In the Wake of the Ruined (The Siren Mage, #2)(43)

I set Nemea’s crown atop my head, took the key from the hook on the wall, and threw open the door. The gun deck bustled with sailors, some at work cleaning cannons, some at makeshift tables eating their evening meals. Lachlan sat at one of the tables nearest the hatch. When he saw me, he sprang to his feet.

He looked me up and down. “You look better.” Then, tentatively, he said, “You look mad.”

“I’m both.” But once I’d said it, it seemed a lie. In truth, I was crushed. My muscles were weak and tender, and I was plagued by a deep fatigue. My pain was gone, which left room for me to feel the rest of what ached. I started for the ladder that led to the main deck, where a heavy fog had fallen through and shrouded it in white.

“Where are you going?” Lachlan downed his ale and rushed to my side.

“To find Theodore.”

He barked a laugh and grabbed my arm. “No, no, no. Just this morning you made him bleed.”

“If you hadn’t—”

“You nearly killed his chancellor, Imogen.”

“After he stabbed me.”

“You are not to be left unattended ever, with anyone. And need I remind you how you begged me to prevent you from being alone with him?”

“And a fine job you’ve done of it!” I scanned the space around me. Strapped-down crates, hooks with tools and harpoons. From one of the nearby hooks, I took a loop of thin rope. “You’ll stand guard.” I shook the rope in his face. “And we’ll take precautions.”

Lachlan pressed a hand to the middle of his forehead. “What’s rope going to do?” He made sure his sword and dagger were secured and followed me up the ladder.

The main deck was a wall of white fog. From what I could tell, it was just past sunset, and blooms of swaying lantern light made the mist glow. I’d slept the day away. The strange music was louder up here, bent and twisted by the thick, damp air. A harp, a lute, a flute played somewhere to my right, sounding low and slightly off tempo.

The fog changed the laughter and voices of the people milling about the deck too, muffling their words and shielding their whispers from being easily heard. The shapes of courtiers dancing, of sailors tending lines, of groups in conversation were shadowy silhouettes for a brief moment, before the fog shifted and hid them once more.

I stepped toward the mainmast and stopped when I heard a peal of laughter and congratulations. Lachlan stood close at my side. “It’s the wedding feast, isn’t it?”

In Seraf, this custom was the same. The wedding feast was always held the day after the ceremony and consummation.

Bloody Gods.

“Mmm-hmm.” He gave me a tense and sidelong glance. “You sure you want to see him?”

Now that I’d taken in some air, I thought better of it. I feared my impulses—I feared Eusia—but if I meant to keep Theodore truly safe, and keep my heart from breaking further, I would need to set a hard line between us. “I’m sure.”

The ship moaned and dipped steeply over a wave. I reached for the mainmast, trying to find my balance, but instead of damp wood, I felt warm, callused fingers wrap around my hand. One moment I could make out Lachlan’s angular profile; the next there was only white. I was being led deep into the swirling fog, hidden amidst the revelers, until my back pressed into a cool wall.

Theodore was before me, ardent and looming.

His firm body pressed me harder into the wood. Warmth curled around me as he lowered his lips to my ear. “I thought making you angry might draw you out.” He pulled back, slowly, just far enough for our eyes to meet. “I’m sorry.”

My breath faltered completely. Even in the mist, his eyes were like emeralds caught in the sun. I could smell his soap and how it mingled with the scent of his skin. His attention bore down on me, breaths and body tight. He finally pulled farther away and let his gaze trickle down the front of my body.

Theodore’s face was a collection of hard angles and planes, and I’d always thought his mouth to be uncharacteristically soft in comparison. It opened and closed, his dark brow furrowed, as if he searched for, but could not find, the right words.

“It fits you perfectly,” he finally said, his voice betraying an emotion that I could not see on his face.

I shoved my fists against his hard chest, my hurt and anger blooming hot. He had no right taunting me with a gown like this. Making me wear something so thoughtfully wrought, with my feathers and his vines stitched together over my heart.

As if he could hear my thoughts, his features folded with an apology. “Look at you,” he mumbled to himself. His remorse wasn’t enough to stop him from drawing a slow finger across the edge of my neckline. His touch whispered against my skin, down the low cut of the bodice. He traced the embroidery. From leaf to feather and back again. It made my skin stipple. Made my lungs constrict and my heart kick up. It made that alarming thrum in my middle start again too.

Fear tumbled through me. “Stop it.”

His finger stilled, and then, after a heavy exhale, fell away.

Lachlan called through the fog. “Queen Imogen?”

I opened my mouth to call back, but Theodore covered it and touched his cheekbone to mine. “We need to speak alone.”

Every inch of my body began to spark. I mumbled against his palm, shaking my head. “It’s your wedding feast.”