38. Chapter 38

CHAPTER 38

H er body lolled slowly to the left. To the right. To the left again.

Back and forth, the rhythm of it so smooth and constant, it kept her eyes closed for far longer than she would usually allow.

When her conscious mind finally flooded her skull, giving her no more margin for the ethereal existence that she had succumbed to, her eyes fluttered open.

Alive. That was a surprise.

Rough wooden planks and beams above her. Low. Anyone tall like Thomas would have to bend to be in this space.

She lolled to the left, her arm bumping into a wooden railing. Softness below her.

A bed. She was in a bed.

Why was she in a bed?

Her arms moved, and the ache in her muscles immediately screamed against the movement. No time for that. Creaking her way upright, she felt a spasm explode in her side and her hand went flat on her waist, pressing in against the white chemise she had been put into, for it wasn’t hers. Bandages wrapped her middle where the searing pain originated.

She looked around the room she was in. Tiny. Wooden plank walls all about her. Small rectangular window. Nothing but blue out the window.

Blue sky. Blue water.

It wasn’t a room—it was a cabin on a ship.

And she was alone.

Alone.

What had happened? Had she been sold off when she was unconscious?

Then put on a ship to where?

Fear started to crawl up her spine and she looked around the room for a weapon. There. A chest on the floor.

Gingerly, she pushed the blanket from her lap and swung her bare legs off the bed, scooting along the side of it until she was near the chest. She slid off the bed and knelt in front of the chest, opening it. Clothes, a nondescript grey woolen dress, a lawn shirt and trousers, stockings, and there, at the bottom, steel.

From the mounds of cloth, she pulled out a dagger.

The one Sylvie had given to her outside the prison.

The latch on the door to the cabin turned, and she jumped to her feet, the sudden movement a strain against her muscles that felt like watery jelly.

Ignoring the fact that her head was spinning so fast she was in danger of keeling over, she hopped across the room directly behind the opening door.

A man with a red handkerchief wrapped around his head stepped into the room.

She jumped forward as she kicked the door closed, wrapping her arm around him from behind to set the edge of the dagger against his neck. “Where in the hell am I?”

Probably not the best move, to slice the throat of someone when she was on a ship that could very well be in the middle of the open sea.

“You woke up.”

“Thomas?”

Her dagger clattered to the floor and she rounded him. The movement too quick for her woozy head and she leaned to the right, losing her balance as her eyes closed, trying desperately to regain her equilibrium.

His hands were instant on her upper arms, steadying her. “What in the hell are you doing out of bed?”

It took her a long moment to right her head enough to where she didn’t think she was about to retch, and she opened her eyes to him, then looked over her shoulder at the bed. “You put me in a bed?”

“You weren’t conscious enough to fight it.” His grip tightened on her arms, his voice going harsh. “Look at me, Izzie.”

Her head turned and she looked at him.

His eyes narrowed, and he looked at her hard, scrutinizing her face, her eyes. Staring at her so intensely, her toes started to fidget.

“You are back to me,” he stated simply.

At that, her legs gave out. His grip on her guided her back to the bed, not letting go of her until her spine was straight, no longer in danger of flopping over.

Silently, he moved to the foot of the bed and pulled free a flask from a nook beneath the bed. Pulling the stopper, he handed it to her and she gratefully took a drink. Brandy. Strong, but it wet her tongue and she took another sip, then handed the flask back to him.

She watched him as he set the flask back in place. “You? How is this possible? Where is Callum?”

“Callum?” He jerked upright, hitting his head on the ceiling of the room. He moved his right hand up past his head, setting his palm on the ceiling as he pulled off the red handkerchief that had covered his head and threw it onto the chest. His fingers ran through his hair, sending the dark strands on end. “What do you mean where is Callum?”

Her hand went to her head, rubbing her forehead as she tried to right her thoughts. “He was with me at the prison. I couldn’t breach those walls by myself to get to you.”

His forehead dropped downward, a chuckle on his lips as he shook his head. His look lifted to her. “Callum was there?”

“Of course he was. He and six other guardians, Sylvie included.” Her brow furrowed. “I am good, Thomas—thank you for thinking I could have gotten you out of the prison by myself—but I’m not good enough to break into a prison and take down my father’s entire gang of brutes.”

His eyes went wide. “I never saw him. I heard something happening, but I didn’t know what it was. And then I was after you before anyone else managed their way through the rubble to me.”

Shock snapped her head back. “You…you came after me?”

He nodded. “Too late to catch you before you fell. Quick enough to scoop you up before anyone else descended upon you.”

She shook her head, her hands flattening onto the bed on either side of her as she looked around the cabin. “How did we get on a ship?”

“I went to the same woman that helped me escape from Domenberge last time—Frannie Galagun. I owe her my life twice over now. Much to my dismay, she was still living in her cottage on the edge of town.”

“Your dismay?”

“Yes, I’ve sent her enough to leave that place far behind. But she’s bound to it in some perverse way. She hasn’t spent any of the money I’ve sent her on herself. Hasn’t moved to a safer location. She could want for nothing, yet she stays in place, invisibly helping others. She was the one that tended to your wound, told me what to do with it. She got me on a ship when I escaped the prison the first time. She did so again two days ago.”

Her palm flattened on the tender bandages on the side of her waist.

“Why?” She shook her head. “Why would she help us?”

He shrugged. “Your father killed her son decades ago. She never forgot, never forgave. She’s been a quiet resistance to his power for years.”

Her father.

Her gut tightened. Every muscle in her body contracting.

Her head dropped, her eyes downcast. “My father—I am sorry I never told you who he was—where he was. I never imagined he and my brother were the ones that did…that did…” Her voice hiccupped on the words, the shame so immense, she couldn’t lift her eyes to him.

He may have saved her, but that didn’t mean anything, and his next words cut her to the bone.

“Your lies, Izzie. It is too much. Payment is due.”