TANWEN
The waves hadn’t had the effect on me I’d hoped. I lay awake all night until the light of dawn slanted through the window in my room at the inn. Though perhaps the waves had done their best and Mor had made a mess of whatever peace I might have been able to claim.
I could only imagine the puffiness of my eyes and the drawn, haggard look on my face as I stood to the side of the dock and watched the sailors and the Corsyth weavers make the last of their preparations before setting sail. In a moment of defiance, I’d brought along the tricorn hat with the white feather and sparkling blue pin Mor had made for me when he had invited me to come with them. A sailor’s hat and an invitation for a time that felt much simpler. I clutched the blasted thing in my hands—a reminder to Captain Bo-Bumplelump of his broken promises.
A hand brushed my shoulder, and I turned to find my father gazing at me with his steady gray eyes. “About ready to leave, Tannie girl.”
“Yes, I gathered.” I looked down. “See you later, I guess.”
He was quiet, and I didn’t look up. “Aye. I’ll see you when I return.”
I could feel him moving . . . getting ready to make his way down the dock and onto that ship for goddesses knew how many moons.
I closed my eyes and drew up the best part of myself, determined not to be an utter mountainbeast to my father. My eyes popped open in time to see him halfway down the dock already.
“Daddy?”
He halted. Turned slowly.
I let the tears fall and ran to him. “Daddy, I’m sorry.”
He wrapped me in a hug, just as he might have done when I was small. He stroked my head. “All is well, Tannie.”
“I’m sorry I’m such a mountainbeast sometimes.”
He tightened his hold on me.
“I’m sorry I can be awful. I don’t want to be. Please stay safe. Come home so I can be a better daughter.”
“Tannie . . .”
“Please.”
He squeezed me tighter. “I’ll return home to you, my girl.” Then he gently pried me from his chest and looked me in the face. “And will you be well while I’m away?”
I swallowed hard. Should I tell him? Should I spill my fearful heart to him right there as he was getting ready to leave? No. It would only make him fret. “I’ll be well.”
A frown creased his brow. He didn’t believe me. He knew something was wrong.
I opened my mouth to venture some honesty because I had to tell someone. But just then, an arm wrapped around my shoulders, and Brac’s voice intruded. “I’ll keep her safe, sir.”
Father glanced at Brac and then back at me. He let a long moment pass, then nodded. “Very well. Creator be with you both.” He kissed my forehead, then turned and walked down the dock.
I stood, Brac’s arm wrapped around me like a tether. I watched the last of the crates, the last of my fellow weavers, make their way aboard. Mor had been out of sight all morning, and I wondered if that was by design. Somewhere belowdecks, Gryfelle rested in a bed.
Please, let them find the cure.
And I truly meant it for Gryfelle’s sake, not my own. But then I wondered . . .
If they did find the cure and they were able to save Gryfelle, would it do me any good if I wasn’t with them? Would they be able to return home with the cure to help me too? What was the cure?
I hadn’t thought any of this through. I’d been so clouded by frustration and heartache and the desire to go with them, I hadn’t given reason a space to breathe. Was I not only saying good-bye to my father and friends but to my only chance at healing? I realized I knew less than nothing about this cure they sought. Was it an object? A person? A potion? An incantation? Could it even be brought back to Urian for me?
I glanced up at Brac. He looked pleased enough to see the Cethorelle’s ropes begin to be loosed.
“Brac?”
He didn’t seem to hear me. “They’re just about underway. Nice ship, eh? Queen Braith was generous with the pirate.”
“Brac . . .”
“Hope they can help the girl. She didn’t look well at breakfast. Her skin’s the color of turned milk.”
“Brac!”
He started. “Eh?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For wha—?”
But before he could finish, I slipped the leather engagement bracelet from my wrist, pressed it into his hand, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I have to. Please forgive me.”
I yanked the hat onto my head, hiked up my skirt, and then sprinted down the dock. Toward the ship pulling away into the Menfor Sea. Toward the deck growing farther out of reach by the second.
My heart hammered, but I pushed harder. The gap between the dock and the ship widened—impossibly far. I’d never make it. I’d be daft to even attempt it.
I jumped.
Next moment, I clung to the side of a moving ship, the breath knocked from my chest by the unforgiving wood.
But thank heavens for those decorative bits of railing, or whatever they were called. If not for them, I’d be sinking to the bottom of the bay by now.
“Man overboard!” The unfamiliar face of a crewman came into view above me. “Well . . . sort of.” He appraised me. “Need a hand, lassie?”
My eyebrow arched as I fought for breath. “Aye, if it’s not a bother.”
He laughed and grabbed my wrists. Then his hands found my underarms, and he hoisted me onto the deck. I collapsed in a heap, and he shook his head over me. “I dunno what you were thinking, but the captain doesn’t look pleased.”
“Tannie!” Mor thundered across the deck toward me. “Tannie, what in the name of the taxes are you doing?”
He dropped to his knees beside me and twisted my face this way and that. Checked my arms and any bit of me that wasn’t covered by my dress, as if the answer to my moment of daftness might be written there. “Are you hurt?”
“Bruised a little.” I worked to draw a full breath. “Your ship beat the air out of me.”
“Well, you hit her, after all.” He was still frowning. “What in the world, Tanwen En-Yestin? What in the wide world of watta roots were you thinking?”
A shadow from above fell across us both. “She’s ill.”
Father.
I looked up at him. Tears pricked my eyes. He didn’t look angry. Only concerned.
“Am I right, Tannie?” he asked.
I let Mor help me to my feet and stole a glance around at the curious crew and my weaver friends. Aeron, Warmil, Zelyth, and Dylun made no pretense of trying to hide their shock. Zel’s mouth actually dangled open.
I lowered my voice so that only Mor and Father might hear. “Yes. I’m ill.”
Mor took a step back. “I don’t understand.”
But his eyes told me he did.
“What you saw back in Urian. When I collapsed . . .”
“Then it’s true.” Mor’s eyes pleaded with me to take it back. “I convinced myself I was being too anxious. Reading into things. You would have said sooner if it were true.”
Now was the time for honesty at last. “It’s true, Mor. Whatever is killing Gryfelle, I have it too. I need you to save us both.”