I stand there far too long, the silence growing heavier with every heartbeat. Daed does not return. No one does and nothing stirs on the wind but stillness. Ominous, choking stillness.
My eyes sweep the cliffs. There is no path to reach the fortress. You must fly. One thing I cannot do. But even if I could find a way, I could not take her with me and I will not leave her behind.
I begin to pace, the ship’s timbers creaking beneath my feet, my thoughts spiraling with impossible plans. None of them work. Every one ends with the same truth: she must be protected.
And then, like lightning slicing through fog, a thought strikes.
It’s absurd. Reckless. Infinitely foolish.
But it’s the only option I have.
I turn from the helm, make my way across the deck, and descend into the ship’s underbelly.
Ronin is still chained to the central beam.
When he looks up, I frown. “You look dreadful.”
He arches a brow. “Your words wound me.” He gives a theatrical sniff and grimaces. “But I assure you, the smell is fucking worse.”
Then he lets his head fall back with a dramatic sigh. “I take it we’ve arrived? Do I die now?”
I tilt my head, considering him. “Not yet. There’s something I need first.”
He eyes me with cautious amusement. “You want a favor... fromme?”
“They’ve been gone too long,” I say quietly. “I need to go after them. But I can’t take the baby.”
His brows pull together. “So?”
“So,” I breathe, “I need someone to stay with her.”
The words feel even more foolish out loud. Like tossing a match into dry grass.
Ronin blinks. Stares. Then narrows his eyes like he’s sure he misheard me.
“You wantmeto… babysit?”
I lift my chin, refusing to waver. “Yes.”
He lets out a bark of a laugh. “You’d entrust your child to the prisoner in the brig?”
“If I believed you meant her harm, you’d be ash by now.”
He studies me. “And what makes you so sure I won’t take my chance and run?”
I meet his gaze, steady. “Because I think, just maybe, there’s a sliver of something left in you that still understands what it means to protect something precious. And because,” I add, softer, “there is a part of you that does not want my daughter to come to any harm.”
Silence stretches between us.
Finally, he glances at the shackle on his ankle. “Well, then… you’ll have to unchain me. Unless you want the little one nestled in filth beside me.”
I nod, because he’s right. Of course he’s right and yet, the weight of what I’m about to do twists low in my stomach. This could be the best decision I’ve ever made or the one that ruins everything. I’m not sure which yet.
My eyes fall on the chain.
Maybe I should just stay put. Do what my husband asked. Be safe. Be still.
“No key?” Ronin asks, mouth curving in a lazy pout. “They don’t trust you that much?”
