Meena punched his arm softly with her fist. “You are purposely making me angry.” She drew her hand back instantly. Her knuckles tingled. She rubbed them with her other hand to wipe away the overpowering sensation.
Sol, too, lifted his hand, rubbing the place on his arm where she’d touched him.
Meena quickly looked away. “The cliffs are not blood red,” she said quickly, bringing the conversation to safer waters. “They are rust red. They look like a piece of iron someone has left out in the rain.”
“Is that not ominous, still?” Sol asked. “I don’t find anything comforting about rusted iron.”
“It’s less ominous than blood.”
“One is direct, the other insidious, like the purposeful tarnishing of something that was good. Breaking it down over time, ruining what it once was.”
Meena looked back at Sol. He was no longer poking fun at her. His tone was too serious. “I don’t fully follow, but I would like to understand what you mean.”
“I was speaking of the cliffs.” Sol grabbed the railing with both his hands, leaning out over it slightly and away from her.
He was hiding something from her.
Meena leaned forward, desperate to be included and instinctively trying to see his eyes which were turned away from her. “You can tell me.”
“There is nothing to tell.”
Her heart once again broke for the young boy whose world had been constructed of cruel realities. “If you do not wish to tell me, I will not force your voice.” She reached a hand toward his arm, stopping before she made physical contact again. “But I am here and I can listen. Want to listen. Will listen.” She dropped her hand, pulling it away from him.
“Princess.” Sol turned from the rail, dipping his head in a gesture of respect as he quickly walked away.
Meena had the distinct feeling he had not done so out of deference, but merely to hide his face from her own.
She exhaled, dropping her elbows on the railing to hold her weight. She felt like a child, like Sol was protecting her from some horrible truth just as she had tried to do for Celesta. “I am not so unscathed by the world that you must hide things from me.” She spoke over her shoulder to the empty air behind his back, but her words were quiet and the waves were loud.
She did not repeat them.
He did not turn around.
Meena returned her gaze to the shore, watching its rapid approach by herself.
The ship dropped anchor a short length from sand, and she and Sol were given the first rowboat ashore.
Sol occupied himself with helping the sailors load their chests on the small rowboat which hung over the side of the ship.
Grasping the rail for stability, Meena jumped, swinging her legs up and over the rail until her feet landed on top of it. Her skirts bundled up under her, but she carefully rotated her body until she was sitting on the rail, her feet hanging over the edge of the ship to get into the sailboat below.
“Allow me to help, Princess,” Tillon said, appearing at her side.
“Thank you, friend.” Meena accepted his hand as she slid off the railing, landing unstably in the rowboat.
She held tightly to Tillon’s hand for a few extra seconds as she caught her balance in the swinging boat. “Thank you,” she repeated, looking up at the sailor on the other ship. “It was a breathtaking voyage.”
“Breathtaking is one way to put it,” he responded with his ever quick smile.
“I hope we will travel with you again for our return trip?” Meena asked. “Only next time without the storm, please?”
He laughed at that. “I’ll do my best, Princess. Enjoy your stay in Falqri.”
Sol climbed over the railing a few moments later and sat in the center of the boat to help row.
Staring at his back, Meena waved goodbye to the other sailors still on deck as they made their way to the shore.
Minutes later, the rowboat bumped against sand, as close to the dry ground as it could get. Meena swung herself over the edge of it on her own before Sol could offer her his hand.
