In the Wake of the Ruined (The Siren Mage, #2)(14)

“No.” I groaned. “No time.”

“Uh-uh.” He glared down at me. “I’m taking over now. A crew this big is easy to hide in. I’ll get us uniforms, and then we’re getting you fixed up.” He held up a hand when I tried to open my mouth. “There is absolutely no point in speaking.”

“Lach—”

“What?”

“My wound…” I pulled in a scraping breath. “It’s not a normal injury. It’s… from a spell.”

He was quiet for a moment. Only the ship’s groans and the far-off chatter from the main deck could be heard. “A spell. Were you actually stabbed?”

I nodded, but his confusion and burgeoning questions were clear. “Eusia taught me a spell to keep myself alive. Through one of the nekgya.”

His brows dipped low, his tone crackling with sudden cold. “So glad you told me now.” He blew out an agitated breath. “Can you walk?”

“If I hadn’t done it, I would have—”

“I asked if you can walk.”

I shook my head. “I’ll need more nepenthe.”

He rummaged through the sack on his belt and pulled out the second little vial he’d taken from the armory. “Here.” He shoved it into my hand, fuming, then rose. He gave me a quick and scathing once-over. “I’d tell you to stay put, but you don’t have much of a choice, do you?” He trained his gaze on the main deck. “I’ll be right back.”

The night embraced me as I lay there, contemplating the best way to share the other bit of information I’d withheld from him. I expected that when he learned Eusia could access my lure, he’d want to pitch me overboard.

My fingers shook as I tried to lift the little bottle of nepenthe to my lips, but the plucking of a harp stilled me. Of course there would be music at a wedding, but I was stunned to hear it amid the ship’s creaks and the hush of the wind, nonetheless. The first notes called through the air, winding high, then settling over me like a gentle mist.

I gasped and let the still-stoppered vial of nepenthe roll from my grip.

It was the song Theodore and I had danced to the night we’d met. Instantly, I was transported. I pictured his austere, beautiful face tipped down to glower at me. I could almost feel the heat and gentle guidance of his hand at the middle of my back. Green eyes like summer leaves after a storm; a crease between black brows that belied how often he scowled.

It was a new kind of pain that unspooled through my body now. It was softer and yet somehow more devastating than the pain from my wound. It was quieter, yet more terrifying than every obstacle that lay before me. It dizzied me, and I let my eyes fall shut as a quiet song filled my throat. Eyes stinging, I hummed along, trying to focus on the swaying ship, on the waves fizzing against the hull.

I woke to a boot tapping the bottom of my sodden shoe.

“Did you die?” Lachlan whispered.

A groan scraped my throat. “Not yet.” I cracked open my eyes to see him standing above me with a low burning lantern in one hand and a neatly folded sailor’s uniform in the other. He’d changed into a clean uniform himself. The light caught on the brass buttons down the front of his deep green coat.

“Excellent.” He dropped the uniform in front of me. A coat like his, a pair of black trousers, a shirt, and a tricorn hat. “Get dressed quickly. The ship’s healer is on their way.”

But I couldn’t move, save for the arm that I attempted to extend toward the vial of nepenthe I’d dropped.

He stooped and snatched up the shirt. “Bloody—I’m going to have to help you get dressed, aren’t I?” He swiped a hand down his face and knelt at my side. I winced and shook, trying to position myself to remove my tunic as best I could. When my hem finally lifted over my stomach, revealing my wound, Lachlan reared back with a grimace and a curse.

The wound was large, covering the entire area between my navel and ribs. But what made it particularly appalling was the way the edges of the kelp had fused to my skin in a char-black seam. It had sealed in the blood-soaked sand and viscera, and the flesh ringing the dark edge had become an angry, venous red.

Lachlan sat horror-struck. “What in the name of the dead Gods did you do, Imogen?”

I ripped at the buttons of my tunic, and though it was agony to do so, peeled it fully from my body. Sitting there in only my binding and trousers, I met Lachlan’s stare. “I survived.”

His look softened somewhat as he held open the uniform shirt for me to slip my arms in.

A heavy grunt sounded at the forecastle’s ladder. “What’s this?”

I snapped the shirt closed over my front and looked up to see a burly sailor with a dark beard and downturned eyes glaring at us. The musicians’ practice had drowned out the sound of his footsteps.

Lachlan cleared his throat and stood. “I was helping my sister—”

“Your sister?” The sailor threw his head back on a barking laugh. “Ain’t no one been found helping their sister like this. You know there’s no fraternizing on the ship.”

Lachlan made an easy gesture with his hands. “While I’m sure there’s been someone in our great history who’s… uh… fraternized with their sister, I can assure you that it’s not me.”

The sailor gave a derisive snort and stooped at my side. “It’s to the boatswain for your flogging, then, cadet.” His hand clamped around my upper arm and he hauled me up with a jerk.