His forehead creases. Disappointment flashes over his face. He hides it quickly enough, but not in time for it to escape my notice.
Something sharp lands in my gut.
“You think it’s a stupid idea.”
“Not stupid. But since when has meddling with the Fates ever done anything but cause us mortals trouble? Even in our own lives?—”
“We didn’t meddle with the Fates,” I say. “They meddled with us. The Eldest Sister, by cursing the men in your family to be the objects of obsession of the Middle Sister. Then again by giving us our Mating Marks. They treat our lives like we’re games to them, but they care nothing about us.”
“Then what makes you think the Youngest Sister will?”
“The stories about the oldest two—they’ve represented them fairly, wouldn’t you say? Why would the stories about the Youngest not be true? It’s said that she fixes what her Sisters break. That’s us, wouldn’t you say?”
He shakes his head. “The stories never claim that she does as much out of compassion. She could be just as controlling and as meddling as her Sisters. The stories never reveal what price she requires of those whose lives she fixes.”
“I’m not saying it’s guaranteed to work. I’m saying it’s our only option, and right now, it sounds like a pretty good one.”
Nolan sighs, then wipes his hair with his hand. “I happen to have a bad feeling about it, that’s all.”
It’s irrational for me to be annoyed with him that he’s echoing my words about going to Peter for help when he didn’t even overhear them, but I can’t help the irritation that wells up within me.
“It’s the best idea we’ve got.”
“Not if it puts you in danger.”
“I don’t care if it puts me in danger. Don’t you understand that?”
“On the contrary, Darling,” Nolan says, his voice going hard. “Understanding that fact is precisely why I have cause for concern.”
I let out a huff, unable to come up with the words to fight back now that something feels like it’s piercing my throat.
“I won’t have you throw away your life for me,” says Nolan, reaching his hand out across the bed to take hold of mine.
At the feel of his cold touch, his still-clammy flesh, I wrench it from his grasp. “At least if I threw my life away, it would be for you. Meanwhile, you’d rather throw your life away for nothing at all.”
Nolan’s jaw works. He looks as if I’ve slapped him, but I can’t bring myself to care.
So I leave.
CHAPTER 9
My mother once told me that it does no good to refuse to speak to one’s spouse. It’s not as if she often gave me valuable advice when it came to men, but for some reason, that one has always stuck with me.
So over the next two weeks, I speak to Nolan. I respond when he addresses me. I answer his questions readily. I even bring up the weather.
I’m not sure what good it’s doing, still talking to him, when our conversations feel as icy as the chill that’s descended over the face of the ocean, as stale as a ship’s stock of bread when it’s been months since docking at port.
Charlie tells me it will pass, that Nolan will come around, but I’m not so sure. I love my husband, and I knew this when I wed him, but I have married a stubborn man.
One day, when the weather clears and the fog on deck lifts, revealing the long-lost sun, I take Michael on deck to enjoy the sunshine.
At least the weather can be cheerful, even if I cannot.
I’m propped up on a barrel, sleeves rolled up and allowing the sun to caress my skin, when out of nowhere, someone says, “Catch.”
I open my eyes just in time to glimpse a wooden sword flying toward me. It’s just reflexes, but I grab it out of the air by the hilt.
“Nice,” says Nolan, striding toward me.
