“Shy’riir,”said theTouchstone.“Kel’yion.”
He was holding his breath as if seeing me for the first time, lost in my magik, adrift in my seas.
“Beloved,” I said.
Kier Gavriel. Honor Aro’el.
But the voice and twin sight blew away like summer in the Spits. I was a bluemage once more, standing on the gunwale of a pitching ship, and I began to fall backward over the rail. Fahr lunged, catching my tunic, and he hauled me onto the deck.
There was little in my stomach, but I fell to my hands and knees and brought it all up on the boards nonetheless.
Fahr knelt beside me, rubbing my back but saying nothing. I lifted my head and locked eyes with the captain, the mirrormage, the Priestlord, the hawk. I fumbled for the earring in my pocket, held it out in a trembling palm.
“I’ve made my decision,” I gasped. “I choose to stay with the Ship of Spells.”
For good or for ill, I’d made my decision. I prayed I wouldn’t regret it, and I held my breath, waiting on a word from this powerful man.
Be wary. Be wise.
He stared at me for a long moment, brows drawn, eyes haunted, searching. Bewildered. Breathless.
Suns, what was happening?
Beloved.
Without a word, he whirled and disappeared from view.
I looked up at Fahr. He tried to smile, but I didn’t know if it was happy or sad.
I didn’t know anything anymore.
“Well, that’s disgusting,” said Smoke, and Buck dropped a bucket and brush under my nose. “Get to it, then, Blue. You know what they say. ‘You mess the pup, you swab ’er up.’”
I didn’t know anything.
My hands were still shaking as I reached for the brush.
12. Stations
“A tot for a prick,” said Smoke, and I tossed back the rum. “It don’t hurt much.”
“Hurts like hooks,” muttered Buck, and his large hands fell across my shoulders.
It was dark in the galley, with only three, fat-spelled candles flickering for light, and I reckon at least half of the crew was there to watch. I gripped the stool, swallowing the dread that crept up my throat. I prayed I wasn’t making a mistake, and my stomach curled at the thought, a tight twist of fear that I shoved down deep. No one else needed to see. It was mine and mine alone.
The minotaur held me steady as Echo pressed a roll of leather between my teeth.
“Bite hard, Ensign,” he said. “It helps to take the mind off things when the mouth is otherwise engaged.”
I did, forcing my tongue flat and trying not to taste the oily hide. The doc slipped a chunk of cork behind my left ear.
“Breathe deep, now,” he said and held up a long needle, glowing hot. “Just a little pinch…”
I closed my eyes, bit down hard, tried my damnedest not to whimper as heat burned the soft lobe of my ear. Heat, pain, more pain, rush, relief.
“The ring now,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Smoke?”
The dworgh held up the golden hoop, but he hesitated. “There’s only one way this comes out, and it ain’t pretty. Savvy?”
