He draws in a breath.
The nausea starts low in my stomach and rises hard enough that I reach for the rail as the color drains from my face.
“Asharin.”
“I know,” I managed, though the ache along my ribs tightens at the same time the nausea twists through me, the two folding together until I can no longer separate one from the other.
CHAPTER 2
Waves of Truth
Ikeep my eyes on the horizon and wait for the nausea to pass, but it does not.
I turned back to him. “Finish it.”
“The reason?—”
My stomach turned hard enough that I had to press my mouth closed against it.
“You need?—”
“Don’t.” The ache along my ribs tightened alongside the nausea twisting through me, and the next wave hit hard enough that I turned for the rail before I could stop myself. My grip tightened as I vomited into the dark water below.
When it was over, I stayed there, breathing through the burn in my throat, waiting for it to release me. It didn’t. Pain followed, pulling through my leg where the wound had never truly closed. Heat gathered beneath my hand when I pressed against it, and a shiver moved through me hard enough that my body began to tremble.
“Let me help you get below deck,” he said. “No,” I answered immediately, pushing away from the rail before he could move closer. “Don’t touch me.” The words came out thinner than I intended, but I turned toward the stairs anyway, determined to manage it myself.
The deck lurched beneath my feet again, my balance unreliable now, my body slow to respond. I made it only a few steps before my footing failed. His hands closed around my shoulders before I could fall, pulling me upright again with a force that left no room for argument.
When I looked up at him, something in his expression had changed. “Did you forget you’re with child?” he said, low and harsh. “Don’t let your pride make you an idiot.”
“Fuck you,” I said, breath unsteady, another shiver running through me hard enough that my teeth nearly clicked.
“Fuck you too,” he replied without hesitation.
Before I could argue further, he moved, one arm coming around my back, the other beneath my knees, lifting me cleanly from the steps before I could refuse him.
I should have fought him. The instinct was there, buried beneath everything else, but it never reached my hands. My body gave way to the hold without resistance, leaning into him in a way that felt too natural to question. The air below deck felt warmer, heavier. My head rested briefly against his shoulder while the movement of the ship felt easier to follow there.
The cabin door opened. He carried me inside and set me down on the bed, his hands remaining only long enough to be certain I would not slip. The warmth in my body had deepened into fever. My skin burned while the shivering worsened beneath it, thetwo pulling against each other until I could not decide whether I needed heat or air.
Sweat gathered at my temples and along my spine, dampening the fabric against my skin, while another tremor moved through me without warning. “Take it off,” I said, reaching for the collar of my dress. “It’s too hot.” I was too uncomfortable to care about modesty. In truth, he had already seen me at my worst: hungry, kidnapped, dying. There was a strange comfort in that.
He hesitated only a moment before doing as I asked, his movements controlled as he loosened the fabric and pulled it away, leaving me in my undergarments as the air moved faintly against my skin.
“Explain,” I said again, though the word barely held together.
He started to speak, but the sound of approaching voices carried through the corridor beyond the door.
Eravic and another voice, maybe Junis.
Panic moved through me faster than the fever. They had already seen me broken and bruised when I first stepped onto the ship. They could not see me like this now. My hand closed around his. “Don’t let them see me like this,” I said, the words unsteady but urgent. “Don’t?—”
He looked at me, and this time there was no confusion in it. He understood. Then he stepped away and moved for the door. I heard it open, then the shift of voices as he stepped into the corridor and pulled it closed behind him. “She’s not well,” he said, quieter now, meant only for those outside. “Give her time.”
A pause. Low voices I couldn’t follow. Then retreating footsteps.
When he returned, the door closing softly behind him, I was still holding onto where he had been. Only then did my hand loosen, the tension leaving it as the fever pulled me under again.
