you can return to him.
Eleven
I ANSWAMback to the Phantom with a knot in his belly and a pain in his chest. He’d taken no joy in his transformation, found no relief from his anxious thoughts in the warm waters. He’d spent the better part of the past few hours swimming around Cera, hoping to find some trace of Taren. He’d found nothing. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit he hadn’t expected to find Taren on the island, just as he hadn’t expected to find him at the scene of the battle with the humans. As distant as Taren’s presence felt to him, he knew Taren was on another island.
At least he knew Taren was alive; their otherworldly connection was still strong. He thanked the goddess that they were soulbound, so that he might sense Taren’s well-being. But as days passed and Taren did not return, he began to fear that Taren had been taken captive or, worse, that he’d been so injured he could not return to them. Ian had paced the decks, waiting for word from Barra and the men he’d sent into town dressed as merchants. Their primary task was to procure supplies for the Phantom and her crew, but they’d also been told to listen for news of Taren.
“Fine time to abandon your crew,” Renda said as Ian climbed to the top of the rope ladder and boarded the ship. Ian bristled beneath his cutting glare. “The men have been asking after you since the ceremony to commend Crian to the goddess. What would you have me tell them?”
Ian said nothing as he retrieved the clothing he’d left by the railing, then began to dress. The memory of the funeral ceremony the day before and the loss of a good man had left him feeling more adrift than he cared to admit. First Crian, whom he’d known since he was a young boy. Now Taren.
No. Taren’s alive. There was hope, he’d told himself as he’d watched Renda commit Crian’s body to the afterlife. He felt the zest of Renda’s power, saw the cool blue light flicker from the tips of his bony fingers before touching the water and stirring it. Crian’s body was wrapped in thick kelp leaves and lacelike seaweed and adorned with a multitude of shells, each chosen with care by the Phantom ’s crew. As it floated away from the Phantom and out of the harbor, it dipped beneath the surface and vanished. Ian knew Crian would continue his final journey until he reached the open ocean, where he would finally sink to the bottom and find his rest in the goddess’s arms. His heart ached for Crian’s loved ones. It was far too easy to imagine the immense loss he’d feel if Taren’s soul were to leave this world.
“Captain?”
“I heard you.” Ian came back to himself and tucked his shirt into his britches.
“I know you’re worried about Taren, but—”
“Don’t patronize me,” he snapped. “I know all too well what my duty is.” He glanced up at the shattered mizzen in disgust. “Tell Barra to gather the men at sunrise. We’ll need to repair the ship ourselves.”
Renda nodded his approval. “Aye, Captain.”
“Send word to Vurin. A messenger. Durat’s a strong swimmer. If he rides the eastern current, he might make Raice Harbor in a fortnight.” Ian turned, stormed down the stairs to his cabin, and slammed the door behind him before Renda could respond.
Damn Renda to hell for being right.
Ian closed his eyes and drew a long breath. None of this was Renda’s fault. None of it was anyone’s fault but his own. It was his responsibility to keep the Phantom and her crew safe. He should have realized the Council was keeping a close watch over him. They’d stranded Seria and his men. They’d stolen the Council’s fastest ship. He was a spy and a traitor to Ea’nu. The Council would want revenge.
The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes again was Taren’s jacket, still on the bed where Taren had tossed it days before. Ian hadn’t used the bed since they’d limped back to land and hidden their damaged vessel behind Renda’s enchantments.
Eleven
I ANSWAMback to the Phantom with a knot in his belly and a pain in his chest. He’d taken no joy in his transformation, found no relief from his anxious thoughts in the warm waters. He’d spent the better part of the past few hours swimming around Cera, hoping to find some trace of Taren. He’d found nothing. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit he hadn’t expected to find Taren on the island, just as he hadn’t expected to find him at the scene of the battle with the humans. As distant as Taren’s presence felt to him, he knew Taren was on another island.
At least he knew Taren was alive; their otherworldly connection was still strong. He thanked the goddess that they were soulbound, so that he might sense Taren’s well-being. But as days passed and Taren did not return, he began to fear that Taren had been taken captive or, worse, that he’d been so injured he could not return to them. Ian had paced the decks, waiting for word from Barra and the men he’d sent into town dressed as merchants. Their primary task was to procure supplies for the Phantom and her crew, but they’d also been told to listen for news of Taren.
“Fine time to abandon your crew,” Renda said as Ian climbed to the top of the rope ladder and boarded the ship. Ian bristled beneath his cutting glare. “The men have been asking after you since the ceremony to commend Crian to the goddess. What would you have me tell them?”
Ian said nothing as he retrieved the clothing he’d left by the railing, then began to dress. The memory of the funeral ceremony the day before and the loss of a good man had left him feeling more adrift than he cared to admit. First Crian, whom he’d known since he was a young boy. Now Taren.
No. Taren’s alive. There was hope, he’d told himself as he’d watched Renda commit Crian’s body to the afterlife. He felt the zest of Renda’s power, saw the cool blue light flicker from the tips of his bony fingers before touching the water and stirring it. Crian’s body was wrapped in thick kelp leaves and lacelike seaweed and adorned with a multitude of shells, each chosen with care by the Phantom ’s crew. As it floated away from the Phantom and out of the harbor, it dipped beneath the surface and vanished. Ian knew Crian would continue his final journey until he reached the open ocean, where he would finally sink to the bottom and find his rest in the goddess’s arms. His heart ached for Crian’s loved ones. It was far too easy to imagine the immense loss he’d feel if Taren’s soul were to leave this world.
“Captain?”
“I heard you.” Ian came back to himself and tucked his shirt into his britches.
“I know you’re worried about Taren, but—”
“Don’t patronize me,” he snapped. “I know all too well what my duty is.” He glanced up at the shattered mizzen in disgust. “Tell Barra to gather the men at sunrise. We’ll need to repair the ship ourselves.”
Renda nodded his approval. “Aye, Captain.”
“Send word to Vurin. A messenger. Durat’s a strong swimmer. If he rides the eastern current, he might make Raice Harbor in a fortnight.” Ian turned, stormed down the stairs to his cabin, and slammed the door behind him before Renda could respond.
Damn Renda to hell for being right.
Ian closed his eyes and drew a long breath. None of this was Renda’s fault. None of it was anyone’s fault but his own. It was his responsibility to keep the Phantom and her crew safe. He should have realized the Council was keeping a close watch over him. They’d stranded Seria and his men. They’d stolen the Council’s fastest ship. He was a spy and a traitor to Ea’nu. The Council would want revenge.
The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes again was Taren’s jacket, still on the bed where Taren had tossed it days before. Ian hadn’t used the bed since they’d limped back to land and hidden their damaged vessel behind Renda’s enchantments.
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