.”

“Laisse moi.” Kash shooed me away from the door.

I turned, pulling the embroidered sleeves up over my arms—they lay just off the shoulder, creating a wide, scooped neckline. Kashmir shut the door and stood behind me, his knuckles grazing my bare skin as he started on the buttons at the small of my back. I bit my lip, trying not to shiver, hoping he didn’t notice my goose bumps. “What were you and Blake talking about at the tavern?”