“Let’s get one thing square between us, Trouble.” Faolan tips my chin up with a finger until I see nothing but his eyes. “We exchanged vows. There were witnesses. We’re bloody handfasted, and not a damned person can contest that.” He leans closer. “We arewed.”
I don’t blink. Faolan watches me for a long minute—long enough that I start to wonder if he means what he says, or if it’s another game to him. I’m leaning toward the latter when his gaze drops to my lips. “Until we find the island, anyway.” He brushes his thumb across my lower lip before turning sharply around.
“Brona! We’ve a full hull to trade and a ring to find. Set course for Aisling’s Cove. We should be able to reach it by nightfall. I’ll send word to Kiara there to clear up the mess about Maccus’s fleet, then we’ll set off to the Scath-Díol first thing the morning after, aye?”
“Aye, Captain.”
Faolan turns before I can ask. “The Shadow Exchange. It’s a black market—the very same I gambled at when I won my daggers and lost your grandmother’s ring. Whichever of the three traders took it, we’re likely to find them there.”
“All right.”
He studies my face. Reaches out a hand, then lets it drop warily to his side. “Get some rest.”
I do not move until the bodies and smoke are well out of sight.
Twenty-Eight
Aisling’s Cove is lit by an eternal sun.
As our boats glide through the tall grasses surrounding a narrow canal at dusk, I shudder beneath its unnatural kiss. Crafted of sand glass mixed with Bruidin flame and blood, the fires within are meant to last an eternity. A gift from Ríona Kiara to her lover, or so Faolan says.
In truth, its heat is stifling after weeks spent on the open sea—the air thick, drenched in flowers.
“Shade’s realm, look at the state of you.”
I glance up to find Nessa holding Brona’s chin aloft, her neck gleaming several angry shades of purple.
Brona rolls her eyes and pushes Nessa’s hand away. “What of yourself? Was it the axe that nearly took your arm off, or a sword?”
“Axe.” Nessa grunts as she examines the ugly split at the seam of her shoulder, still weeping blood. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
Brona snorts. “For now. Watch yourself—you’ll be singing a different tune the second Quinn or Colm show their faces at the palace. Carrying on until they stitch you up.”
Nessa grits her teeth as the currach scrapes rock, close to shore.“Can you blame me? Between her breasts and his thighs, I’ll forget I ever faced down death today.”
Brona raises an imagined bottle in the air, and Nessa clicks her tongue as she taps Brona’s knuckles with her own. “Sláinte.”
They’re laughing, but I can’t blink hard enough to rid my mind of that man’s mangled face. Can’t stop opening and closing the hand Faolan healed, my thumb pressing the place a scar once marked. All I can do is haul the oars over and over again—a task they’ve finally allowed me, considering the state of Nessa’s arm.
“The Wolf Tamer’s a sight for once as well. You all right there, Saoirse?”
I jump, rocking the boat and causing Nessa to hiss in pain. “Sorry. Yes, I’m…fine. Alive.”
“The best thing you can be after an attack like that,” Nessa says, her voice wavering as she wraps a hand over her wound, glaring just ahead to where Lorcan, Tavin, and Faolan climb out to pull their currach ashore. “Och, but that’s going to hurt like a bitch.”
“Brace yourself,” Brona says, gripping the side of the boat with one hand and Nessa’s elbow with the other. I follow her lead, my grip clumsy—body shaken and sore after the scramble belowdecks. But it’s not more than three seconds before Lorcan’s lifting Nessa out as the boat runs aground.
I’ve just made it to my feet when Faolan appears, wrapping his hands around my waist.
“Easy,” he murmurs, lifting me clear of the water with his good arm. But his touch doesn’t linger this time, eyes cataloging every injury on myself and the crew as he helps them to shore. He smiles when they tease him for acting the mother hen, but it’s fleeting—gone by the time they’ve started down a well-hewn path.
“Tav?”
The quartermaster lingers beside Nessa at a break in the tall grass, cocking his head to one side. Half his face is coated in blood from a gash just above his eye, but like the others, he doesn’t seem horrified. “Aye?”
Faolan tosses him a leather pouch. “Drinks on me. Send one of Aisling’s girls out for some healer’s supplies—it was bloody stupid to risk sailing this long without them. We’ll do a proper run next time we’re near Frozen Hearth. And pass on the messages we discussed to Kiara.”
Tavin cuts his eyes to me, brows meeting in the middle. “You’re not coming, Captain?”