“Yes,” he said, “but neither of you knew this would happen.Weall knew that it was uncharted waters, and that the world is strange. And besides that, you weren’t bedding him when you signed on. I can swear tothat. Why would it matter if you did now?”
“My judgment—”
“Doesn’t get any worse for doing the deed rather than pining over it. I knew you when Jehan was living, remember?” He paused and frowned. “Did he know?”
Toinette sighed. “Not entirely. I told him I aged slowly, and that I couldn’t have children. He…had two brothers, both with large broods, or so he said.” The memory of that conversation, of Jehan’s hands closed around hers and his gentle smile, brought a smile to her own lips even ten years later. “He just wanted me.”
“But you loved him.” It wasn’t a question, and didn’t need to be. “And yet I remember you arguing with him time and time again, when you thought you knew what would be best.”
“Saint Paul neverwouldhave approved of me.”
“No indeed,” Marcus said. “But we all knew that from the start. Love doesn’t cloud your judgment, Captain, not when it matters that you have a clear head. I’ll tell as much to any man who questions your thinking, and then I’ll break his jaw if I must.”
Toinette’s throat closed. The effort to clear it would have revealed too much of her heart, and so she could only smile her thanks.
“That said,” Marcus went on, “best if you not plan on any merriment tonight. We’re badly in need of more to take watch.”
“And you want us to join? You must be desperate,” Toinette managed to joke, though in truth the request touched her nearly as much as Marcus’s declaration.
While he laughed, it ended soon, and he studied her for a long moment while Sence made his way down the tree above them. “You don’t think much of people, do you?”
“You know that. It’s kept me alive.”
“Maybe. But love isn’t the only sentiment that can twist a mind.”
Twenty-Five
As with so much since he’d boarded theHawk, Erik was new to night watch. The benefits of rank had meant he’d never had to be sentry, even in times of war, and he’d been a passenger on the ship, not one of the crew. He hadn’t balked at Marcus’s not-really-request. Every man had to pull his weight, and the dreams weren’t letting him sleep very well as it was.
Telling time was hard, as their travel had put the moon and the stars in different places. The flickering green light was back in the sky that night too, and it obscured the stars at times. By the time the sandglass from the ship was halfway empty on Erik’s watch, hethoughtit was somewhat past midnight, but he had no way of knowing for sure.
Truly, it didn’t matter. His watch would pass when it passed. He’d wake Samuel and then get what sleep he could. When the sun rose, they’d all wake and the day would start. The time of the outside world was unimportant.
Sitting and watching the sea, with the fire’s banked embers in the shelter behind him and the witch light in the sky, Erik could easily believe all of the outside world unimportant—even a dream, at times.
It was a more pleasant dream than the ones he had while sleeping. He’d grown almost used to talking corpses, but that in itself was unsettling.
He’d grown almost used to too many things.
The conversation with Marcus came back to him. If they did stay—if they had to stay—then what? Breed themselves like horses and hope to have daughters who could pair with the men? Would they even have the necessary materials for the rites? And wouldn’t any resulting families be far inside the lines of consanguinity with each other?
Granted, plenty of noble families ignored the Church’s guidelines about cousins; still, Erik didn’t like the thought.
The sky flickered green again, the color of rotting flesh, reminding him once more that the past was not only years but miles away. Below it, the shadows stretched out into odd proportions and danced spasmodically along the sand. The sea roared in and out in front of Erik; behind him, the fire was almost dead and even he could make out no sound from the shelter.
His sword hung at his side. In a breath, he could have twenty such swords, not to mention the other advantages of his dragon form.
Sitting alone in the night, he found that such knowledge helped him as little as did prayer.
* * *
The cottage stood empty but solid, with mud filling the gaps between logs and small pine branches forming a roof, parting in the middle for a hole to let smoke out. The next task was to stack wood at one end, that there might be enough to sustain them during a blizzard; in time, they’d put stores of food in the same place.
Carrying out such plans still felt like surrender. They might seek a way off the island, but they were all coming to accept that they’d likely be trapped at least through winter, as the weather would cut them off on its own if they broke the spell too late in the year. Even so, Toinette was finding a certain contentment in the hewing, shaping, and stacking of wood, as she did in catching and drying fish or digging roots, and a satisfaction when she watched the stores of food grow or eyed the sturdy cabin walls.
As a city child, she’d had little of that feeling, save for the rare occasions when her message-running and her mother’s sewing had actually filled the little leather purse they kept beneath their pillows. She’d come to know it more as a captain, looking with satisfaction over neat account books and well-stocked holds; she’d never spared a thought for whether it was possible in other trades.
Stacking logs while Samuel and Raoul cut, Toinette startled herself with the notion that the clearing wouldn’t have been so bad in a normal place. Yes, the woods were uncanny: the voices and their half-formed words hadn’t gotten any rarer, and the strange light flickered in the sky every few nights. Her dreams featured crawling corpses, and what they said was no more kind than it ever had been. The island was not a good place.
