The Coldest Sea Read online

  Again she had a strange feeling, as though an unseen mist had gathered in the cabin and was now trickling down through the body of the flute.

  She ignored it and kept playing. At least she had some control over the music. No surprises there; nothing hidden like what Vinsen had told her before he’d left. No wonder matters on the ship had seemed so strained when she’d boarded it. She couldn’t help wondering what had happened before that, between his previous ship’s sinking and his taking command of Fallstar.

  Oh, to hell with this. The music stopped in mid-cadence and she set the flute carefully aside. There was a way to find out, once and for all, what else Vinsen would never have let slip. She picked up the book she’d wanted to save for the rest of the trip, allowing herself a few pages every day, and plunged in.

  After Vinsen and Joama had gone over what she would do on board the next day, he told her who he would take with him and she said she would see to the supplies they’d carry. “You might want to have Brander as well,” she said, so Vinsen stopped at the infirmary to ask that the physician’s aide accompany them. He’d always thought of Joama as a rock wall between him and the crew, but now she seemed more like a foundation stone—equally hard, but something he could rely on.

  He wasn’t sure what the atmosphere was like in his quarters, but he told Cutwater to send the evening meal there. If Maggie continued to hold him at arm’s length, at least the supper might be a distraction from that.

  She was deep into her book, though, and she barely glanced up at him. If she was reading at all, because she turned the pages far too fast. He shrugged out of his coat, wondering whether she was looking at pictures—not that he had any intention of asking.

  It didn’t take long to pack what he needed, but after he finished and sank into a chair opposite her, she sighed, bringing her palms together to close the book. She set it on the table and looked at him as if she wasn’t sure what to do or say.

  Which was odd, because she was usually so poised, but also because she no longer seemed to be busying herself to keep him at bay. “Supper will be ready soon,” he said.

  Maggie nodded slightly, as though she needed to acknowledge the fact that he had spoken but hadn’t taken in a word of it. Her eyes looked as though a firework had gone off before them and they were taking some time to recover. Vinsen began to wonder whether she was all right.

  “I finished that,” she said abruptly. “I read the entire second half in the last hour, and my head is swimming.” She propped her elbows on the table and massaged her temples. “This is what either eyestrain or brain fever feels like.”

  “Why in the world did you do that?” He got up, found a pitcher of cold fresh water and soaked a handkerchief before he gave it to her.

  “To find out what happened to you.”

  Vinsen had turned to pour them both wine, and he paused with the cork halfway out of the bottle. “What did it say, exactly?”

  Maggie wiped her eyes and leaned back. “That after your ship sank, you were rescued by a foreign vessel, which was seized by pirates who…tortured you.”

  “That’s nonsense. They didn’t torture me.”

  The worried expression told him she wanted to believe that, but she glanced dubiously back at the book. Vinsen thought if he’d known what she would do in his absence, he would have gone to any lengths to keep her from reading the damn book. Maybe even kissed her senseless, so at least there’d be no chance of her imagining horrors.

  “I read you were beaten and starved and—” she began.

  “That isn’t torture.” Vinsen set a glass of wine before her, accidentally knocking the book halfway across the table with the back of his hand as he did so. “I still have all my fingers and toes. Both eyes. That’s the least of what pirates do. I was fortunate.”

  He meant that, because he’d heard too many stories of rape and mutilation and murder, and had seen the results of a few. Compared to those, what he’d gone through had been nothing. But he wanted to shield Maggie from that kind of brutality, even getting it second-hand.

  Her sister-in-law had a lot to answer for, he thought grimly. If he’d known the woman would lay him open like a kipper in a book that anyone could buy and read, he would never have said a word to her. Alyster hadn’t even warned him about that, the bastard.

  “Didn’t any of that make a difference to the Admiralty?” Maggie asked.

  “Any of what? I hardly did anything while I was a prisoner. That was what they took umbrage to.”

  A hot spark flickered in her eyes. “Exactly. You were a prisoner, and you were treated incredibly cruelly. How could you have done anything?”

  “The point is, I lost my ship and had nothing to show for it.” Except more ugly memories. “So let’s not talk about that any more.”

  Maggie studied him for a long moment. “All right, but I’ll say one thing. You’re a damn fine captain—just not of a cargo carrier.”

  Vinsen’s heart jolted, and he hoped none of the impact had traveled to his face. The compliment was so unexpected and so spontaneous. He hadn’t seen his family since his thirteenth birthday, and his few friends were all in the navy, as he had once been. There, people were congratulated on well-deserved promotions or success in dangerous missions, not simply told they were good—no, damn fine—at their work.

  “I thought if I proved myself here, the Admiralty would reconsider.” That was something he’d never told anyone, but he couldn’t stop himself; all the weight fell off along with the words, unstoppable as an anchor coming down on the ice. “The tide may be turning against the pirates, but we’ll always need warships.”

  She nodded slowly. “But after Captain Chansver, the crew didn’t want you.”

