Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(99)

‘Bail!’ Dion shouted. ‘I’ll take the tiller!’

Chloe threw herself into her task and, working together, they struggled to stay alive.





48


‘We’re heading north,’ Chloe said.

‘Yes, but just because we’re heading north now doesn’t mean we have been the whole time.’

‘Which way would you have us go, then?’

‘North,’ Dion said. ‘We’ll come to Galea eventually.’

Chloe scowled, but rather than reply, she scooped another bucket of water out of the bottom and threw it over the side. She filled bucket after bucket, working ceaselessly even though her shoulders and back ached.

She saw that Dion appeared comfortable enough, holding the tiller with one hand while shielding his eyes with the other as he scanned the horizon. He seemed to think she was only good for bailing out the rapidly filling vessel, even though it was her hand at the tiller that first guided them through the worst of the storm.

As her eyes narrowed he suddenly called out. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Come and take the tiller. You’ve worked hard enough. You deserve a rest.’

For some reason his words only made her angrier. How was it that he was the one who decided when she could rest? She rose to her feet and stumbled as she passed him but he grabbed her around the waist and steadied her. Chloe muttered her thanks and got out of his way while she made her way to the stern and Dion went to the place she’d just vacated. Settling herself at the tiller, she felt relieved that the waves had now subsided, though the wind still occasionally sent heavy gusts that made the boat list to the side alarmingly. She watched Dion work, and had to admit that he was managing to get more water out of the bottom than she had, but she frowned when she saw more water well up to take its place.

Dion looked back at her and spoke gravely. ‘There’s a leak somewhere, and it’s getting worse.’

Chloe could see concern written in the lines of his forehead, along with the fatigue she felt gnawing at her own senses, dulling her wits and blurring her vision. They’d been sleeping in shifts, but with water in the bottom of the boat they were both needed at the same time more often than not.

Dion glanced back at her as he bailed, and suddenly spoke to fill the silence. ‘Tell me something about yourself.’

‘Ever the curious sailor?’

He gave a slight smile at the reference to his secret message. ‘What do you miss most about home?’

‘My family,’ Chloe said, staring out to sea. The sun sparkled off the blue water, but all she could think about was how deep it was, how much water there was between the hull and the ocean floor far below. ‘My sister and my father.’

‘How old is your sister? Sophia, isn’t it?’

She nodded. ‘She’s eleven. I’ve taken care of her since . . .’ She trailed off.

‘Since?’

‘Since my mother died of fever. It was three years ago. She just . . . wasted away. I learned healing arts at the temple, and I took care of her. But even the priestess said that sometimes there’s nothing you can do.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Dion said. ‘I . . . I didn’t mean to bring up old wounds.’

‘Not so old,’ said Chloe, still watching the waves. ‘I still think about her.’

Another silence grew, broken only by the splash of the bucket, the snap of wind in the sail, the groaning of the vessel’s planking, and the waves pounding at the Calypso’s hull.

Chloe glanced at Dion when he wasn’t looking. The constant wind had blown his sandy brown hair into complete disarray and his time on the sea had tanned the skin of his face a deep brown. His lips were burned and there was stubble on his chin, but it was a square jaw, and his body was lean and toned. He didn’t have the build of a swordsman but he looked strong. He wasn’t a warrior, but he was a fighter.

He moved tirelessly as he bent down, filled the bucket with water, and tossed it over the side. He looked like he would keep going for hours, and she knew he could.

When she had been captured, taken from her home, Dion was the only one who had come looking for her. He had sailed across the great expanse of the Maltherean Sea, to a place he had never been to, for her.

‘And you?’ Chloe asked. ‘Do you miss your family?’

He turned to her as if surprised she’d asked him a direct question. ‘I do. My older brother, Nikolas, was always good to me. He gave me that bow, and without it I’d be dead many times over. He tried to teach me to fight with a sword, but’—Dion shrugged—‘I never could master it. So he introduced me to the bow.’

‘You use that bow as if you were born to it,’ Chloe said.

‘Plenty of practice.’ Dion grinned. He hauled another bucket of water over the side. ‘But my father doesn’t think archery is a fitting skill for the son of a king. So I searched for something else to do. Once again, it was Nikolas who gave me into the care of someone, an old sailor. I found I liked the sea. No’—he shook his head—‘I love the sea.’

Chloe thought again about the vast open space they were in, at the mercy of the remorseless weather, waves, and wind. ‘Even when there’s a storm bearing down and a dragon on your tail?’

He laughed. ‘Even then. We made it, didn’t we? And despite what you may think, we wouldn’t have made it without the both of us.’