Not particularly eager for company but certain he’d lose his mind if he stayed in his cabin any longer, he headed out, letting the door slam behind him.
I’ll never love her, either, he thought. To the wind. To himself. I can’t.
At least thirty-six hours stood between Calya and solid, unmoving land, and she was counting each and every one of them.
As much as it pained her to admit it, Anadae had been right. Less so, at first. Calya’s coveted anti-seasickness candies worked moderately well for the first two days of the voyage. Yes, she spent her waking hours in a mild state of nausea, but she could work through a little discomfort. Spend part of her day up in the deckhouse reading the dossier she’d assembled for the trip, distilling down the names and places most likely to yield answers about the joint protection route and whatever this bullshit was that continued to plague it. The evenings were for relaxing. Socializing with her friends and fending off Anadae’s attempts to mother her, make her drink more water.
Ship life was easy—keep out of the windrunner mages’ way, eat enough of the ginger candies to mitigate the stomach-turning effects of the mages’ magic, and avoid Brint as much as humanly possible. She wouldn’t have minded some idle time with Lowe, but he’d spent most of the voyage thus far holed up in his cabin.
She hadn’t even been able to ask more about whatever message the wind had brought for him. Not that she believed, but something about the way he’d looked at her piqued her interest.
At least, it had at the time. They’d hit rougher seas the morning of the third day, and not even the Sylveren candies were a match for it. Not when the ship was traveling at speed, magnifying the effects of every wave or crest or swell or… whatever maritime word fit. The godsdamned ship made sure to hit every one of them.
She’d abandoned her cabin, hoping that fresh air and an unobstructed view of the horizon would work miracles.
They had not. Calya hunkered down, shoulders up around her ears, teeth gritted as the ship bounced over the waves and what little food she’d managed to choke down threatened to come back up. One arm was wrapped around her front, while her free hand clutched the bench frame bolted to the deck.
Doing any work was out of the question. Not even thoughts of Lowe were much help. Her mood was as sour as her stomach.
“Divination’s a crock of shit,” she muttered to herself.
If we go, things will never be the same. Well, she could’ve told him as much. There would be answers in the Landing. Maybe not ones she wanted. Not ones she liked, but she’d know if Anadae’s wards had arrived or not. If they’d even truly been requested. And the Sentinels would know… whatever the fuck it was they wanted to know. So, of course they’d be changed. Wasn’t that how time worked? Who she was today wasn’t who she’d be a month from now.
Lowe had sounded all mysterious when he’d said the words, but really, it was a generalization, just vague enough that it could always be true by technicality. The wind didn’t know shit.
Such thoughts, while perhaps a touch morbidly satisfying, were hardly a lasting distraction. Which left Calya with Eunny’s vial of last resort. The foul motion sickness remedy had been a constant companion in Calya’s pocket. A “just in case” for when the most desperate of times were upon her.
She withdrew the vial from her cloak pocket and held it up in front of her face. The slow sloshing of the thick, sticky liquid proved to be especially unappetizing to look at. Her fingers wrapped around the narrow flask, hiding it from view and her easily susceptible stomach.
Calya had taken that kind of anti-nausea draught only once before. It would ease her current woes, at the expense of consciousness. Taking it this late into the trip, even with the delay the weather had caused, she’d be lethargic to the point of uselessness for at least another day upon arriving at the Landing.
She couldn’t afford to be so hindered. If Brint was using the remoteness of Desmond’s Landing to hide his attempts to worm his way back on the Avenor Guard board, she had to be ready to take up the hunt the moment they landed. Giving Brint fucking Avenor, with his obnoxiously effective charm and his underhanded ways, a head start on any sort of coverup was asking for failure.
Calya would eat glass before she willingly let him thwart her again. Would sit up there in the deckhouse, miserable and cold, stomach empty and twisted upon itself. Would court dehydration and death before she let another mediocre man go unchallenged in trying to wrest HNE from her.
The door leading to the ship’s salon opened, and Eunny strolled out. Her gaze immediately went to Calya, a sympathetic smile forming on her lips. “Thought you might be up here.”
“As if I’d be anywhere else,” she groaned. “No promises I won’t vomit on you.”
Eunny kept Calya’s bucket on the bench between them as security before she took a seat, indicating the vial still clutched between Calya’s fingers with a jerk of her chin. “Before you go the extreme route, I have a proposition for you that doesn’t include being in a coma for days.”
“I’m listening.” If nothing else, Eunny was providing a momentary distraction.
Eunny dug in her pocket, holding up a slender glass bottle blown in the shape of a feminine body. A detailed one, with the suggestion of hands pressed over her mound. Generous curves, erect nipples, head tipped back so the delicate lines of her hair cascaded down her back, creating enough texture so one could easily grip the bottle. The figure’s head faced up, mouth shaped to form the opening for the cork stopper.
The design was distinctive, and the deckled paper label wrapped around the glass even more so. It bore the flourished script of House Oleander, a well-known apothecary in Graelynd’s capital whose wares catered to intimate pleasures. Erotic enhancements—that was what the line of aphrodisiacs like the one Eunny currently held was called. Calya knew of it, though she’d never experimented with the one offered to her now. The glass was a dark ruby red, the most potent the company offered. The highest of quality, and with a price to match.
“You’re traveling with a Scarlett Kiss?” Calya said.
“What can I say, I like to be prepared.” Eunny grinned and gave the bottle a gentle shake. The liquid swirled freely within the glass, golden shimmers flaring in reminder that it was a magic-laced potion. Not merely a sweet-scented contraceptive, but the promise of a good time.
A very good time. After all, it was a product from House Oleander; quality was assured. A Scarlett Kiss would take away her nausea. In a sense. Eunny wasn’t wrong on that part. But rather than simply resolving her problem, the philter would replace it with a different set of feelings. Urges. Much more pleasant, to be sure, but also equally demanding in their own way. Inescapable, only instead of queasiness she’d be consumed with hunger.
Calya gave Eunny a suspicious look. “You don’t need it?”
Eunny scoffed. “It was going to be for Nev. This—” She flapped her wrist to indicate the rough sea. “I mean, I’m not as affected as you, but getting tossed into the wall every other wave isn’t exactly conducive to my rest. Might as well do something else with the time if I’m going to be awake.”
“Ollas isn’t seasick?”
