Lady Smoke (Ash Princess Trilogy #2)(31)
“I’m fine,” he says, though he realizes how false it sounds. “I will be fine,” he amends. “Nothing fatal, nothing time and care won’t fix.”
Heron exhales slowly, shaking his head. “I can fix them.”
“I won’t take anything more from you,” S?ren says. “It’s some cracked ribs, a sprained ankle. I’ve had worse. The rest of the world heals from injuries like these just fine without magic.”
For a moment Heron says nothing, only stares at S?ren like he isn’t quite sure what game he’s playing. Finally he shrugs.
“You’ll need some help with the bandages,” he says. “Not to mention clean clothes. Mine will be too big, but Blaise’s will be too small, so you’ll have to make do.”
S?ren nods. “Thank you.”
Art looks at S?ren for a few seconds, as if she’s trying to decide something. “I know where my mother keeps the spare clothing. I can steal a couple sets for you tomorrow, and some boots.”
“Thank you,” S?ren says again.
Blaise doesn’t look at S?ren, even when he speaks to him. “You can take my bunk. I’m spending my nights here with Theo anyway.”
I want to pummel Blaise for the way he says that, like he’s staking some kind of claim on me. Like a dog urinating on a favorite tree. I open my mouth to say as much, but S?ren interrupts.
“Is that wise?” he asks, concerned. His eyes dart to the others, brow furrowing. “I just mean…with everything we talked about,” he adds to me.
I bite my lip, glancing at Blaise, who is slowly putting the pieces together, then to Artemisia and Heron. I remember my talk with S?ren when we were on our way to the Smoke, how he told me he thought Blaise was a berserker and I told him he was wrong, that it wasn’t possible, even when I believed it might be. Heron puzzled it out on his own and I would be surprised if Artemisia hasn’t done the same, but it isn’t something the lot of us have ever acknowledged.
“You’re wrong. Blaise isn’t dangerous,” I say after a moment, looking at Blaise as I say it. I half expect S?ren to protest but he doesn’t. Artemisia doesn’t ask what we’re talking about and a quick glance her way confirms that she’s not having trouble deciphering what isn’t being said.
“It’s been a long day for all of us,” I say after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “Heron, please get S?ren something to sleep in for tonight. Blaise, show him the way to your room. Art, see if you can charm whoever’s working in the kitchen into giving you a few extra pieces of hardtack and a canteen of water. We’ll discuss more tomorrow.”
* * *
—
I have just enough time to change into my nightgown and swipe a damp towel over my face before Blaise returns, expression drawn tight. It should be unreadable, but I know him well enough to see the anger hiding in the corners of his mouth. It’s easy to guess what put it there.
“I didn’t tell him,” I say before he can accuse me. “He’s seen berserkers up close before; he knows the symptoms better than any of us.”
His mouth tightens even more but he nods. “And Heron and Artemisia know as well?”
I shrug. “Heron mentioned it. Artemisia hasn’t said anything to me, but she seemed to understand what S?ren was alluding to and she didn’t look surprised by it.”
“Everyone knows, then.” He laughs, but there’s no joy to the sound. The walls and floor of the cabin suddenly thrum to life, beating like an erratic heart—like Blaise’s heart now, I’d imagine. At first, I think I’m imagining it, but when I place a hand on the wall, the thrumming grows stronger and my own heartbeat quickens. Blaise’s Earth Gift, I realize with a twisting stomach. It’s connecting with the wood of the ship, affecting it, though he doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t even notice, his eyes fixed only on me.
It’s a subtle enough tremor now, but he started an earthquake once. How easily could he turn the ship into splinters?
I swallow my panic and try to keep my voice calm and soothing. “Blaise,” I say, locking my eyes onto his. “They understand that it isn’t like that. They know better than to be afraid of you.”
Even as I say the words, though, I know they aren’t true. I might know Blaise better than anyone, but in this moment I am afraid of him. Not Blaise—not necessarily—but what he’s capable of. What he can do without even meaning to. I force myself to breathe, to speak softly. I don’t want to be afraid of him, but fear races through me all the same.
He would never hurt me, I remind myself, but fear is not a thing to be controlled by logic.
Blaise catches himself, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths until the room stills once more. Even when it does, I can’t bring myself to relax. I hear S?ren’s voice again in my mind, telling me that Blaise is dangerous. He’s not, I argue to myself. Even if he loses his temper from time to time, he’s always been in control enough to stop it before it becomes serious. Blaise said it himself: his gift might not feel like a blessing, but it doesn’t feel like mine madness either.
He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and hesitates for a moment before some of the tension leaves his body. “If Dragonsbane finds out,” he says after a moment, his voice so quiet I can barely hear him, “she won’t let me stay on the ship. Assuming she doesn’t have me killed on the spot, she’ll exile me.”