“Has she finished being sick yet?”
Maertn rubbed on Quinn’s back as she hung over the side of the ship. The crossing wasn’t rough. Ross had actually thought that, so far, it was smooth sailing. Quinn, however, had turned pale as soon as she set foot on the gangplanks, and had spent most of her time since they left port throwing up.
“I’d like to stop vomiting now.”
“Here, try and stand up.”
Maertn pulled her up, and Quinn turned, leaning against the rail and belching. She rushed her hand to her mouth. Maertn, used to this and worse from his patients, didn’t even react. Ross looked her up and down. She looked exhausted. Unsurprising, since she’d only managed to snatch a few hours’ sleep in between her waves of nausea so far.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“I will be, once we get to Sha’sek.” The deck rolled, and Quinn staggered. She turned back over the rail, and Ross thought she was going to be sick again, but all that came out were dry heaves. After a few minutes, she tried turning to them again.
“Give me something to do, Ross. I need to take my mind off this.”
“Come on. I’ve got an idea.”
Rather than watching Quinn trying to traverse the deck, which Ross had seen once, and never wanted to see again, he picked her up and carried her. She protested, but only weakly. Her pride only lasted to a point, and it was a much safer way for her to travel on board.
Ross carried her down into his cabin and placed her on his thin bunk.
“Wait here.”
With nothing else to do, Quinn did as she was bid, trying to concentrate on anything but the rolling motion of the boat. Ross wasn’t gone long, and she was surprised to see him come back with Sammah’s mercenary.
“Not down here.”
“What do you mean?”
Quinn shook her head, swallowing down some bile. “If you want me to read him, I can’t do it in here. The room is too small. The air…if I’m sick, I want to be near the side.”
Ross rolled his eyes. “You want me to carry you all the way back to where we were?”
“Take me to the bow.”
“You do know which bit of the ship that is? That’ll be moving the most.”
“Then I’ll know if this will actually do any good. Please, Ross?”
Not seeing any other solution if he wanted Quinn to try to read the man, Ross picked her up again. She protested louder this time, but Ross didn’t want to dawdle. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting the mercenary to follow; he did.
They dodged past sailors as they went, but the simple voyage meant they were calm, and even enjoying themselves. The Sighs, as it stood, were not living up to their fearsome reputation.
Reaching the bow, Ross sat Quinn down on a crate. He squinted at the horizon, shading his eyes from the sun. “Is that fog?”
Quinn didn’t bother looking. “In this weather? I doubt it.”
“Come on then. You—stand there.”
The man did as he was told. Quinn struggled to think the questions she had asked him so far, and the vague responses she’d gauged. Instead of trying to move on from an uncertain point, she decided to start again from the beginning.
“You nod for yes, you shake your head from side-to-side for no. Shake your hands at me if you can’t answer me. Is that clear?” Quinn aped Ross's instructions to Elias in his short trial. It seemed like an effective way to question a mute. He nodded.
“You work for the Baron Sammah?”
Nod.
“Do you enjoy it?”
Hands.
“Do you take pleasure in your work?”
Grin. Nod.
“Have you murdered before?”
Nod.
“Were you sent to murder me?”
Shake.
Quinn cocked her head. The sword that had come close to decapitating her had felt very certain. “I’ll ask you again: were you sent to murder me?”
Shake.
It didn’t feel like a lie, either, and Quinn let out a soft growl of frustration. In the horizon, there was a haze. Some of the sailors were calling out. Perhaps Ross had been right; there was a fog rolling in. Great; that was all Quinn needed. She pushed on, letting go of all restraint on her power to take in all the mercenary had to offer. She focused only on the man in front of her. She wanted to read every facet of him.
He was an abhorrent man; Quinn had decided that before today, but in seeing every facet of his soul, Quinn was sure of it beyond doubt. She couldn’t find a single glimmer of redemption. This man didn’t know remorse or guilt. She doubted he had felt real fear in a long time.
“Do you know what it’s like to be afraid?”
Nod.
