In the Wake of the Ruined (The Siren Mage, #2)(23)

We neared Theodore’s stateroom, where a pair of gold-armored guards stood watch. Lachlan kept his hat low and picked up a bucket of seawater. “Mariner Cadet.” He pushed his voice through his nose, morphing it into something pinched and whining.

The ridiculousness of it made me clamp down on the inside of my cheek.

He shoved the bucket into my hand. “I expect this passageway to be swabbed by sunrise.”

I lowered myself, very slowly, to my knees, grateful to the dark for hiding my pained grimace.

“Well, come on…” Lachlan threw his hands into the air. “Get the holystone. Start scrubbing.”

Slowly, I pulled the stone from the bucket and swiped it across the deck in front of me.

“Not like that.” Lachlan knelt in front of me and grabbed the stone. He scrubbed vigorously, but as he did, he whispered low. “At the end of this passage, there’s a ledge that runs the full length of the stateroom windows. It’s a small leap to get onto it, but it’s wide and sturdy. At least some of the windows will be unlocked.” He threw the stone into the bucket, sending water splashing over my trousers. “By sunrise, cadet!”

Then he rose quickly and made his way back toward the scuttle hatch, off to wherever it was he’d hidden his armor.

The guards in front of the stateroom door hadn’t batted an eye. I looked behind me, down the passageway, where three small cabin doors were tucked. A gust of salt air raced through the tight walls, and I tried to let it settle my searing nerves.

Hands shaking, I swiped the holystone over the deck a few times, dipped it back into the bucket, then dragged myself deeper into the passageway. The pain in my stomach swelled, but I moved myself toward the back end of the ship until I reached a sliver of railing and saw the glow from the bank of Theodore’s windows.

The wide ledge Lachlan had mentioned was illuminated and the gap to reach it was narrower than I’d expected, but I couldn’t bring myself to move yet. I didn’t want to see what was inside. The window mullions were ornate and heavy, easy enough to grab hold of if the ship rolled too steeply.

I pulled in a slow breath. Get Halla, get Halla, get Halla. I blew it back out and reached my leg out toward the ledge. My pain took a long moment to ebb, and then I was inching across, carefully, until I reached the edge of the heavy drapes that hung within.

A few of the windows were ajar to let in the night air. The wound in my stomach gave a deep ache when I crouched down to my knees, but I held still and quieted my racing breaths. From my vantage, I could see only half of the cabin. The door, unbarred. The drink cabinet built into the wall, Theodore’s cluttered desk, the gilded armoire.

My fluttering nerves spread through my chest. When I heard Theodore’s low rumble of a voice, I stopped breathing altogether.

“You must be tired,” he said, quietly.

“Yes.” The word was sweet and meek, and then Halla added quickly, in a too-bright tone, “But I don’t need to sleep just yet.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Theodore grunted, but I barely heard it above the thudding of my own heart. “I expect you’re feeling ill.”

“The sea has been gentle,” Halla said. “Thankfully. I’m quite well.”

I cursed Lachlan for taking so long to draw Theodore out of the cabin. When I finally forced my eyes open, I could see Theodore pulling open the drink cabinet and pouring himself a full glass of wine. Tension seemed to coil through him as he took a deep gulp. He’d removed his crown, and once he lowered the glass from his lips, he raked his fingers through his dark locks.

I’d thought I’d memorized the planes of his face, the timbre of his voice, for they incessantly inhabited my thoughts, but looking at him now—the slant of his strong nose, the hard angles juxtaposed with his soft mouth, the guarded way he stared, and that crease between his brows—it was as if I was seeing him for the first time.

I felt the same awe, the same terrible weightlessness that made me feel like my feet left the ground.

Halla walked toward him, and I had to stifle a sharp gasp. Her white hair hung loose and straight down her back. The white binding gown she’d worn was now gone and she stood before Theodore in a tissue-thin shift. She reached up to slip one of its straps down her shoulder.

“Halla.” Theodore cast his eyes to the floor, shook his head. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

Even through her gentle accent, Halla’s voice was as fine-edged as a good blade. “It is our wedding night.”

“It is.” His voice was austere and precise.

“And we had a pact.” Halla’s hands went to fists on her sides. “You agreed. You signed the contract.”

I watched on as if paralyzed. Halla started again on her shift, pulling one arm out of its strap to reveal a small, pert breast. A heartbeat later the shift rippled to the floor like settling mist.

The details of the scene cut through my senses like a staccato, discordant song. Theodore taking two steps away from her, toward the bank of windows. The pure white of Halla’s willowy limbs. The angry dip of her brows as she followed after him. Across her torso, etched into her skin like tally marks, were dozens and dozens of scars. Each was about the length of my thumb, thin and uniform.

Embarrassment flashed across her face when she noticed Theodore staring at them, but she didn’t cower. She reached for Theodore’s hand and brought it to her ribs, brushing his fingers over the old wounds. “My mother said that you would not mind them.” She guided his hand higher still, until his fingers brushed the underside of her breast.