The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)(9)
For a moment I wanted to shout a warning, like some weathered witch—the weird sisters standing over a cauldron, beware, beware. “Nothing.” But I could see it in his eyes: he knew it was a lie. I reached for the pills, to cover. “I’ll give him these. But how are you feeling?”
“Fine, thanks to you.” He ran a casual hand through his hair; his fingers shook, ever so slightly. “But I’ll admit it. I’d never been more terrified in my life.”
“Really?” I kept my voice light. “I wouldn’t have expected you to be scared of any old Tahitian octopus demon.”
“That’s not what I was afraid of.”
His tone brought me up short. I knew his fear. I’d shared it: the threat of loss. Suddenly, I wanted to hold him again as I had held him out in the water—though I did not know which of us would be keeping the other afloat. And the older terror resurfaced like a leviathan in the depths: the fear of having something to lose in the first place. My father’s lesson to me, and the one I’d learned best. How could I reach for Kashmir, knowing he’d be torn away? Or worse—what if by following my heart, I sealed his fate? I cast about for something else to say—a way to change the subject. “How’s Blake?”
Kashmir’s expression didn’t change, but he shifted on his feet, the bells on his ankle chiming softly. “Settling in, I think. I gave him some clothes that should fit.”
“You gave him your clothes?” I blinked at him, but Kash waved away my disbelief.
“I didn’t say they were nice clothes.” The ghost of a smile crossed his lips and faded. “I explained things as best I could, but he still has questions that only you can answer.”
“I’ll go talk to him. Thank you, Kash.”
“He’ll need his vaccines soon, don’t forget. I think there’s a veterinarian just up the block.”
“Right.” I hid my smile and started to shut the door.
“One more thing, amira,” he said, as the laughter in his eyes gave way to shy hope. “I know it’s a beautiful night for sleeping under the stars. But I hope you know you’re always welcome in my cabin.”
“Oh?” My voice cracked; my mouth was dry. I tried again. “Oh. Thank you.” My heart was pounding—could he hear it? A word echoed in my head: yes, yes. Instead I slammed the door and leaned against it; it was some time before I heard the sound of his ankle bells as he walked away.
More than anything, I wanted to go after him—to follow him to his cabin, to tell him what I felt, what I feared. But what a cruel thing, to lighten my burden by making him carry it!
Sighing, I pushed off the door, depositing the pill bottle at Slate’s bedside. The map of Tahiti was still in my hand, crushed and sweaty; I smoothed it out against my thigh as best I could before sliding it back into its section: HISTORICAL MAPS OF THE PACIFIC. Beside it was one Blake had drawn for us—a map of Oahu, the only home he’d ever known.
Blake was an artist and an explorer. He and I had bonded over maps the day we’d met. He had showed me the healing spring that had saved his life, and sketches of hidden paths and secret places all over the island he knew so well—the island that would have been my home if my mother hadn’t died. That had only been a few weeks ago, but in the time since, I had managed to betray his trust, to commit treason against his country, and to force him to choose between my life and his father’s. Until Slate had given me Joss’s fortune, I had thought that making peace with Blake would be my greatest challenge in the coming days. Could the two of us ever go back to before?
Perhaps it would be better to find a new route forward.
Opening a different cabinet, I rummaged through a set of charts until I found what I wanted. Then I slipped back out into the dusky night, taking a deep breath of the summer air: the diesel and the docks and the exhaust from the city, all of it so much fresher than the miasma in the captain’s cabin.
It was very late and I was deeply tired, so I nearly didn’t notice on my way toward the hatch—my hammock, already strung between the rail and the mast. A light quilt was folded neatly in the center, and on my pillow lay the sprig of seaweed that Kash had been wearing behind his ear. He must have known I wouldn’t come to his cabin. Or maybe he’d wanted me to know that he hadn’t confused hope with expectation. With a sigh, I slid down the ladder into the belly of the ship.
The Temptation hadn’t been built for trade, but comfort. Space usually given to guns or cargo had been fitted out with spacious cabins on either side of a long hall lined with sky-herring lamps. My eyes adjusted to their shifting light as I lingered at the base of the ladder, close to the galley at the stern. At the far end of the corridor, toward the prow of the ship, there was a door that closed off the little triangle of space behind the forecastle.
It had been a storage space once, cramped and uncomfortable—the worst place on the ship, especially in high seas when the waves slammed the prow and the Temptation dipped like a duck on the water. But when Kash had come aboard, I’d moved my things there to give him a proper room. How many times had I walked this hall? Today, it seemed impossibly long.
I hesitated again outside the makeshift cabin. What would I say to Blake? What questions did he have? The little fish in the nearest lamp swam to the glass, hoping to be fed, but the bee pollen was in the hold. Soft light shimmered along her scales, illuminating the grain of the wood, the scarring on the finish; it was an odd feeling, to knock on my own door.