Page 63 of When the Sky Breaks

“Sorry,” I huffed in reply, holstering my weapon and forcing myself to stand still.

“I brought food,” Ansel offered, “so we can have dinner. That is, unless you plan on shooting me first.”

“Who’s getting shot?” Sorcha asked, emerging from the bathroom, wet hair clinging to the fabric of her nightdress.

“No one,” I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Ansel needs to learn how to knock on doors.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the civilized one, Ansel?” Sorcha chuckled, sitting down on the trunk at the foot of the bed and taking the box of food Ansel handed her. “Booking us first-class tickets and opulent hotels and complaining about my clothes?”

She opened the brown paper package, didn’t even glance at what was inside, then shoved it back into Ansel’s lap and bolted for the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I heard her dry heaving near instantly.

“I should have expected that,” Ansel said bluntly. “I’m gonna throw these out. You want to see if we have any rations left over from the desert?”

We’d reached Houston almost a week ago and offloaded most of our supplies before boarding the steamboat to Louisiana. But I managed best I could. I was a Steward. This was, finally, something in my job description. I tossed a bundle of dried venison and a half-full can of coffee in Ansel’s direction then grabbed our last store of dried apples and hard oat biscuits for Sorcha.

I knocked on the bathroom door. No response.

“You okay?” I asked.

“No.” Sorcha’s reply was muffled.

“Can I come in?”

“Please.”

I opened the door and found her leaning back against the tile, eyes closed, taking slow, deliberate breaths.

“I found you something for dinner,” I said, sitting down next to her. “This has been pretty reliable.”

“I hate it here,” was all Sorcha said by way of reply.

“Me too,” I agreed, pulling one of her hands away from her face and putting a biscuit into her palm. “Now eat. Big healthy baby, remember?”

“And if I throw this up?” Sorcha asked.

“It’ll be my fault, but we’ll make Ansel deal with it,” I replied, hoping I could get her to at least crack a smile.

“Fine,” Sorcha agreed.

“I’ll sit up the whole night,” Ansel offered, “then you two will be rested tomorrow.”

“You sure?” I asked, shrugging off my jacket and boots. Sorcha was already in bed, dozing.

“I’m sure,” Ansel said. “Just give me your pistol. I don’t need you getting startled and trying to shoot me again.”

I just snorted in response. But I handed Ansel the gun.

“I’m keeping our knives,” I muttered, tucking my own pocketknife and Sorcha’s hunting knife under the pillow. I settled into bed next to her and let Sorcha tuck herself up against my chest. I was too wired to sleep but tried to let the calm, even pace of her pulse and breathing lull me into something close to relaxation. Then she shifted a bit, mumbled something into my shoulder.

“You alright?” I asked softly.

“I want to go home,” she said, voice barely audible.

And that just about broke me. I took a deep breath, trying not to shudder on the exhale, trying to keep up a calm front for her. Because there was nothing I could do. We had to prove Iksura’s claims about the Outer Court title wrong. We had to settle somewhere with resources. Sorcha and Ansel had to investigate the portals. I couldn’t take any of those burdens from her—no matter how desperately I wanted to.

“Me too,” I said gently, “but you’ll like Scotland.”

“Promise?” Sorcha asked.