TANWEN
At least a hundred Bordinis waved from the beach as the Cethorelle pulled away from the dock.
“If not for the pressing need to keep moving on this quest, I think I could’ve lived here,” I said to Wylie as he secured lines and I leaned over the rail to wave at the Meridionis.
“It’s the maize cakes, isn’t it?”
“Even better than porridge for breakfast.”
“And now you get fish again.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Sailor Bo-Thordwyan,” Mor’s voice cut in. “You’re needed astern.”
“Aye, Captain.” Wylie nodded to me and took his leave.
I resisted the impulse to speak first—to fire off some kind of smart remark. I just waited for Mor to say whatever he wanted to say, if indeed he had sent Wylie astern so we could be alone.
But now that we were alone, he just stood at the rail and looked back at the Meridioni shore with me.
After a long minute, he said, “Tannie about what you saw . . .”
“Forget it.” I don’t know why I said that, because I sure would never forget the first story I saw Mor weave.
“No, I can’t forget it. I feel like I need to explain . . . that is, you should know what I was . . .” He didn’t seem able to complete his thoughts.
“It’s fine. You were upset.”
“Aye. I was upset. I’ve been upset. I can’t even remember a time when I didn’t feel like my insides were tied in knots.”
“You’re worried about Gryfelle.”
“I’m worried about all of us.”
“Aye.” I looked at the water. “But that’s why we’re trying to find the pieces of the cure.” My thoughts jumped to the royal-blue strand coiled in the box belowdecks.
“Yes, but about the way things are between you and me, I wanted to—”
“No. Don’t.” I surprised even myself by saying, “Let’s not have any discussions of ‘you and me’ right now. It just distracts and destroys, and I’m sick to death of it.”
“But Tannie—”
“No, see, you’re calling me Tannie again, and what will happen is I’ll get all melty inside and remember when we first met and the way you helped me grow as a storyteller and how you helped me rediscover who I was supposed to be and where I belonged. I’ll think about the time you told me never to change and I considered for the first time that being a farm girl from Pembrone was maybe something I could accept about myself. Not only accept, but appreciate. And then I’ll think about the laughs we’ve shared and your smirky smile, and I just can’t. I can’t right now, and maybe I can’t ever. So let’s not. Let’s not talk about you and me.”
I pushed away from the rail and moved past Mor, tears streaming from my eyes.
“Tannie, wait.” He reached out and grabbed my arm.
The moment he touched me, a spray of sparks burst from our connection. Instinctively, I grabbed his hand and pulled it from my arm, but when our hands touched, a strand of fire sailed out and into the ocean.
We stepped back and stared at each other. His wide eyes told me he didn’t understand what had happened any better than I did.
“Links.” I hadn’t noticed my father’s presence nearby until he spoke. “You’re starting to create links.”
I faced him, too bewildered to blush. “What? What do you mean?”
“It was something that happened in the old days before Gareth stole the throne and suppressed the weavers. Sometimes when weavers had certain . . . ah . . . strong feelings between them, they would create . . .” He trailed off and waved his hand, as if to shoo away all the wrong words to describe it. “Sparks.”
The color drained from Mor’s face, but he didn’t speak.
“I’ve never seen such a thing.” I shook my head, trying to clear the fluff from my mind. “How does it work? And why? Why do these links exist?”
“I don’t know much about it,” Father said. “Except that two together are stronger than one alone.”
Then he walked away without further explanation. Mor and I were left with a million questions, heavy awkwardness between us.
And a few sparks still sizzling on the deck.