She nodded, agreeing, her face set, her mouth tight, and he wondered at her easy acquiescence.
“You must go back, Kjell,” she said softly.
“Where?” he asked, befuddled.
“To Jeru City.”
“I can’t,” he whispered, incredulous. “I won’t.”
“You cannot come with me to Dendar,” she insisted.
“You cannot go without me,” he shot back, undeterred.
“Beneath every ripple that finds me, behind everything I see, lies the fear that I will set into motion the very thing I am trying to prevent. When I was a child, I was so afraid of the things I saw, they would paralyze me. I would rock in the corner and press my face in my mother’s lap. But hiding and fearing changed nothing. Then my father helped me turn my visions into stories. And we always gave them happy endings. He told me the worst thing I could do was doubt myself. He told me when I see something, I should act every time, immediately. So far, faith has always been the best choice.”
“And what choice do you think you are making for me now?” he asked, dread pooling in his gut. Determination rang in her voice, and a resolute Sasha was a dangerous Sasha.
“When we left Jeru City, all I could think was that I was so glad I wouldn’t have to say goodbye—not yet—and that I wouldn’t have to leave you.”
He had felt the same way.
“But I was weak,” she added. “And I was wrong. And I am so afraid.” Her chin wobbled, but she clenched her jaw, forging ahead. “I’m afraid that all the things I’ve seen are leading us to Caarn, to this time, and the thing I fear most will come to pass.”
“And if I don’t go to Dendar, none of that will happen,” he concluded.
“Yes.”
“But how will I keep you safe?” he murmured, and their eyes clung. Her voice shook when she spoke again.
“When I sailed to Dendar for the first time, I was just ten summers. I was terribly seasick, and the fresh air was the only thing that helped. My caretakers, an older couple who had worked in my father’s house, would let me sleep beneath the stars just to keep the worst of the sickness at bay. I dreamed of you on the deck, just the way you are now.” Sasha touched his face, almost reverent, pleading eyes and gentle hands. “I’ve always seen you this way—big, strong, your hair dark, your face unlined. My visions have always been of you, the way you are right now. I’ve never seen you any other way, and now I’m afraid that I never will. I’ve seen you in Caarn, and that thrills and terrifies me, because as much as my heart aches to have you near me, I will never, ever recover, never forgive myself if you are lost. I will never be Sasha of Jeru or Sasha of Kjell. It is not how life unfolded. But you will never be Kjell of Dendar. Not if I can help it.”
A clattering in the street and a figure looming near the alcove made Sasha pull away and Kjell move in front of her, hand on his blade.
Jerick stepped into the swath of orange light spilling from the torches that lined the harbor, a bottle of wine in his outstretched hand, apology in his posture. He slinked forward, the bottle in front of him, until Kjell snatched it impatiently, relief and irritation making him short with his lieutenant, as usual.
“I came to keep you company on watch, Captain. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was worried about Sash—about Queen Saoirse. But I see she has found you,” Jerick said.
“You were so worried that you let her walk out of the inn in the middle of the night?” Kjell replied, aghast, wishing Jerick would go, knowing it was best if he stayed.
“I was neither the guard at her door, Captain, nor the man she followed,” Jerick replied easily.
“Will you think about what I’ve said, Captain?” Sasha interrupted, stepping around him and out of the alcove, widening the distance between them.
“I am going to Dendar, Majesty,” Kjell responded, and she nodded slowly.
“Then I will bid you goodnight,” she said, obedient and sadly resigned for all her impassioned pleading.
“Go with Queen Saoirse, Jerick, and stay with her. Please. I am going to remain on watch,” Kjell commanded, his eyes on Sasha’s unsmiling mouth.
“I would like that back, Captain, when you’re done.” Jerick inclined his head toward the wine he’d offered moments before.
“Go, Lieutenant,” Kjell warned, taking a long pull from Jerick’s bottle just to be contrary, and he turned his back to the street, going deeper into the alcove, dismissing them both.
The liquid was warm, but his throat was caked in frustration, and he drank deeply again. The flavor was sweet if a little cloying, but he needed to douse the fire in his belly and the tumult in his chest. It didn’t help. If anything, his mouth became drier, his agony deeper.
He tried to drink again, to swallow another mouthful, but his vision throbbed, ebbing and widening, tilting and turning, and for a moment he couldn’t remember if he’d just healed an entire village or if Lucian had simply thrown him from his back.
But Lucian had never thrown him. Lucian was dead. Lucian was dead and Jerick was beside him once more. What had Jerick done to him? Something was wrong with the wine. Something was wrong with him. He swayed and staggered, and someone helped him fall. Then Sasha was kneeling beside him, holding his head against her chest. Sasha was kissing his mouth, and her tears were stinging his eyes.
“Jerick promised me he would look after you,” she whispered. “He loves you, you know. They all do. I begged them to help me. To help you. Don’t be too hard on him.”
He tried to say her name, and it hissed between his lips like the mythical snake in the tree. But unlike the snake, she had beguiled him, and Jerick had helped her.
“When you wake, I’ll be gone. And you must remain in Jeru,” she entreated.
He begged her to come with him—he promised he would love her if she would just come back—but the words never left his mouth, and she walked away, drawing her dark cloak over her hair. Then Jerick was helping him stand—Gibbous too—pulling his arms around their shoulders and supporting his weight.
“Come on, Captain.” Jerick soothed. “We’ve got you now.”
“He’s going to kill us, Jerick. We’re as good as dead,” Gibbous warned.
“Better us than the captain, Gibbous,” Jerick reasoned, and Kjell watched himself take steps he would never remember, watched his men struggle to get him to the inn, a plastered drunk with a lolling head, watched them lay him across the bed in his rented room, lifting his feet and removing his boots, setting his sword beside him, as if he could possibly wield it. He watched them close the door and leave him behind, and watched his world go dark.
He was floating, absent, unaware for too long. When he awoke, it was to pain and light, and he struggled to resurface, if only to annihilate the source.
“Wake up, Captain.” Padrig was pleading with him, slapping his face. He’d been doused in water—repeatedly, it appeared, from the pool he lay in—and he wore nothing but a pair of breeches and a grimace.
“Why am I wet?” Kjell groaned.
“I’ve been trying to revive you for an hour. They’re going to leave us, Captain. I’ve paid off the first mate and one of the ship’s captains, but the queen is insisting we depart, and your men have worked themselves into a lather over recent events. When Jerick said you weren’t coming, I knew there was something afoot.”
“Can you help me? I seem to be lost.” Jerick spoke up from somewhere nearby. Kjell attempted to turn his head, to find his lieutenant, but the bed was in the way.
“I know who you are,” Padrig soothed. “Your name is Jerick. And I will help you, kind sir. But I need your assistance,”
“You know who I am?” Jerick cried.
“Yes. I do. But this captain needs to get to his ship, and he’s ill. You are young and strong, and you can help us. Then I will tell you everything I know,” Padrig haggled. “But we must hurry.”