Once we have finished our breakfast, Lennox walks us to the door where Erik is indeed waiting for us to emerge. Despite my earlier reservations about the meal, I find comfort in my new knowledge — at least I now have some idea of where we are sailing and how long I will be trapped on this ship. The Captain’s announcement — and his kind treatment of Lyra — hasn’t quite made me trust him yet, but I relax slightly for the first time since the night I was brought to him in Celeste’s office.
Lyra excuses herself, she’s still feeling a bit weak after the previous day and wishes to lay down in our room. We follow Erik down the stairs to the hold and Lyra departs to our cabin under the Captain’s quarters, while I continue to follow Erik toward the bow of the ship. We pass the storage hold, filled with crates and barrels of various items for trade and several cannons with ammunition and powder laying in wait. The guns remind me that this is, in fact, a pirate’s vessel, prone to a different sort of violence beyond that which I have been preoccupied with.
“Do you often use the cannons while out to sea?” I ask my guide.
“When needed. We try to avoid damaging the other ship in case it has valuable cargo or might be of use to us. Many times the Captain’s name is enough to encourage surrender,” Erik smiles down at me, clearly proud to be a member of this crew.
“He’s quite well known, then?”
“Yes, around Selennia, the continent, and across the sea. No one wishes to cross the Captain.”
“I see. Have you sailed with him long?” I inquire. Despite being laconic, Erik has a warm demeanor, so I allow myself to pry.
“For around seven years now, Mistress. He’s a fierce fighter and a fair captain to the men. You can’t ask for much more in this line of work. Here we are,” he points to a small door on the side of the hold. The crew’s berths are a bit farther forward, so I am unsure what I will find beyond this door. Erik pushes the door open and hands me an oil lamp to illuminate the space. My eyes scan the space, but words are lost to me.
“What is this?” I breathe, stepping through the door frame. He stands outside giving me space to take in my surroundings.
“Captain said you are a healer of sorts. He thought this space might be suitable for you to assist the men with any illness or injuries they might have,” Erik explains.
The room is small with a plain wooden table and chair against one wall, complete with a stack of parchment and a small inkwell and quill. There is another chair across the way for a patient to sit. Herbs hang drying from the ceiling and a small shelf contains vials of oils and tinctures useful for treating a variety of ailments. The shelf has a smart little lip around the edge to keep the bottles from falling during rough seas and I bite my lip as I reach up to take a peek at some of the labels.
“Is it to your liking?” Eriks asks, blue eyes studying my expression. “Do you have any other needs?”
“It’s… well… it’s wonderful,” I whisper, tears threatening to fall as I turn to him.
“I will tell the Captain you are pleased. Do you need assistance finding your room when you’re finished here?”
“Yes. I am pleased. And no, I can find it myself. Thank you.”
As Erik departs, I quietly shut the door and sit in my new surgery, tears flowing freely for the first time in years. To have these items on hand, Lennox must have known of my healing work in the House. These things would not have been laying around on the ship to be rounded up after our dinner conversation about my gifts. There is a small spark of… gratitude… forming toward the Captain that I don’t wish to inspect closely.
One kind act, if that is even what this is, does not cancel out his true desires for me and Lyra. This is to benefit his crew, not me. But, that does not mean I can’t feel pleased with the opportunity to distract myself on this voyage with the herbs and tonics in this room. I wipe my tears roughly with the back of my hand and move to inspect my supplies.
Chapter 8
The next few days run together as I refresh my memory of herbs and tonics other than those for women’s troubles so I can be helpful to the men on the ship. Surprisingly, a few have already come to see me with rope burns, cuts, and other minor injuries associated with life as a sailor. Most who enter my surgery have a sense of reverence, and for the first time, I feel like I did at the temple — respected and valued. Even still, I sense the wary gaze of several of the other sailors when they see me on deck.
The sea is relatively calm one afternoon and I spend the day curled in my bunk reviewing notes and drawings in one of my journals. A sound in the hallway draws my attention away from the papers, and I find Charlie hopping into the room with another note sealed with emerald wax. The seal pops as I slide my finger under it and find another invitation to dinner in the Captain’s cabin that evening. A sigh escapes me as I read the dark lines of ink on the crisp paper, his handwriting bold and elegant. I know this is an invitation in name only. I don’t truly have a choice in my attendance.
Dropping the letter to the bed beneath me, I rise, leaving the cabin and heading for the main deck. My walk is brisk, and the deep breaths I take of the crisp sea air as the sun sinks clear my mind. As I turn to head back to my cabin to dress for dinner, a derisive whisper from the shadows reaches me.
“Heathen whore,” the voice hisses.
I stop and look toward the group of men standing near the mast, the only ones who are close enough for their voices to carry to me. In their midst, the same hard stare I felt when I boarded the ship and during the Captain’s announcement finds me. His rotten sneer sends a shiver down my spine, but I do not falter. My eyes travel over him from head to toe, and I frown at his paunch, knowing my distaste is evident on my face, then continue walking. Nevertheless, my hand stays on the dagger in my pocket and I keep a prayer on my lips as I descend the stairs and reach our cabin.
Except for a few brief glimpses when I pace the deck, I have not seen much of the Captain recently. I spend much of my time sequestered below deck in my surgery, inventorying herbs and reading my healing journal, so we haven’t spoken since the breakfast we shared with Lyra. Even though it pains me to show this weakness, I decide I must mention the sailor’s words to him tonight. I do not want this stranger to involve Lyra in any potential conflict.
Tonight I don an emerald gown that gathers at the shoulders, leaving my arms and shoulders bare, with a neckline cut low to reveal my chest. It still covers more than anything I wore at the House of Starlight, but is revealing enough to make it provocative. I haven’t forgotten the kindness the Captain has shown me in allowing me to practice my healing arts here, and appreciation for the opportunity to show my value — besides what’s in between my legs — drives me to dress with care for his enjoyment tonight. Plus, the silky fabric feels decadent and I know his cabin will be warm enough to keep the chill off me. With my cloak wrapped around me, I walk along the bridge and stride confidently to knock at the great cabin door.
The door swings open almost immediately as if he has been standing nearby awaiting my arrival. Lennox steps back to allow me entry, then takes an appraising glance at my ensemble, asking me with a twist of his index finger to turn for a full view. When I am facing him again, a devastating grin graces his face and he reaches toward me. I hold my breath, unsure where his fingers will rest when they connect with my skin.
The gentle touch against my shoulder runs down the length of my bare arm and stops at the gold shackle I wear at my wrist, toying with the cold metal. If it wasn’t part of what chains me to this ship and this man, I could admit it’s beautiful with the engravings depicting the swirling sea, but I cannot bring myself to admire it with any charity.
“You look lovely tonight, my pretty priestess,” the Captain whispers, his lips close to my ear so I feel his breath wisp through my hair. A shiver of anticipation courses through my body involuntarily at the breathy compliment.
“Please, eat.” He waves an arm toward the waiting food on the table as he steps back and shuts the cabin door firmly.
The fare tonight is another simple dish of potatoes and carrots, this time with white fish. I can tell the food will grow more plain the longer we are at sea; it is hard to keep the number of men on board fed with fresh produce and meat without it spoiling on the voyage. Thankfully, I have seen fresh fish hauled over the sides on the ends of sailor’s rods and nets while we are still in shallower waters near the coastline. I fear this may not be the case in more open waters.