Page 29 of The Isles of the Gods
“Oh.” I can’t help my wince. “And now?”
“And now I’m half a year away from seeing him again, at best,” she replies, in something like an actual growl. “Thanks to you. Iknewyou were…”
“Strikingly handsome? Destined to cross your path again?”
“Trouble,” she shoots back.
An idea is starting to take hold, and I’m not sure what to do with it. “Selly, may I ask you a question?”
“Can I stop you?”
“Do you…do yougenuinelynot like me?” I can barely keep my tone serious, but as I take in the look in her eyes, my smile starts to die.
She’s put the boy prince on the job. It’s like shewantsto fail.
Nobody’s going to take him seriously. Who ever has?
I’m not sure what part of my brain thought it was necessary to memorize her insults yesterday, but now it wants to reproduce them for me at the least helpful time possible.
Selly’s shaking her head. She switches tones, and I’m fairly sure her next words are an unflattering impression of me. “ ‘I heard he wore a gold-sequined coat for the ages.’Likeyou, Prince? I don’t even understand you.You take nothing seriously, and you have no idea what that means for everyone around you.”
“Look, I’m very sorry about your father, but—”
“It’s not your fault?” She drops into another impression of me. “Then I’m ‘just naturally cranky,’ I guess.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. I can win over anyone, given enough time, but I’ll admit I’ve made this difficult for myself.
“So you can stop trying to make friends,” she continues, oblivious to my thoughts. “I’ll be sailing the ship, and you’ll be keeping out of the way.” Her gaze slides sideways before I can reply, and her lips curve to a small, surprising smile. “You could tryhim,instead,” she suggests.
I follow her gaze and find a stooped figure with very pale skin and dark hair shaved down to stubble coming up the wooden steps. He doesn’t look like a sailor—he must be the passenger the captain mentioned last night. I owe him an apology for stranding him aboard my little expedition.
Then he lifts his head, and I start in recognition. “Wollesley? Keegan Wollesley?”
He freezes, then fixes me with a look like I’ve made a spelling mistake. “Good morning, Your Highness,” he says, stiffly courteous. “I thought you would still be in bed.” The implication is perfectly clear:I wouldn’t have come up on deck if I’d thought we’d run into each other.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to imagine what Keegan Wollesley, of all people, is doing aboard a merchantship.
“It appears I’m sailing to the Isle of Barrica, same as you,” he replies, all disapproval.
So, in the face of that disapproval, I do what I’ve been doing since we were eleven years old. I annoy him.
“Imagine what a research trip it’ll be. There’s no other way you’d ever be allowed to see the place. We’re sailing to an island that’s not even on a map, Wollesley. That doesn’t interest you even a little? You could write a famous monograph on it.”
“I’d rather read a monograph on it,” he replies darkly.
“Lord Wollesley,” I chide him. “If you keep your head buried in a book all your life, you’ll miss all the fun.”
“At least I’ve read a book,” he shoots back. “And at least I will be doing what I choose. I will have set my own course, rather than simply drifting along, never striving for something that matters.”
Beside me, Selly snorts, sounding suspiciously like she’s amused.
Wollesley’s flushed, caught somewhere between surprise and horror that the words in his head somehow made it to his mouth.
And I’m maintaining my easy grin, thanks to a lifetime of practice.
“Look at you, already dropping those nautical metaphors,” I drawl. “It’s like you’ve been at sea all your life. Tell me, where were you headed before you joined me on my way to the Isle of Barrica?” Something’s prickling at the back of my mind, and I reach for half-remembered gossip. “I thought I saw your engagement announced in the papers?”
“I was supposed to be sailing for Trallia, then on to the Bibliotek,” he replies icily.
