Eve bursts into laughter. “Don’t let Captain Cuckhold hear you call his ship a boat.” She rolls her eyes.
“Is this not a boat?” I ask, confused.
“It’s a ship,” Cyran answers.
I send him a flat stare. “I fail to see the difference.”
Ryc laughs. “Calling it a boat in the presence of the Captain may inspire him to throw you overboard,” he teases as he draws me into his embrace.
“Then there isn’t a difference. It’s all ego,” I retort.
“What gave youanyindication it wouldn’t be ego withthatmale?” Eve asks with a scathing laugh. She turns to Ryc. “Honestly, of all the times I’ve seen you grow territorial over Ves, you didn’t at the docks. I hoped you’d drown the bastard after his comment.”
Ryc laughs, a genuinely amused sound. “Ves wears my gift and I hers. The Captain and his… distasteful comments aren’t a concern.”
“Comments?” I repeat, confused. “Did he say something I missed?”
Eve reels, leaning back in her seat. “Did you not catch the euphemism about his disgusting ass di—”
“Lady Eve,” Cyran interjects in a firm warning tone.
“Oh get out, Cyran.” She waves him off with a hand and a scoff. “His dick, Ves. He was referring to his dick when he answered your question about the smaller boat. Maybe you and he would getalong after all.”
Unable to stop myself, I burst into laughter. “I can’t say I caught that. But it explains why you laughed,” I say, jabbing Ryc with an elbow.
“I’m more than half tempted to tell him who he’s transportingjustto watch him shit himself.” The look on Eve’s face is pure contempt. Ryc gives her a warning look. “Of course I won’t,” she drawls flatly.
Ryc’s eyes meet mine. “Would you like to see the water?” The warmth of Ryc’s voice and the smile on his face are enough to crush my heart.
“Yes.” I nod. “I’ve never been on ashiplike this.” I emphasize the word.
Smirking, Ryc raises the cowl and hood of my leather armor, careful to tuck my hair away. He takes my hand, leading me from the cabin. Both Eve and Cyran remain behind.
“I give her ten minutes,” Eve calls from behind, laughing. “See you both shortly.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Once again, theinstant the door opens, I’m met with biting cold wind and flurries of snow. While the wind doesn’t cut through my armor, the few parts of me left exposed sting in seconds. My fingers, my cheeks, nose, and brow—it leaves me wanting to pull my hood over my eyes and rely on Ryc’s guidance to reach the viewing deck.
I’ll last eleven minutes if only to spite Eve.
With Ryc’s help, I descend the ice-slicked stairs with little difficulty. The fact they’ve become so laden in the short time we spent in Connak’s closet is rather disconcerting. Will the sails and masts hold under such weather?
As I swing my eyes upward, the dark green canvases remain taut, pulling against their stays. They catch winds created by the number of bundled sailors standing in various baskets perched high above.
Wind innates, I realize.
The Captain propels via water, and his crew propels via wind. The perfect outfitting for any seafaring venture.
The ease at which they use magic bores envious little holes in my chest and I force myself to look away. A group of sailors emerge from a staircase leading below deck, flashing smiles from beneath their fur-lined hoods as they pass.
“The Captain mentioned Nyluma,”I send the thought through our bond and Ryc peeks down at me.“Is he one of Rowen’s fleet?”
“No,”Ryc answers, turning his face forward.“Our good Captain is a freelancing capitalist. If you ask him, he’s a citizen of the sea.”
A piratethen.
The whole of Connak’s demeanor makes more sense.
