Dragon Haven (Rain Wild Chronicles #2)

Dragon Haven (Rain Wild Chronicles #2) Page 146

LEFTRIN HAD GONE to his bunk physically weary and sore of heart. How could his ship do this to him?

When he had first sought his bed, he could still hear the sounds of the keepers and the hunters around their campfire. The dragons had fed earlier in the day when they’d disturbed a herd of riverpigs from their slumbers. Carson had managed to bag a pig as well, and he’d towed the carcass back to Tarman for the crew and keepers to share. The roasted pork had been a welcome feast for all. Alise and Thymara had returned with a carry-sack full of fruit and a report of firmer land, while Harrikin and Sylve had found a bed of freshwater clams right where Tarman had nosed up onto the delta. All in all, they’d had a feast to make up for their days of scarcity. Their water barrels were full again, and both keepers and crew were in good spirits despite the ship’s delay. It could have been a good day, but for the ship’s stubbornness.

He had gone to bed early in a fit of gloom. Alise was still keeping him at arm’s length, and Tarman’s incomprehensible behavior was infuriating and frightening. All the keepers seemed confident that tomorrow the expedition would continue as planned. They all believed that he, the captain, would somehow remedy the situation. His crew did not seem so sanguine. Hennesey and Swarge shared his concerns about the boat’s decidedly odd behavior. They had not discussed it with him, but the looks and whispers his crewmen had exchanged let him know that they were as troubled as he was. This was not like the Tarman they all knew and loved. Was it a result of adding more wizardwood to his hull? And if it was, where might it lead?

Unlike all the other liveships, Tarman had no simulacrum body with which to speak to his captain and crew. He had only his eyes right at the waterline, and as large and expressive as they might be, they could not communicate every thought in his mind. Tarman always had been and continued to be private in many of his thoughts. When Leftrin put his hands on Tarman’s railing, he could sense something of what the ship wanted. He’d known from whence came the idea to use the chance-found wizardwood to give Tarman a body that was a bit more independent of human will. It was odd, now that he thought of it, that Tarman had never requested a figurehead, or arms and hands. No. All he had wanted was independence of movement.

There were a hundred ways he could interpret that decision by his ship, perhaps a thousand. He mulled all of them over in his mind that night. Long after the voices from the beach had quieted, and long after the reflected light from their bonfire had faded from the roof of his cabin, he thought about them.

At some point, he slept.

They walked together through the streets of Kelsingra, arm in arm. Alise had a basket in her free hand and she swung it as they walked. She had the day planned out for them and was speaking, detailing it all. But he wasn’t listening. He didn’t need to hear her plans. He was enjoying the sound of her voice, and the sunlight warm on his shoulders. He wore his hat on the back of his head and sauntered along, her hand hooked so nicely in the crook of his arm. The streets were full of folk going about their business. They strolled past fine buildings made of silver-veined black stone. At the major intersections, fountains leaped and danced, playing a music that always changed but was ever harmonious. The music and smells of the market rode the air. Perhaps that was where she was taking him. It didn’t matter to him if they were going to buy silk and spices and meat cooked on a skewer, or if the basket held a cloth and a picnic for them to share on the riverside. They were here together. The sound of her voice in his ears was sweet, her hand was warm on his arm, and all was well. All was well in Kelsingra.

LEFTRIN AWOKE TO darkness and stillness. The warmth and the sense of certainty he’d had while he was dreaming was gone. His heart yearned after those things. He’d so seldom had them in his waking life. “Kelsingra,” he whispered into the quiet of his room, and for an instant he shared a dragon’s certainty that once they reached that fabled city, all would be well. Was it possible that when they arrived there, that would be so? In his dream the city had been peopled and alive. He and Alise had belonged there, belonged together in that place where no one could ever separate them. That, he knew for certain, was only the stuff of dreams.

A sound softer than the scratch of Grigsby at his door came to him. “Cat?” he asked, puzzled.

“No,” she spoke into the darkness. The white of her nightgown caught what little light came in his stateroom window as she eased open the door. He caught his breath. She shut the door more quietly than his beating heart. She ghosted silently to his bed and he lay still, wondering if his dream of completeness had returned, fearing that if he moved he might awaken himself. She did not sit down at the edge of his bed. Instead, she lifted the corner of his blankets and slid in beside him. His arm fell easily around her. She put the arches of her chilled bare feet on his ankles and perched there. Her breasts against his chest, her soft stomach against his belly, she faced him on the pillow.