Kit’s jaw tightened. He leaned in to peer closely at Nick’s arm. “You can cast all of them on me?”
“Err,” Nick hesitated. He hadn’t exactly been given a full explanation about them… Laurence just said he was writing a spell that would let Nick learn other languages. He hoped that meant all he had to do was copy it. “I can try.”
He thought the answer would aggravate Kit further, but instead he looked relieved. “Thank you.”
Nick felt uncomfortable with the thanks. “I don’t know if it will work. But even if it doesn’t—I’m still going to figure something out. Even though you kidnapped me, well…” Nick sighed. “I want to help you.”
Nick had to make sure that when his rescue came, Desre didn’t get to sail off scot-free. One way or another, there would be justice.
Kit’s tail crept close, circling Nick’s ankle. “I do not deserve it,” he said softly, “but thank you.”
It was an echo of when Nick had offered Kit the coffee beans at the party. Nick stared at Kit, thinking of his determination to grow the coffee beans—the gift he didn’t think he deserved either—and thinking of his kindness and patience with the children. His openness and his vulnerability.
It was cruel to take someone gentle like Kit and force them to be a weapon.
“I think you do, Kit,” Nick said.
???
Every minute that Nick spent in the room, he practised drawing the symbols on slate with chalk. It was a dismal effort. Nick was one of those rare kids who had hated art from the age of four, a premonition of what was to come because Laurence had soaked up all the art genes for himself and left Nick with nothing to work with.
A fact that hadn’t magically changed now that he had a pressing need to draw well.
Nick leaned back sharply, annoyed at the latest terrible attempt. This wasn’t going to work. It would take months to be able to copy it accurately, if he ever managed it at all. And Nick didn’t even know how the symbols functioned. The only thing he could control was how accurate the drawing was.
The slate slipped from his grip as a sudden surge of heat raced through the black ink lines on both his arms. The delicate stone, so carefully wrapped and stored after each lesson, shattered on the ground. Nick only spared a glance for the broken instrument, clutching his arms as another surge of heat raced through the tattoos, flaring to pain, tearing a twisted gasp from his lips.
Kit surged into the room with a look of alarm. His eyes swept through the open room in a quick jerk, seeing the shattered slate, and then he rushed to Nick’s side, cupping his shoulders and leaning over him as he curled forwards. “Nick?”His tail lashed dangerously through the air. “What’s wrong? Did you cut yourself?”
“I don’t know,” Nick forced out through gritted teeth. The heat and pain came in steady throbs. It felt like boiling water was pulsing through the lines in time with his heartbeat.
Kit caught Nick by the wrist, the leather of his gloves creaking as he drew Nick firmly towards him and bent to examine his arm. “I feel heat through my gloves. What is this?”
“They get hot when they’re doing something,” Nick gasped. “But all of them—I don’t –”
A tolling bell drowned out Nick as he half collapsed from the chair into Kit’s chest. At the first ring of the bell, Kit went rigid. Nick heard the ship come alive; feet raced across the decking, so numerous they vibrated the boards beneath his knees.
The door opened. “Mermen spotted,” Mini shouted to be heard over the bells. “You restrained him already?”
“Get Anna,” Kit barked.
Mermen. Shit. Alright.
Nick needed to get to the deck. He could throw himself into the water. They’d find him in seconds. But the agony in his arms was crippling. He had a mouthful of Kit’s silk shirt in his teeth to choke down a scream as pain passed through him in a wave. Sweat poured from him, his body burning like he was in the grip of a roaring fever.
Without releasing Nick, Kit dragged over the water bucket from the stove and dunked a cloth into it, then covered Nick’s arms in the cool water. It doused the pain, his skin no longer crackling, though in seconds he felt it building again like charging electric static.
“If hurting him upsets you this much, then let someone else do it.” Anna’s practical voice cut through the haze of Nick’s mind.
“I didn’t do anything,” Kit snapped. “He’s in pain. The magic on his arms—Nick, what can we do? I don’t understand how your magic works. None of us on board do. Except Lady Desre.” Kit hesitated, then continued, pained. “I will ask her?”
“Leave him to me. You need to be on deck.”
At Anna’s suggestion, Kit’s grip on Nick tightened. A hand protectively cupped the back of Nick’s head. “His arms are bleeding. And his blood is”—a sound of distress fell from Kit’s lips—“it’ssteaming.”
Nick blinked through the haze to see that Kit was right; the black lines bled, and the blood welling from the wounds smoked.
“If those mermen sink this ship, we’re all dead. If they realise he’s on board, we’re all dead. Leave him to me. I’ll do my job, and you go doyourjob.” Anna’s voice took on a hard, commanding tone. “Staying here panicking doesn’t help anyone.”
