“Hardly.” Eunny shook her head. “Says it feels like being rocked to sleep.”
Calya fought down a fresh bout of nausea at the notion of rocking.
“What do you say?” Eunny asked. “This dose should last through tomorrow. At least get you to calmer water.”
With some quick maths, Calya confirmed her assessment. The wares from House Oleander were fast-acting, the effects kicking in after several minutes at most. Given her empty stomach, it might happen even faster, with more intensity. Which would be a nice change of pace after a day spent clutching a bucket.
Though, for the numbers to matter, there was a missing variable to address.
“Does that come with an invitation?”
“Ha,” Eunny said dryly. “Normally, I’d be game to try anything once, but you’re like my baby sister, and we don’t do that here. Find your own.”
“Where?” Calya whined.
“What kind of an understanding did you come to with that ranger?” Eunny asked.
Lowe. If she were to ask him, what would he say? He hadn’t exactly complained about their kiss. She might’ve instigated, but his response, the way his blunt fingers had gripped her chin and raised her lips for him… she’d ended up being the one surprised. She didn’t usually care about that particular act. Kissing. Eh. Calya saw it more as a pleasantry, a pretense of civility before devolving into more enjoyable, carnal endeavors.
Instead of freezing her ass off up here, what would it be like to be warm in his bed, surrounded by the scent of leather and salt and, inexplicably, the wind? To taste his kiss again?
Calya dismissed the errant thought. Lowe wasn’t here.
“Not that kind,” she said, a sulky edge to her voice. “I think he’s been avoiding me. At least, he was before I shackled myself to the sick-bench.”
Eunny pursed her lips. “Boo. Okay, what about the AG guy you’re friendly with?”
“Lieutenant Orren?”
She snapped her fingers. “That one. Saw him down in the salon.”
Orren. He was conventionally handsome, if burlier than Calya’s personal preference. She liked a slightly leaner physique, nicely muscled shoulders, toned rather than so built up that she saw only a hunk of meat. But of her limited options on board, he was the most appealing candidate. Of those possibly available, anyway.
Besides, if Orren did a passable job at getting her through the worst of the storm, poor boy would be all tuckered out after. Leaving Calya free to have a look through his cabin without distraction. She liked the lieutenant well enough, but he was still Avenor Guard. She’d been the one to insist on his assignment to her security detail, but who knew what orders he’d been given? She intended to find out.
“Good enough for me.” Calya plucked the glass bottle from Eunny’s hand.
The older woman went with her so far as the ship’s salon. She gave Calya a kick in the butt, murmuring, “Go get him!” under her breath before heading off in the direction of her cabin.
Down in the salon, the rocking of the ship felt worse. A group of Avenor Guardsmen, Orren amongst them, sat at a table in the back corner. Objectively not a large distance, but in her current state, Calya knew she’d never make it to the group without retching.
Desperate times.
Willing her stomach to behave, Calya leaned against the bulkhead and uncapped the Scarlett Kiss, pulling the cork free with her teeth and spitting it off to the side. She emptied the contents in two swallows. It had a mild sweetness that reminded her of the fruits from the southeastern Radiant Isles, with a finish tart enough to make her wince.
Calya took a few slow, grounding breaths as a tingling sensation zipped through her body. She shivered, and the strange feeling faded as quickly as it had appeared. In its place, an ember of heat flickered to life at her core as the Scarlett Kiss settled in. The nausea that had been her constant companion began to fade, leaving her emboldened in its absence.
The walk to the back of the salon didn’t seem nearly so fraught anymore. She pushed off from the bulkhead, but hadn’t taken more than a few steps before Brint blocked her way.
He held up the discarded cork. “You dropped—” His eyes widened at the sight of the bottle still clutched between her fingers.
He snagged it, and though she held on, he dragged her hand up to eye level. “Caly,” he said, and gods all break had she never hated more the way his voice carried. “Is this what I think it is? What’s a girl like you doing with?—”
“Get fucked, Brint,” she snapped.
In such tight quarters, and without the crisp outside air as a buffer, the layers of his cologne had her suppressing a gag. Clearly, Brint had stocked up on the trendiest scents in Central District and layered them without any sense for moderation. Or separation. The man reeked like a candle shop that had put all its Winterfest shit on clearance.
He leered at her. “I’m not saying no if?—”
