Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(14)

She wanted to kiss him in that moment but settled for a quick, gentle stroke of fingers across his forehead. “And no one quite like you,” she said. “Allah be praised for that.”

He caught her hand as she tried to draw away. “Wait. Back in England you said . . . Well, I was hoping that you’d changed your mind and . . .”

“Decided to marry you?” She asked it in a brisk way and managed to keep her voice steady. It was what he’d asked her in England, just before the soldiers had broken in on them and everything had fallen apart. Of course, she thought. He asked because he was afraid we would lose each other then. That one of us might be lost forever. “What did I say, Dario?”

“You said you might,” he said. “I was hoping for a more definite answer. Given that we might still be facing our deaths. Or at least I might be, if I keep vomiting my stomach inside out.”

“Consider I’m giving you reason to survive.”

“Is that a yes?”

“That,” she said, “is a very definite might.”

He let go. He didn’t want to, she could see it, but she appreciated that he knew when to back off. And besides, she could see the nausea twisting in him again. She quickly rose and headed for the door as he groaned and wrapped his arms around the bucket.

Khalila found washcloths and soap, and once he’d emptied whatever small amount he had left to surrender in his stomach, she stripped off his shirt and helped him scrub off the sweat. A fresh shirt came out of a supply laid in for the crew—not Dario’s usual quality, but he could hardly complain—and she brought him water and made him drink until he finally collapsed to the pillow again. His color was better, and though his hair needed a thorough washing, he seemed more himself.

“I love you.” He sighed. “God help me.”

“If you love me, tell me what you were planning to accomplish by getting us captured and loaded on this ship,” she said. “Because you’re in no shape to carry it off now, and someone must.”

“Why do you think I had anything planned?”

“Because I’m not an idiot, and neither are you. Jess had his plan. Morgan had hers. What was yours?”

Dario swallowed, closed his eyes, and said, “Slight . . . problem with my plan. It was a bargain with Anit, and I’ve since determined that she’s gone back on it. She wasn’t supposed to deliver us to Alexandria, but it seems now she’s intent on doing just that.”

“Where were you planning for us to go, then?”

“Cadiz. Where we’d be met by envoys of my cousins.”

“Your . . . cousins?”

“The king and queen of Spain,” he said. “Well, I did tell you I was grand, didn’t I? The plan was that they would pay a wonderfully great ransom for all of us, Anit appeases her father, and we’d have royal support to continue on our journey. Spain and Portugal have broken with the Library, as have Wales and a few others. I think they will gladly give us everything we need.”

Khalila realized her eyebrows were raised—probably at the casual mention of Dario’s cousins—and left them that way. “And do you have an answer for how to put us back on that original plan?”

“Not presently,” he admitted. He put an arm over his eyes. “If only I could think instead of spewing . . .”

She patted him on the shoulder. “Lucky for you, you’re not the only one with a brain. Rest. Leave it to me.”

That got her an uncovered pair of brown eyes and an unexpected hint of vulnerability from him. For all his confidence—or arrogance, less charitably described—Dario knew the risks of this game they were playing. And the penalties. “Please be careful, madonna,” he told her. “For the love of Allah, be careful.”

“For the love of God, rest,” she said, and smiled to soothe his pride, then went to see the one person she least wanted to face.





CHAPTER FOUR




When she tapped lightly on Captain Niccolo Santi’s door, she was told immediately to enter. Not asleep as had been assumed, then. He was fully dressed, and clearly not as bad a sailor as Dario . . . not that she could imagine Santi being bad at very much. He had a drawn look and a shadow in his eyes, but he nodded briskly and indicated that she should take a seat on the single bed in the room. She refused politely and put her back to the wall; it helped to steady her. Santi rode the waves without a sign that he even thought about it.

“I’ve been waiting,” he said. “I should have guessed it’d be you. Were you elected, or did you volunteer?”

This wasn’t the Santi she knew, the one easy in his skin, who treated them all with a kind of paternal exasperation, at worst. Santi was the kind one, the one who wore his responsibilities with ease, while Wolfe snapped and barked at the best of times.

This Santi was sharp, aggressive, and she didn’t like it. Khalila ignored the question and said, “I’m surprised they haven’t locked you in.”

“I’m clearly not that dangerous. After all, I let them take me back at the Brightwell castle,” he said. “I let them take Chris.” She felt the self-directed anger behind that. Searing.

“Captain—”

He pushed that away with a slash of his hand. “What do you want?”