She looked as pale as she’d been after the trials, her cheeks hollowed and undereyes dark. Stefen didn’t look much better, but it was more understandable, as every time he tried to garner Rakkel’s attention, she denied him.
“Fine,” she said, taking another big gulp of wine.
“You don’t look fine,” I said cautiously. “You’ve not looked fine fora while.”
I tried to remember when I’d last seen the cocky, smiling girl from the first days of the trials but came up empty. It might not have been since she’d been tied together with Ilse during one of those first exercises.
“Are you still injured?” Ilse asked. “They beat you pretty bad when we were attacked coming from Svartoarna.”
“I said I’m fine!” Rakkel snapped as she moved off the railing. “I’m trying to enjoy myself over here, but I’m clearly in the wrong place.”
Both Ilse and I gaped as she hurried off.
“I— I’m sorry.” Stefen’s brows were drawn tight when he followed her to the other side of the ship.
“What is up with her?” Ilse asked. “She looks sick.”
“I don’t know.” I played with the cup in my hand. “But we should find out.”
“Perhaps you should worry more about yourself,” Geord interjected.
“And why is that?” I asked, tiredness seeping into my voice.
If anyone was to fall ill, why couldn’t it be the redhead with the crimson-rimmed brown eyes staring smugly at us over his goblet?
“The king warned you that you only had one more chance, remember?”
“One more chance for what?” Ilse asked, worry creasing her forehead.
“You don’t know?” Geord shuffled farther back on the barrel, leaning dangerously close to the drop behind him. “Her own mother is worried that her sweet heir and the king’s most lethal warrior are getting a little too close.”
“It’s a long story,” I said when Ilse’s wide eyes snapped to mine. “And not true.”
“I guess we’ll see sooner rather than later,” Geord said.
He didn’t look as drunk as he had before. Apprehension made me retreat until I had a barrel at my back.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.
Geord nodded to the crowd. “Look around you.”
More initiates had moved to the dance floor. Most were paired up, but there were also groups of three or four, where it was impossible to guess whose hands were on which person’s back or neck or chest. The music swelled across the ship, and as sweat stung the air, a lethal tremor filled the wind, carrying the musky scents of arousal.
Ivren and Vero were dancing closer now, their noses touching.
Ottoh had found a girl whose head he bent backward before pressing his lips against her throat, making her eyes shut as she rested against the hull. Even Viljan was standing closer to the moving crowd, and Fedic whispered something in his ear while his hand pressed against his chest.
Something deep within me twisted, but I only tilted my head when Geord laughed. “Looks like a normal night.”
“It is a normal night,” Geord said as he lifted his glass. “I just added some edge to it.”
“You did what?” Ilse asked.
For the first time, I noticed her bright cheeks and the shine of her eyes.
A warning began blaring within me, the hairs all over my body standing at an end.
“Did you drug us?” I asked Geord. “Again?”
