Talia scrambled with the box back down into the hold, and Captain Oblaine took it from her, drawing out bandages and a glass bottle.
“She’ll kill us all!” gasped her mother,over and over. Sweat and tears poured down her face.
Oblaine uncorked the bottle, and held it to her mother’s lips. “Drink.”
She did, coughing as she swallowed, her whole body trembling.
“What is that?” Talia demanded, kneeling on the floor beside him.
“Opium. It will ease her pain and calm her. Help her sleep through the night.”
Sure enough her mother lay quiet now, her breathing steadyagain. The Captain bandaged her wrist with quiet efficiency.
He shook his head, his eyes finding Talia’s. “Gods only know why I agreed to this commission. Catastrophe follows you.”
“Why did you?”
He considered her. “It wasn’t just for the money, if that’s what you’re thinking. If my daughter were here in your place, I would want someone to watch over her. Keep her safe.”
She glanced at hermother’s form in the bed, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Her throat felt tight. “Thank you.”
Oblaine nodded. “Call me if you need anything else.”
He took the medical kit and went back up into the storm.
Talia stayed kneeling by her mother’s bed, shuddering as the waves beat hard against the ship, trying to get in, trying to break them to pieces.
She fell asleep without meaningto and woke with the morning to find that the storm had passed. The sea once more ran calm.
Her mother woke, too, and her dark eyes were glassy with fever.
The Captain examined her mother, feeling her pulse and checking the bandage on her wrist. “Nothing to worry about,” he told Talia gently. “It’s just a fever, and will pass soon enough.”
But Talia knew better. Her mother was stronger thanthe Emperor and as obdurate as a mountain. A mere fever would never incapacitate her like this.
She crouched by the bunk, taking her mother’s good hand in her own and tenderly kissing her forehead. “Are you in pain, Mama?”
Tears leaked down her mother’s cheeks. “The sea goddess saw us,” she whispered. “She looked up from her Hall and saw us passing through her waters. So she sent a storm tobreak the ship, to snatch our souls down into her darkness. She’ll kill us. She’ll kill us!”
“Lie still, Mama,” said Talia soothingly. “It was just a dream. We’re safe now, the storm is over. Your wrist will heal, and we’ll be together in Ryn very soon.”
Her mother shuddered, eyes frantic. “She’ll try again. She won’t stop until she’s satisfied! I have to go up. I have to watch the sea. I haveto protect you!”
She tried to get out of bed, but Talia pressed her gently back onto the pillow. “Later, Mama. We can watch later. Sleep now.”
And her mother sighed and shut her eyes. She fell into a fitful sleep, twisting in the bunk, sweat glistening on her forehead.
The day slipped slowly away, and her mother slid in and out of fretful dreams, writhing in the sheets, mumbling and cryingin her sleep. Talia sat with her, holding her hand and wiping the sweat from her forehead. She pleaded with the gods she didn’t believe in:You took my father from me. You can’t have my mother, too.
Hanid came to see her in the midafternoon, carrying a battered tea tray. He set it on the floor under the porthole, and Talia’s mouth watered at the scent of roasted pork, even though she didn’t feelparticularly hungry.
“How is she?”
Talia shook her head. “Sleeping, now. She keeps—she keeps talking about a sea goddess.”
Hanid grabbed a bottle from off the tea tray—more opium—and uncorked it.
Her mother rustled uneasily in the tiny bunk, and Hanid tipped a few drops of the drug into her mouth. She swallowed automatically, and lay quieter.
