Page 93 of Close Quarter
He was able to draw the sword five more times before his hand turned numb. It had gotten easier and quicker. Not as fast as Silas, but his final draw before he dropped the sword onto the cabin floor and cupped his frozen hand against his chest had been deemed acceptable by the rat- bastard-fae he loved.
Silas took Rhys's hand and held it between his. "That's why speed is important."
"Yeah, I get that now." Rhys snorted. "You could have warned me."
Silas shrugged and let go of his hand. "It wouldn't have helped. The first time is pretty much the same for everyone." He bent to retrieve the sword but swayed when he stood.
Rhys caught Silas when he stumbled and righted him.
"I'm fine," Silas said, but he did not struggle against Rhys's support.
"You don't look fine." Too pale. Silas's skin had a sudden clammy feel to it. Rhys walked him over to the edge of the bed. "Sit."
Silas rubbed his forehead, sat, then slid his sword back into nothing.
Aether. It was a freaking scary place, whatever it was.
"You need to rest," Rhys said.
A gesture from Silas dismissed that idea. "I need to eat."
And at those words, Rhys's stomach rumbled.
Silas chuckled.
"We could order room service."
"No." Silas looked up. "I want to feel the sun on my skin. Hear the laughter of others. Smell the salt air." There was a wistful but melancholy tone to his voice.
Silas still thought he was going to die.Damnit.Rhys brushed his fingers against Silas's cheek.
"We're going to be okay."
A ghost of a smile might have flickered across Silas's lips. "Quam minime credula postero. I have no trust in the future." He stood, then framed Rhys's face with his too-pale hands.
"But you give me hope." This time the smile, though slight, stayed.
Rhys swallowed, his throat once more too tight to speak.
Silas released him. "Come. Let's try the buffet on the lido deck. I suspect they'll have what I want."
It seemed like Rhys's stomach was better at communicating, since it growled a hearty response.
Silas's smile grew. He held out his hand.
Rhys took it.
Chapter Twelve
Alas, the buffet had no liver, so Silas settled for steak, cooked rare, a haunch of lamb, and a salad of spinach and chickpeas. It was a start, iron-rich foods. Not that they would help that much before nightfall.
But after? It took effort not to dwell on the possibilities that lay along that road, not to give in to the warmth of delight and hope that lurked in the shadows of his heart.
He and Rhys had made their way outside to the sunny side of the deck. Windy, but it was warm enough for June, even on the open sea. Rhys eyed the contents of Silas's plate but said nothing. He'd chosen lighter fare, despite the rumblings of his loud gut--fruit, salad, a small hunk of seared salmon. A wise plan if they had to run tonight.
They would. Two soulless, likely older ones, plus Anaxandros.
Silas put down his fork. Why hadn't Anaxandros killed him? The opportunity had been there. After two thousand years, did the soulless simply wish to recapture him? That made little sense. Surely there had been other fae. The occasional stories that surfaced told him that. Why taunt? Why not kill and take Rhys?