  “And Fallstar does short-haul runs, up and down the coast. She’s made that route so often she’s worn a path in the sea, so the crew didn’t need me trying to improve that. Probably just as well.” He smiled, without much humor. “I made one change to our journey and look where we are now.”

  She propped her chin on her clasped hands. “You don’t think the Bleakhaveners will let us go under any circumstances, do you?”

  “No. If we’d managed to take prisoners, I might have traded them for safe passage, but they’re dead.”

  “What, all of them?”

  “Odd, isn’t it? All we have is that woman, and I’m releasing her tomorrow morning.”

  “Then you’ll send someone after her.”

  Vinsen lifted his glass, and when she did the same, he clinked rims. “The dog loves aniseed. We’ll smear a little on the soles of her boots.”

  For the first time since he’d entered her cabin to deal with Ruay, a smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and it didn’t stop there. It lit up her eyes as well. Not for the first time, he thought how lovely she was when she smiled.

  “You’re resourceful,” she said.

  Vinsen shrugged, secretly pleased. “People stretched to their limits usually are.”

  Maggie sipped her wine before she went on. “I don’t know if we’ll ever get out of this, but if we do, I hope you have a better ship some day. Not just because you deserve it, but because you’re wasted on short-haul cargo runs. It’s like using hellfire to light candles.”

  Vinsen couldn’t help laughing. He hadn’t done that in a long time, but it felt good. “That’s the best compliment anyone’s ever paid me,” he said. “And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you get out of this.”

  The smile was gone at once. “Me, not yourself? You mean you’re following her tomorrow?”

  She didn’t seem shocked—more like she’d heard bad news that she had been expecting—but he wished he could have spared her that too. Though she would have found out before long, and she was sharp enough to figure it out beforehand anyway.

  “At the least, that might draw their attention away from Fallstar.” He toppe
d up their glasses. “At best, who knows? We might take a few of them with us.”

  “Unity.” She slumped in her chair. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

  “I’m not taking you with me,” Vinsen said at once.

  “I wasn’t asking you to.” At least she didn’t sound crushed any longer. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “Sorry.” He hid a smile behind the wineglass.

  “Times like this, though?” Maggie twirled the stem of hers so candlelight gleamed off the glass, and she looked at the reflections as if mesmerized. “I wish I’d been trained to fight. With a sword, with a knife. Hell, with my bare hands. All I can do is play music.”

  Thank the Unity. Vinsen never wanted her in a position where she might be hurt, where she had to fight for her life, where she might lose. He let himself watch her for the few moments when her attention was off him and she wouldn’t notice.

  Cutting her hair, dangerous though that had been—obviously her brother wasn’t the only reckless one in the family—had made her look even better. Rather than being drawn back in a tight bun, the dark curls now framed her face, moving freely when she turned her head. He liked the combination of the unusual style with her extraordinary eyes. Then again, he liked entirely too much about her.

  She looked up, which was his cue to talk. “Your brothers must have joined the navy young enough to be cabin boys,” he said. “You never thought of doing the same thing?”

  “Oh no. Father didn’t approve of what Darok and Alyster did. He wanted them to be musicians, maybe composers, but since they both declined that honor…”

  “He decided you had to live his dream.” Overbearing of him, but Vinsen’s own father had died before his fifth birthday, and a parent with high hopes might be the lesser of two evils.

  “It’s not all bad.” Shrugging, she finished her wine. “I like music. I’m no good at composing anything, but I do love playing.”

  A knock announced a deckhand with a loaded tray. “You sing beautifully too,” he said after the door had shut.

  Maggie paused, fingers poised on the lid of a tureen. “How did you know?”

  Oh, damn. He’d forgotten that she had never sung in his presence. “I was listening outside the door.”

  “Eavesdropping on my privacy.” But she sounded mock-annoyed, and one corner of her mouth twitched. Vinsen raised a brow.

  “It’s my cabin,” he pointed out.

  “No, as long as I’m staying here by your invitation, it’s our cabin. Which means if you want to hear music, you come in, instead of waiting outside the door like a dog on the step.”

  He grinned. Her bluntness didn’t bother him when he knew how sweet she could be under that crust, like a peach pie. “Agreed,” he said as she unlidded the dishes and he served them both.

  The food was different—maybe Cutwater was sending him off to his death with a good final supper. The salt pork had been cooked in saffron sauce, which made him think involuntarily of the account books; the spice was part of their cargo. But whether or not the ship burst free and returned home, no one deserved the indulgence more than they did. There was a loaf flavored with ground walnuts too, and by the time they started on dried fruits plumped in brandy, Maggie made a few mmm sounds that distracted him from the food.

  “So your father kept you sheltered,” he said, to stop the murmurs of pleasure.

  She licked brandy off her lip. Damn it, she had no idea what that did to him. “I can see why.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, now that I’ve been on a ship, I’ll miss it when I leave.”

  “This ship?”

  “Do you have another ship somewhere? Of course, this ship. It’s not the most modern or best-appointed, but there’s the wind and the sea and—and not knowing what’s over the horizon. As though anything’s possible.” She smiled, a little self-consciously. “I’m not expressing myself very well. Must be the wine.”