“Is it a long time since someone’s scared you?”
Shake. “
“Is that someone Ross?”
Shake.
“Is it me?”
Nod.
“Were you sent to kill my friends?”
Shake.
This was frustrating. If he wasn’t sent to kill any of them, then why had the mercenaries tried to hack them all to death in the middle of the night?
“He must be lying. That can’t be the truth.”
“As far as I can tell, he’s being completely honest with me.”
Ross grunted in disbelief. “I’m not sure how.”
Quinn bit her nails, completely distracted now from the seasickness that had been enveloping her. She was in her element. The sailors around her were becoming agitated. The fog rolled in closer, thick and menacing.
“Were the men with you sent to kill any of us?”
Nod.
Ross stood upright at this response.
“So, you were sent as, what, some sort of backup?”
Waggle.
“If your friends failed to kill us, were you ordered to kill us instead?”
Shake.
Quinn was frustrated. “Then what were you there for!”
Waggle.
“I didn’t need an answer to that question.”
Quinn groaned. She felt a pressure in her temples, and beads of sweat ran down the back of her neck. It could have been sea spray; she didn’t feel hot. The questions, his responses, were overwhelming her. She needed to know more.
“Have you murdered children before?”
Nod.
“Because Sammah asked you to?”
Nod.
“Were they gifted?”
Nod.
“Were they all gifted?”
Shake.
“Only because Sammah asked you to?”
Shake.
This last response angered Quinn. She could feel it coming from the mercenary. His spite and hatred for life was wrapping itself around her heart. Tendrils of fog were creeping up on the deck now, and the occasional cries of the sailors broke through Quinn’s obsessive haze.
“The Sighs! Beware!”
“Quinn,” Ross cautioned, “we should go below decks.” Quinn ignored him. The mercenary was her focus, now. Ross tugged at her arm. “Quinn? It’s not safe up here.”
Quinn turned to look at him, and Ross fell back to the decking in shock. Her eyes were completely black. Red and purple veins bled out from her eye sockets, spreading across her forehead and cheeks. She looked like death incarnate.
“He’s a murderer, Ross. Sammah was making him murder my kind.”
“He didn’t have a choice.”
“He enjoyed it Ross. I can feel it. He told me. He didn’t lie.”
“He’s not killing anyone now, Quinn.”
“He’s not going to kill anyone ever again.”
Quinn turned to the mercenary. The man didn’t look so smug, so strong, and sure now. At seeing Quinn’s face he dropped to his knees. His mouth opened, his blunt tongue stabbing out, as if he wanted to yell in alarm.
“What’s wrong? Have you forgotten what it’s like to feel frightened? Don’t you want to know what it felt like to be the children you murdered? How I felt when one of your friends nearly took my head off with their blade?”
The link between them was still open; Quinn could feel the hatred bleeding between them. The fog of the Sighs wrapped around her, whispering in her ear. It whirled around her head, carrying a soft male voice. It oozed confident conviction. This is what you are Quinn. This is what you can be. You can stop men like this. You can do what you want.
“What are you going to do, Quinn?”
Quinn cocked her head. “What I want, Ross.”
“Quinn, this isn’t you. Please. It’s the Sighs. Come with me below deck.”
“Not yet. I need our…friend to do something.”
“Quinn! Stop! You don’t know what you’re doing!”
You know exactly what you’re doing Quinn. You want this. He deserves it.
Quinn grinned at the mercenary. “You don’t deserve to live. Jump overboard.”
The mercenary got to his feet. Ross yelled in protest, but the ship rolled violently. He staggered backwards, falling into the ship’s rail. Wordlessly, unable to cry out, the mercenary backed himself into the point of the bow.
“Jump overboard,” Quinn commanded again. His mouth wide in panic, shock, fear—all emotions Quinn could feel spilling towards her—he did as she commanded.
As he slipped away, so did the fog. Quinn dropped to the decking, pain splitting her temples. Ross skidded to her, tears staining his cheeks.
“Oh, Quinn, what have you done?”