Page 185 of Seven Oars
His words cut through her fog, and her heart ached under the weight of his loss. It would take time for him to fully grasp the depth of his limitation. Longer still to adjust. If he even had that long…
“We should wait. Let your eyes heal.”
He squeezed her hand, calm and steady.
“My eyes will heal,” he promised.“But my vision’s gone. It’s over with, Rosamma.”
With effort, she pushed herself up on one elbow. Her voice was thick when she said,“Rest now. We’ll talk later.”
A ghost of a smile flickered around his mouth.
“My stardust. Your face is so clear in my mind. I can see you any time I want.”
She broke down then, sobbing like a child.
“Finn, what do we do now?”
“The same thing as before.” He sounded surprised.“Is there water in your eyes?”
“Yes, water… You can’t see!”
“It’s a setback,” he admitted and closed his eyes, his third eyelid sliding out to cover up the ghoulish sight his retinas had become. More pale blood squeezed out.“I know this place better than my own body. I’ve spent years here, angry, hating it, locked inside these walls. I don’t need to see it. I don’t want to see it. I can still take you away, Rosamma. And when I need sight, you will be my eyes.”
Rosamma’s sobs died down. She stared at Fincros’pure, uncompromising profile, made rugged by his scars. She felt his unwavering strength, even now. And his unshakable trust in her.
He frowned, as if sensing her intense regard.
“Don’t be afraid. There’s no fear, only faith.”
Phex’s words.
And just like that, it came to her: it was a defender motto.
He’d never let it go. Beneath the layers of pirate filth, his defender hearts still beat with the pure thrum of his upbringing.
We’re bred before we’re trained.
Unbreakable.
She clutched her thin covers in a feeble hold and crawled toward Father Zha-Ikkel. Clamping the metal collar around her throat, she let herself drift into darkness.
*****
Gro brought Rosamma food and more clothes to wear.
“I know, you don’t wear dead people’s cast-offs, but getting pneumonia isn’t going to help anyone.”
Reluctant but grateful, Rosamma pulled Sassa’s soft hoodie over her head before she checked again on Fincros.
He was in stasis, and his eyes were closed, still leaking, still in terrible shape. She placed her hands gently over them and sent pulses of energy into the ruined tissues. She prayed it had an effect, knowing that it probably wouldn’t.
She couldn’t magically repair what was broken.
He stirred a while later.
“Go to the Cargo Hold.” He nudged her.“This place’s too cold for you.”
“I can’t.” She pointed at the collar she wore, shorting Father Zha-Ikkel.
