Chapter 16

A clatter jerks me out of my mindless rowing. Acker's oar hits the deck a split second before he wretches over the side of the hull. I move toward him, but my legs give out, so I crawl across the deck to my bag and to retrieve my waterskin.

I hold the skin to his lips. "Drink."

He's pale and drenched in sweat, eyes closed as his head lolls against the side of the boat. He groans but manages to tip his head back to take a few swallows.

"Let me see your side."

He groans again when he moves to give me access. His shirt is soaked with blood and sweat as I lift it. The gash is wet, bright red seeping over the dried blood around it.

"I need to clean it. Don't move."

He manages to speak. "Wasn't going anywhere."

I get my feet underneath me and to the hatch where the medicine kit is kept in case of emergencies. While gathering the clean dressings and a tin of salve, I'm grateful to find an extra skin of water someone must have left from their last excursion.

I bring everything to Acker and settle on my knees at his side. "This is going to hurt," I tell him, uncapping the water.

"Wait." He tries to sit up, and blood gushes from the wound—more blood than he can afford to lose.

"Woah, I told you not to move." I place a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"You," he says, eyes cracking open to look at me as he reaches for the water in my hand. "You drink."

"After I clean your wound."

He attempts to sit up again, abdominals clenching from the effort.

"Okay, okay." I maintain a firm hand on him to ensure he doesn't move while I bring the water to my mouth with the other. My lips are cracked and water dribbles out of my mouth, but I find myself taking large gulps when I mean to take only a few sips.

Acker finds a way to look smug even when he's half dying from blood loss. I don't bother warning him when I tip the rest of the contents on the cut.

Dang rabbits.

Upon opening the salve, I discover it's empty but for a smidge coated along the rim. I gather as much as I can and pack it into the open wound. He sucks in a hiss of breath, but the little bit of medicine seems to do the trick to staunch the blood flow. I make him drink the rest of the water from the second skin while I wait for the wound to clot.

"We need to wrap it," I tell him.

He's able to keep his eyes open for longer than a few seconds. "I'll heal much faster on land." Every word out of his mouth is coarse around the edges.

"It's going to be a while before we see land."

We are well and truly off course and fucked. We had to abandon our flee north. They sent all of Alaha's armada after us. White sails littered the water in our wake, so we had to make an abrupt turn west, a direction to nowhere. We rowed and rowed and rowed. When we were unable to row anymore, we rowed some more, unable to raise the sails out of fear we'd be too visible, too easily spotted against the dark water.

"My people have been waiting, keeping their ships moored out of sight," he says. "If we're lucky, we might run into them."

I don't voice my doubts. We went west because it's the least likely of paths we would have taken, and it's the least likely place anyone will look for us, whether Alaha or Kenta.

I place the gauze against the wound, using my other to bring it around his waist. My nose is inches away from his upper stomach as I pull it behind his back to tie the bandage, ignoring his gritted teeth when I tighten it and tie it off.

I look up at him. "It had to be done."

He tries and loses the battle to remain focused on me. I help him lie on the dock, and he passes out in an instant. The sky is gray, the rising sun within an hour of cresting, and when I push to stand, my knees shake. Hell, I might pass out.

It takes all my remaining strength to get the head sail off the front mast. I stretch the oars across the width of the hull and drape the sail over it, creating a makeshift canopy for shade. There's just enough room for me to lie on my side next to him, and I allow the exhaustion to win.