“What is wrong with Jerick?” Kjell whispered. Dust coated his mouth and whirled in his thoughts, but beneath the haze he was beginning to remember.
“He’s currently sitting mindless in the corner. I don’t have your strength or your size, but I have my own ways of debilitating my opponents. I am quite good at plucking thoughts right out of people’s heads, Healer, remember?”
“Explain, Spinner. Slowly,” he demanded, and he commanded his numb arms and liquid legs to obey him. The room tipped and tossed him back to his knees.
“Lieutenant Jerick’s memories are currently the newest star in the sky. He was determined to keep you from Dendar, so I had to change his mind.”
Padrig helped Kjell rise and eased him down on the bed, handing him his shirt before trying to shove his boots on his feet.
Kjell swatted him aside and, swaying, managed to do it himself.
“Why are you doing this?” Kjell hissed.
“Doing what?” Padrig said, retrieving the confused Jerick from where he huddled against the wall. Jerick looked blankly at Kjell, displaying no recollection whatsoever. Padrig handed the befuddled, young lieutenant Kjell’s satchel of personal belongings and two other bags. “One of these is yours, Jerick. Can you carry them to the ship?”
Jerick accepted them hesitantly, clearly not knowing what else to do.
Kjell tried to sheath his sword, and Padrig rushed to his side, guiding the blade home before Kjell stabbed himself in the leg.
“Helping me.” Kjell kept his eyes closed, his blurred vision compromising his ability to stay on his feet.
“I’m not helping you, Captain. I’m attempting to help Dendar,” Padrig replied. “Now lean on me, and I’ll do my best to keep us both standing.” Padrig stepped under Kjell’s shoulder and slipped a thin arm around his waist.
They tottered down the stairs, Kjell trusting the Spinner to keep him moving in the right direction, while he concentrated on using his legs and staying upright. Jerick followed behind with constant reassurance from Padrig that all would be well.
“How is helping me helping Dendar?’ Kjell asked, reeling.
“You must take this journey with us.”
“Why? You said I would only cause Sasha pain.”
“There are worse things than Saoirse’s pain,” Padrig huffed, staggering under Kjell’s considerable bulk. “I am more worried about what she has seen.” Padrig shook his head as if dismissing one thought for another. “Dendar doesn’t need a warrior, Dendar needs a Healer,” he said, inexplicably.
“What aren’t you telling me, Spinner?” Kjell pressed, trying to order his thoughts and summon his comprehension.
“I am telling you that there is a reason Saoirse has had visions of you since she was a child. Dendar needs you both, as painful and impossible as it might be,” Padrig muttered. “And I don’t dare leave you behind.”
Kjell could see the ships still moored in the harbor, and he focused on the white sails, the draped rigging, and the bunk he could fall into once he locked the faithless Gibbous and the traitorous Jerick in the brig. He hadn’t decided yet what to do about the stubborn Sasha.
“Praise the Creator,” Padrig panted. “I thought she would insist on leaving us both, Captain. I don’t think the queen is as fond of me as she once was.”
A shout went up. They’d been seen. Suddenly, Isak and Peter were bearing him up, taking his weight from the breathless Padrig.
“Captain Kjell! What is the meaning of this?” the captain of one ship—a man named Lortimer—was striding down the gangplank toward him.
“Where is the queen?” Kjell muttered to his men.
“She’s down below, Captain,” Isak answered immediately. “In her quarters. Gibbous put a man outside her door and the two maids inside with her. We thought you weren’t coming. Jerick told us you were ordered back to Jeru City.”
“Jerick lets his heart make a fool of him.” He wasn’t the only one. “Go fetch Gibbous. Tell him his captain would like a word.” Isak ran to obey, and Kjell addressed the Spinner. “Give Jerick back his head, Star Maker.”
“I will return the lieutenant’s memories.” Padrig said, but he hastened to add, “But maybe it is better if we leave him in Brisson Bay. Can you trust him, Healer?”
“Padrig, I don’t trust anyone—not you, not Jerick, not even myself. Do as I say.” Kjell was on the verge of collapse, and he didn’t need Padrig’s wheedling or interference. He also didn’t need a mindless Jerick. Seeing his lieutenant afraid and disoriented made him angry. It made him think of Sasha, robbed of everything—home, family, even her self—walking to Firi, to bondage, because she didn’t know where else to go.
“Very well, Captain.” Padrig shrugged. He flung his hands upward and a beam of light shot down from the sky, drawing gasps and cries from the crew and guard. Villagers on the docks gaped and a few screams were heard.
“Bloody hell, Padrig.” Kjell groaned at the theatrics.
“I don’t want that on my ship!” Lortimer cried, retreating up the gangplank. “I won’t have the Gifted on this vessel.”
“Then you won’t see a single coin,” Kjell roared, “And we will unload our cargo and our people now, and you will answer to my sword before you will answer to the king.” His temper seared the fog from his head, but it didn’t ease the ache behind his eyes. He’d had enough sniveling and second-guessing to last him a lifetime.
Padrig palmed the light and turned toward Jerick.
Jerick took one look at the pulsing orb, and stumbled back, dropping the bags he still carried.
“Jerick!” Kjell thundered, “We promised we would help you. Be still.”
Jerick froze, his eyes on his captain, and he nodded, displaying the same trust that was as much a part of him as the color of his eyes or the impudence he’d never been able to suppress. Padrig lowered the light over his head and Jerick shuddered, his eyes rolling back and his legs buckling.
“It doesn’t hurt, Captain,” Padrig reassured.
“How would you know this, Padrig? You are awfully glib with other people’s pain,” Kjell said, watching his lieutenant straighten and awareness settle over his features. A guard reached for Jerick’s arm, steadying him, and Jerick’s eyes found Kjell, shock and wonder flitting across his features.
Isak had reached the main deck, Gibbous on his heels, and Kjell could already see the suffering on the older man’s face. He waited to address Jerick until Gibbous stopped in front of him and dropped to one knee.
“Captain, forgive me,” Gibbous moaned, bowing his head.
“Not a word, Gibbous. You and Jerick will billet on the other ship and spend your first night in the brig. We won’t speak of this again.” Kjell turned to include Jerick in his statement. “I know you acted to protect me, but in doing so, you lost my trust.” From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of red and pale blue skirts. Sasha stood on the quarterdeck, her hands gripping the rail, tears streaming down her cheeks. He knew she’d heard him, knew his words had pierced her, and he let his rebellious gaze and traitorous heart acknowledge her, absolving her, before he addressed the ship’s captain.
“Prepare to sail, Lortimer,” Kjell ordered, and with as much dignity and strength as he could muster, he walked up the gangplank, trusting that his men would—this time—do exactly what he asked.
***
For two days, Sasha stayed in her quarters, never setting foot on deck, never seeking him out. The two maids who quartered with her reported that she was seasick, and Kjell consoled himself with the fact that her cabin was probably the safest place for her. She wasn’t the only one who suffered. The seas were mild, remarkably so, but the motion of the ship and the endless movement was not something Kjell could even attempt to heal in any of the travelers. It would be futile. The sickness would simply rise again, brought on by the waves and the interminable rocking.