Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(85)

“In all truth,” I say, a bit chagrined, “I expected to find more on the way.”

He doesn’t smile. “Corrick boarded that ship because he doesn’t want to disappoint you. Before we learned of Violet’s claims, I think Thorin was ready to walk every trail of the Wilds until he found you. Tessa stood by your side because she believes you truly want to better Kandala.” He pauses. “Cowardice does not breed this kind of loyalty.”

“Yet you believe I hide behind my brother.”

“No. I believe you allow his actions to speak for you.”

I almost flinch.

“Forgive me,” he begins.

“Don’t apologize,” I say. “I’m glad you’re being forthright with me.”

And I am, I realize. I’ve spent months—no, years—guarding my thoughts and my actions, not allowing a shred of vulnerability to reveal itself. Not even in front of Corrick.

How did I seem?

Terrified.

I study him. When the palace was attacked, Quint took an arrow that was meant for me. “You stayed by my side, too, Quint.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

I run a hand over my face and sigh. “If only I could convince the people to be equally loyal.”

“Well,” says Quint, “perhaps you can.”

“How?”

“You’re not a coward,” he says. “You’re not afraid to walk among them.” Quint’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Corrick is gone. Perhaps it’s time to speak for yourself.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Corrick

By midday on the third day, we’ve lost sight of land.

We haven’t lost sight of those ships, though. Once the river dumped into the ocean, the other ships began to drift away, and now those two are the only to remain.

Captain Blakemore is suspicious. I’ve seen him in conversation with his lieutenant as they share a spyglass.

I’m suspicious, too. But it seems that we’ve grown so wary of each other that we know questions and demands won’t yield a single word of truth—or a single word we’d believe, anyway.

Now that we’re in the ocean, the water surrounding the ship has turned to a vivid blue that stretches on for miles, and the winds here are quieter than they were on the river. The storm seems to have moved off to the east, granting us starry skies at night, and brilliant sunlight by day. It’s hard to believe that our ships often wreck on the way to Ostriary, because the seas here are so placid and calm that the ship hardly seems to sway.

On any other journey, I might be enjoying myself.

I’m not the only one who’s grown irate. As the days have passed, the attitude among the crew has shifted. A weight seems to have settled over the Dawn Chaser, and I can’t quite identify it. Tempers are shorter. Voices are sharper. Lochlan is still working with the crew—and of all of us, he seems the most at ease. I resent him for it. Even Rian has been keeping to his stateroom more than usual today, talking to Gwyn and Sablo, and I’ve seen them peer at the ships on the horizon more than once.

“They’re growing uneasy,” I say quietly to Rocco at dusk, when the others have disappeared belowdecks to get food.

“I can tell,” he says. “That makes me uneasy.”

Me too.

Members of the crew have begun to form a circle on the widest part of the deck with their dinner plates, which means I should retire to my own quarters. But then Captain Blakemore comes up the steps with Tessa by his side, and I stop short.

She looks as beautiful in a vest and trousers as she did in the elegant finery she wears in the palace. Maybe more so, because it reminds me of Tessa in the Wilds, sneaking through the darkness to deliver medicine. My heart kicks at my ribs like it wants to punish me, and I probably deserve it.

The calculating side of me specifically told her to talk to him, but right now, my heart wants me to go drag her away.

The captain sees me looking, and a derisive spark lights in his eye. He glances at Tessa, but his voice is loud enough for me to hear. “Come sit,” he says. “Everyone’s due for a bit of entertainment.” His eyes shift back to me. “Care to play a game, Your Highness?”

No.

But I force a smile onto my face and say, “Of course.”

They sit near the main mast, but I have no desire to torture myself further, so I choose a seat near Lieutenant Tagas and her little girl. Kilbourne is on deck as well, lingering to my left, but he doesn’t sit.

“What’s the game?” I say to Gwyn.

“Blade and Brawl,” she says.

I cast a glance down at Anya. “Well, that sounds a lot more exciting than knucklebones,” I say.

She makes a face at me, but her mother says, “It can be. It’s mostly to keep the crew from getting too antsy. Nothing’s worse than a bored sailor in the middle of the ocean.”

Anya tears her bread in half and offers it to me. “Here, Corrick. You don’t have any dinner.”

It’s so odd to hear a child say my real name, so I smile, charmed, and take the bread. She’s wearing a short-sleeved dress, and those scars down her arms are very visible.

It was war.

But she’s a child.

Maybe that’s my own naiveté talking. I tear a small piece of the bread and give her back the rest.