Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(28)

The part of her brain which was a healer screamed she needed water. Not ale. Not whiskey. Water. Fresh, clean water that would hydrate her body. There was so much water surrounding them, and none of it was safe to drink. She licked her dry lips and wished for death.

“Sorcha! I need you away from the railing!”

She lifted her head and tried not to shake. “Can’t do that, Captain.”

“Now!”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t even move.”

A wall of dark skin and beaded hair stalked towards her. “When I give you an order girl, you best be following it. Get up.”

“No.”

“Get up!”

Sorcha leaned over the edge of the railing and prayed to whatever gods were listening. Take her now. Make it end, she didn’t care how. If only she could stop throwing up for just a few moments, she would consider herself blessed.

Manus grabbed the back of her skirt and yanked her up. Her knees shook, muscles quaked, body bowed as she retched.

“Enough!” he shouted. “We are sailing directly into that storm I showed you and I will not have you wrapped around the railing! The Fae wanted you in Hy-brasil, and that is where you are going. Now get back to my quarters!”

He released his hold, and she fell onto her hands and knees. “If I could stand to be in that room with that horrible raven then I would be there!”

“Raven?” Manus shook his head. “Damned thing can’t leave well enough alone. I don’t care who’s sharing the room with you. You will be out of sight until we are through the storm.”

“Why can’t I stay on deck?” She looked up at him, eyes wide and skin pale. “I’ll stay out of the way. The fresh air helps.”

“I’m sure it does, pretty thing. But that storm is going to hit us hard. Waves will crash right over the deck, and at least in the cabin you can hold onto the bed. Make sure you grip the posts tight. Don’t let go until I come for you.”

He held his hand out for her to take. Sorcha eyed it as though it were a snake which might bite. Going back in that cabin would make her vomit even more violently than before.

But she didn’t want to end up in the ocean during a storm, either. Sighing, she slapped her hand onto his. “I hate the ocean.”

Manus chuckled. “So many people do. She’s a cruel mistress, and a temptress when she wants to be.”

“A tempest you mean?” she asked while stumbling to the cabin.

“Well that, too, but it’s unlikely we’ll see a tempest while out here.”

“What do you call that storm then?”

He opened the door and shoved her through. “I call that a widow maker. Stay safe.”

Manus slammed the door so hard the floor quaked. The raven flapped its wings, slapping them against the table in anger.

“Yes,” she murmured. “I agree. The man is charming, but he’s also rude.”

The ship tilted at a drastic angle. The entire frame shook with the impact of the bow hitting the water. Swearing, Sorcha tripped and landed on her hands and knees again.

“Apparently, he wasn’t joking,” she muttered.

Standing proved impossible as the ship rocked back and forth. Moaning with seasickness and fear, she crawled to the bed. Her hands fisted in the dark blankets which slid off the frame rather than pulling her up onto it.

Sorcha curled her fingers around a post and hauled herself up. Her stomach heaved again. There was nothing to vomit, but she still leaned over the edge of the bed.

Another great wave tossed the ship against the hard walls of the ocean. Sorcha’s pack thumped hard against the wall, and a stone weight on the captain’s desk fell onto the floor with a heavy crack.

She squeezed her eyes shut and hugged a pillow to her chest. There was nothing she could do but wait out the storm. She couldn’t go out on the deck and help, she didn’t know how. There were no men who needed healing, not yet. All she could to do was follow orders and stay out of the way.

It went against every fiber of her being not to help, but she could stay where she was.

She heard the shouts before the ship rose, straight as a tree. She clutched the posts of the bed and whispered prayers.

“Please,” she called out. “I do not wish to die so far from my homeland, from my family, from the earth. Faeries of the water and sky, help us.”

The raven took flight, cawing its agitation and anger. The ship shifted again and landed hard on the waves which seemed to turn to stone. Sorcha screamed.

One of the posts snapped with a harsh crack. The wooden piece went flying into the air, tossed by the waves and their uncontrolled jouncing. Someone hit the door to the cabin hard, the frame vibrating with the man’s weight.

Sorcha reached out her arms. “If we’re going to die together, I might as well name you. Bran!”

The raven’s head snapped towards her, as if it recognized the name.

“Come here!”

The ship rolled again, and the man leaning against the door shrieked as thunderous water ripped him away. Sorcha watched the handle rattle and whispered a prayer for the man to remain on the ship. Anything to keep them all safe.

Bran darted towards her as the ship crested another wave. Sorcha locked her arms around him and held him close to her chest. One hand gently stroked his breast feathers, the other clutched the nearest post and held on for dear life.