Page 72 of Salt in the Seas
The clomp of the older man’s boots grew closer, and Gaeren scanned the extra sails and food tied down, crouching as if he might crawl between them and hide.
Aeliana’s laugh gave them away, and Larkos rounded the mast, glaring at them and making Aeliana grateful it was Gaeren he was after, not her.
“I should probably get back to training.” Aeliana bit her lip to hold back a second laugh when Gaeren shook his head, his eyes pleading with her to stay.
He caught the sleeve of her shirt in his fist. “At least be my alibi. Make sure he knows Sylmar wanted us training together.”
“Somehow I don’t think that excuse will change anything. After all, aren’t you captain of the ship, not Sylmar?”
His eyes narrowed, giving her the impression that she’d managed to get under his skin this time, and she found that knowledge rewarding. As Larkos began railing at Gaeren, she gave him a mock saluteand yanked her sleeve from his grasp, turning to head back to his quarters that she’d stolen.
The satisfaction stayed with her as she returned to the room, and when Iris was nowhere to be found, she decided to take advantage of her stolen time. She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. As she reached for the tether tying her to Durriken, she wasn’t sure if the smile lingering on her lips was because of her remembered time with Gaeren or the time she anticipated having with Durriken.
CHAPTER 28
After a verbal beating from Larkos,Gaeren fulfilled his shift at the wheel, his mind still on his training session with Aeliana. It was the start of a predictive pattern over the next five days: training with Aeliana in the mornings, getting berated by Larkos in the afternoons, then taking a turn at the helm until the evening.
There was no shortage of work to do on the ship, but even while working, his mind remained preoccupied with Aeliana. It shouldn’t have been any different from the years before when he constantly thought about rescuing her, but now his thoughts dwelt on how much easier she laughed with him or how glimpses of the memories she shared gave him new insight to the woman she’d become instead of the toddler he’d lost.
“The men are getting restless.” Larkos’ gaze never left the water, and his hands remained tight on the ship’s wheel.
“They usually do after fourteen days at sea,” Gaeren said. “It can’t help having so many extra hands on board who need even more training than Erech.”
Larkos grunted his agreement.
“You haven’t exactly been pleasant either,” Gaeren pointed out, even though he risked receiving another dressing down. “Not since we left Elanesse. I should have let you stay home with Calia.”
“You’ve kept me from my wife far too long. I won’t deny that. But that’s not what’s left me irritated.” He scowled at the horizon.
“Then what has?” Gaeren crossed his arms. “Get it off your chest.”
Larkos glared at him. “You finally understand the Recreants, even fight alongside them. Then your sister hands you the opportunity to stay in a position of power—one you can use to aid the Recreants—and you throw it away.”
Gaeren’s jaw fell open. “You wanted me to stay in Elanesse?”
Larkos grumbled something unintelligible.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know,” the older man admitted. “I did. Thought it was the perfect setup. Maybe it still is. But something about this journey feels right. I’m trying to keep an open mind.”
Gaeren grinned and shook his head, trying to imagine his first mate being so agreeable.
Larkos grunted again. “Maybe you should have Thallahan pull out his fiddle tonight.”
Gaeren scanned the ship for his friend, who happened to be letting another sailor paint his eye patch. “I’m sure he’d be eager for an excuse to work even less,” he said dryly.
They’d reached the Darkwater currents near Vendaras’ southern tip, and Larkos adjusted the wheel more than usual to account for the unpredictable shifting currents. The flex of his forearm brought Gaeren’s attention back to his Wheel of Magic tattoo. Something about it still seemed off to Gaeren. It was probably just the way the rim remained unfinished. But he studied it all the same, looking for how Larkos might have twisted the image to fit his Recreant ideals.
“You still don’t like it?” Larkos asked.
“I don’t like it any more or less than the rest of your tattoos.”
Larkos’ brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with my tattoos?”
“Nothing. They’re just so permanent. I can’t think of anything I’d want to make that permanent on my body.”
Larkos’ grin turned sly beneath his beard. “Like a bond mark? How’s that been feeling these days? Twitching and tingling quite a bit?”