  Vinsen shook his head silently. That was what he loved—had loved—about being on a ship too. The freedom, the challenge, the excitement of the unknown, except he’d never heard someone landbound express it so well. Maybe she had more in common with her brothers than she knew.

  The candles had burned low. The cabin felt warm and pleasant, and he didn’t think that was due to the wine. He piled the dishes on the tray. “I’ll take this to the galley,” he said. “And you can sleep in the bunk.”

  A blush stole up her face. No way to tell if that was due to embarrassment or something better, not when she had all those clothes on. She’d taken off her cloak, but she wore a fleece-lined vest over a blouse that was high to the neck and long-sleeved. He looked away from her as he hefted the tray, and she got up to open the door for him.

  He did an inspection of the deck, which helped cool him down after the thought of her in his bunk. Besides, he wanted to give her all the time she needed to wash and undress. Finally, when his hands started to tingle in their gloves, he went back down. The lookouts had firepots to warm themselves, but their shifts had to be changed every hour. Coldness poured off the iceberg like an unseen bitter tide.

  It was a relief to be back in his cabin, though from the open bedroom door, he saw her dark head resting on his pillow, blankets drawn up to her chin. He had to go past that bed to reach his hammock, except he might not get any sleep with her so near. The tiny room would be filled with the scent of her. The other women he had known had worn perfume like flowers, but Maggie smelled of something different, something he couldn’t quite identify, which was intriguing. Fresh-cut cedarwood, maybe, earthy and intoxicating without being sweet. Then again, she hardly needed fragrance for that.

  He had to take his mind off her, in the slight hope that his body would follow suit. Maybe he could do some carving—no, that might be noisy. He looked around the table for inspiration and went still.

  The horse he’d carved had been standing on a pile of maps, weighing them down, except now it was no longer standing. It reared instead, forelegs kicking the air, held perfectly balanced on the three points of hind-hooves and tail.

  Chapter Seven

  Nightfall

  Vinsen drew his knife. He wasn’t drunk and he wasn’t hallucinating, so how had that happened?

  Using the tip of the knife, he knocked the horse over. It fell and lay on its side on the papers, as any carving would have done. There seemed to be nothing else odd about it. When he picked it up, he saw the flaw in the carving, the chip he’d accidentally made in its belly, and the eyes of nacre stared unseeingly into his.

  “What are you doing?” Maggie said.

  Vinsen started, nearly dropping the horse. “Unity. Don’t creep up on me like that.”

  “Sorry. I’m barefoot, so I guess you didn’t hear me. But why do you have your knife drawn?”

  Vinsen sheathed it and set the horse down. She’d think he was crazy if he said a carving had changed shape, and the ospreys on the shelf all seemed the same. “Did anyone come in here while I was gone?”

  Maggie’s brows went up and she shook her head.

  “Forget it. I’m imagining things.” With his attention off the horse, he remembered what she had said. “You’re not wearing socks?” No, he wouldn’t think of whatever else she might not have on under a flannel nightgown that skimmed the floor. A blue wrapper was open down the front as though she had pulled it on quickly. “Your feet must be freezing. Go back to bed and I’ll get you a hot stone.”

  “I don’t want a hot stone. I want you to tell me what this was doing under the pillow.”

  She opened one hand. Between her fingers was a soft dark coil, the curl he’d taken from her earlier.

  Vinsen’s mind went blank. He’d admit that he wanted her any day of the week, but keeping a lock of her hair was different. What reason could there be for that, except wanting to have something to remember her
by? Which was soft and sentimental, nothing he could afford to be. If they had been anywhere else, with time stretching like a smooth untrodden shore before them, it might have been different.

  But he needed to answer her, because that memento hadn’t walked into his bedroom by itself. Anyway, she was only too aware of the flaws beneath his surface. Maybe he could be honest with her, as much as he dared, because if he was setting out into an iceberg before another night had passed, what would it matter?

  “I like you,” he said quietly, keeping his voice calm. “I enjoy eating with you and talking to you, and I’d like you even more in my bed. But I know I’ve given you reason not to feel the same way, so that?” He glanced at the curl. “That’s all I have.”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Vinsen…maybe you should sit down.”

  Vinsen didn’t know exactly what he had been hoping for in reply, but that wasn’t it. She sounded about to refuse, and he sure as hell could survive that without his knees giving way. What was next, smelling salts?

  “Maybe you should go back to bed before your toes fall off,” he said. “You can either walk or be carried. We’ll talk once you’re there.”

  “I’m not a child.” She seemed to feel the same way about his answer as he’d done to her suggestion that he seek the support of a chair. Good. “Or under your command.”

  Vinsen didn’t bother arguing the matter, just scooped her up into his arms. She gasped and clutched at him, which he didn’t mind at all, but before she could get out a word of protest, he was in the bedroom. Two strides took him to the bunk. He laid her down and pulled the blankets over her, because the nightgown had ridden up to her knees.

  “As long as you’re on my ship, you are under my command,” he said. “Sure you don’t want a hot stone for your feet?”