Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(54)

Rian is studying me. “Have I made you uncomfortable?”

“Oh. No.” I take a hurried sip of coffee, prepared for it to be terrible.

Heavy warmth swells over my tongue, and my eyebrows go up. It’s not like dirt at all. It’s a rich, milky sweetness with hints of cinnamon. I think I like it better than the chocolate creams I used to share with Karri.

Rian smiles at my reaction. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ve spoiled me for tea forever,” I say.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He takes a sip of his own. “I have to check the rest of the rigging if you’d like to walk with me. But you’re welcome to stay out of the wind if you’d rather.”

I imagine all the ways Corrick would spin this into a trick or a trap or a manipulation, the way he brushed off Laurel Pepperleaf’s praise of my skills.

But then I consider the way the captain sent me into his stateroom without hesitation. The way he talked about wanting Ostriary to rebuild, or the way he wants to make sure Kandala gets the medicine we so desperately need. The way he so openly professes a desire to help everyone—not just whoever might line his pockets.

The way he’s offering to leave me here, among his private belongings, while he attends to his duties—without one single moment of hesitation.

The hell with your cynicism, Corrick.

“I’d love to walk,” I say.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Tessa

Rian seems to check every knot, every chain, every bolt, every plank. He could tell me he knows every stitch of every sail, and I’d believe him. As we stop at each mast, he stares up at the complicated assortment of ropes and chains and netting, then hands me his cup while he climbs to sort out some tangle or check some issue he’s spotted. I keep listening to his breathing, looking for any signs of the fever sickness of Kandala, but I hear nothing. No cough, no signs of fever.

When he climbs down from the second mast, I say, “Your crew was in Kandala for a few days. Has anyone shown signs of illness?”

“None at all.” He glances at me. “Are you concerned?”

“I was surprised when you were the only one on deck. I didn’t realize the captain himself would be checking each sail.”

He shrugs and takes his cup. “Usually Sablo does it, but they all worked late into the night to get ahead of this storm. We run a lean crew, so I’d rather they take extra sleep where they can find it.”

That must mean he took the morning duties for them.

No wonder Rian’s crew is so loyal.

It rattles around in my head with the way he asked about whether Lochlan is one of Corrick’s people, too.

“I can help,” I say as we walk to the next mast. “Wherever you need.” I hesitate, wondering if this offer is out of place. “I mean—I’m not a sailor. But if you’re shorthanded.”

He looks startled, but he grins. “Sure.” He nods toward the last mast. “Climb on up and check those ropes for me.”

“All right.” I hold out my cup.

He loses the smile, and for a heartbeat of time, I expect him to say, I was joking, because he very clearly was.

But he takes the cup, and he says, “Look for signs of fraying, or anywhere it might be fouled. The sails—”

“Fouled?” I say.

“Tangled. The sails should each hang straight from the beam.” He points.

“Right.” I nod. Then, just as I saw him do on the other masts, I hook my fingers in the ropes, put my foot on the first rung, and begin to climb.

“It’s very high,” he warns.

“I’m not afraid of heights. I thought you heard the rumors about Tessa Cade scaling the walls of the Royal Sector.”

That grin is back. “I did indeed. Go ahead then.”

I begin to climb—but I quickly learn that this is very different from scaling a wall on solid ground. When I’m fifteen feet up, the wind is blasting at my cheeks, pulling tendrils free of my braid. The boat dips without warning, my foot slips off a rung, and the world spins. I catch myself in the netting, clutching tight. My breath is a wild rush in my lungs, my heart slamming in my chest, and I expect Rian to call me back down.

Instead, he calls, “Take a minute. Get your bearings. Look at the horizon.”

His voice is steady. Patient. Unworried. I do as he says, and it helps.

My foot finds the next rung, and I keep climbing. I’m slower now, less confident. This seems higher than the sector walls ever did. If I let go, it seems that I would fall upward and lose myself in the morning sky.

By the time I’m two-thirds of the way there, I chance a glance down, and somehow there’s only water below me. I suck in a sharp breath. It must be an optical illusion caused by the sway of the ship—but everything seems so far. The ship rights itself for a moment, then tips again in the wind. I cling to the rigging and the mast and close my eyes, but that’s worse. I dip and sway and grip tight. For a minute. An hour. I have no idea.

“Come now, Miss Cade, you can’t be tired already.”

His voice is right in front of me, and I gasp. My eyes snap open to find Rian right there on the opposite side of the rigging, his fingers hooked in the same web of ropes. He’s not clinging for dear life like I am. He looks like he could stay up here all day.