Startled, Ian glanced over his shoulder.
“There is no way you are swimming or climbing on board any ship with that arm,” Fletcher continued.
“I know,” Robin replied, her eyes narrowing. “I just said I wasn’t going.”
Fletcher shrugged. “Good.”
Having turned back to Robin, Ian saw the muscles of her jaw tense. Usually, Fletcher's directness at least lightened her tension but her not going truly pained.
Ian felt her frustration in his own chest. He had spent the last few days watching her fight against the limitations of the wound, and he knew exactly how it felt to leave someone else in charge of ones own responsibilities. “Send me,” he said.
Robin looked down at him, a small furrow forming between her brows. “No.”
“Why not?” Ian asked.
Robin responded with a single word. “Why?”
“Because you need someone on board that ship trained in the same combat as the taskers. Someone who knows the layout of avessel that size—which I do. I spent several seasons learning how to defend our coast with these ships, down to where the hold lies and how the deck is built.” Ian stopped to take a breath. “You need someone on this raid who can make decisions for you in the heat of the moment.”
“You are the crown prince of Iseldis,” Robin said. The intensity of her glare made Ian lean back. “If you die tonight on a ship full of taskers, everything we have been fighting for dies with you.”
Ian stood up, leaning in to place his hands on the table. “Everything we have been fighting for will die tomorrow morning if those ships land the way Gareth intends.” He kept his voice level. “You need someone who can take your place as the leader of this raid. Sol and Aizel will be focused on the Majis. Lane and Nele have never set foot on a vessel like this. You need someone who can take your place and lead this raid.” He tilted his head back slightly to give himself the advantage of looking down at her. “Everything I know about those ships, I learned as the crown prince you are trying to keep safe. Let that be worth something.”
“You could die,” Robin said. She leaned forward over the table, bringing her face close to his.
“I know.” Ian nodded calmly.
“You are the only legitimate heir to the throne of Iseldis,” Robin replied, lifting her hand from the table to point at him. “Your father cannot lead. Gareth has taken the castle. If you are gone, there is no one left who can—”
“Robin.” Ian said her name quietly, stopping her. He looked at her, and for one unguarded moment, he let her see everything he had been carrying for the last several days. The knowledge that Gareth had outmaneuvered them at every turn. The cold, settled certainty that had taken root in his chest somewhere between the monastery and the shore—the certainty that theywere going to lose. “I have nothing left. No army. No castle. No plan that does not end in bloodshed.” He held her gaze. “This is the one fight I still believe we can win. You cannot go on this raid tonight, so let me go for you.”
Robin stared at him. Her jaw was set, and her good hand had curled into a fist at her side. She was going to say no. He could see it in the tension of her shoulders and the hard line of her mouth. Then her shoulders fell. “If you die, I will never forgive you.”
“Then I will try not to die.”
Robin stood back so she was no longer leaning over the table. “Do not jest with me.”
“I was not jesting.” Ian sat back down.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Sol broke the silence, “What do we need to bring?”
Robin closed her eyes for a breath. When she opened them, the vulnerability was gone. In its place was her usual focused, sharp-edged clarity.
“Short weapons only,” she said, turning to Sol. “Nothing that will catch on the rigging. Daggers and a blade no longer than your forearm. Pack quickly, we leave as soon as possible.”
The small band began to disperse, but Ian remained seated at the table. “About the soldiers on the shore,” he said, looking up at Robin. “I would like to try one more thing.”
Chapter 43
“We cannot use the caves again,” Ulli said, cutting straight to the point as he walked back to the small camp they had set up in a dense copse of trees northwest of the monastery. “Gautho has stationed guards along the beach itself, and there is a small cog anchored just offshore of the cave entrance.”
“So much for sending the fleet south,” Robin muttered, pacing across the small space to keep warm as they did not want to risk lighting a fire. While everyone else was out gathering intelligence, she was stuck here pacing. Her arm was still tied tightly in a sling, and Ian, Ulli, Lane, and even Fletcher had forbidden her from leaving the camp. They said it was because they needed her in a central location to manage everything, but Robin knew they really wanted her to remain safe and out of combat while she was injured.
She was positive that she was more lethal with only one arm than most other people with two, but she abided by their concerns. For now. This fight was too important for her to sit out on. And she was willing to get injured again—or worse—to thwart Gareth, save the Majis, and perhaps even build a better Iseldis.
Footsteps sounded nearby, and both Ulli and Robin went still. Whenever it was one of their own who approached, they whistled a bird call well in advance.
Robin dropped her left hand to the dagger in her belt. She knew without looking that Lane was silently lifting the bow from his back.
