Waterborne (Wanderlust 3)

Chapter Seven

Soren had the crew up and working early the next morning. He worked with them, untying from the docks and lowering sails while Ivern stood at the helm. Tanden, much to his displeasure, was tucked out of the way on the quarter deck with his foot in a bucket of cool salt water. He hated that the chill felt good on his swollen skin.

Tanden watched Crayse disappear as they sailed down the coast. He was in a mood, and most of the crew knew to leave him alone. He didn't even want Rico nearby to practice Alvarian with, and sent the man away to ask Ivern for a task. Ara's company he tolerated, only because Ara sat quietly drawing.

He hadn't explored Crayse nearly as much he would have liked to. He never found out if the colours of the domed roofs meant anything, or if the bigger, ornate ones he had seen in the distance belonged to a temple or a castle-of-sorts. He knew nothing about Crayse. Nothing about Cratia—Cray Shia. Nothing about Staedin, except that they would hate him if they knew he was married to Soren.

Tanden sighed, gaze dropping from the distant city to land on the tattoo around his wrist. It depicted two ropes, one blue and one black, wrapped around his wrist and coming together to form a Crelan lover's knot. It was what they had done instead of wear Teltish wedding rings. Not that either of them were strangers to wearing rings. Tanden wore two on his right hand. His family's crest ring, and his Order ring. Soren wore one, a silver ring topped by a compass rose. It was the first gift Tanden had given him.

He slipped off his family's crest ring and let it sit on his palm. It was an intricate piece of jewelry. A rectangular piece of blue lapis lazuli set in gold. A simplified Tandran crest was carved into the stone. Tanden thought of Elorie changing her muxil. He thought of leaving his family.

Maybe he had left them. Physically distancing himself in the aftermath of the port fire in West Draulin. Even earlier than that, chasing different countries because his own bored him. But he'd never left them in his heart. He still wore the ring. He still claimed his proper title, when circumstances demanded. Sometimes when they didn't, just to be impressive.

His index finger looked naked without the ring. He slid it back on, against his knuckle where it belonged. Where it would always belong, no matter how far he sailed from West Draulin.

Crayse was disappearing from sight. Distance and jungle blocked the view. Tanden's fingers, still touching his ring, started to fiddle with it. He rotated it around his finger, trying to ignore his shaking hands. The entire time in Crayse, he had been trying to focus on something else. Anything but the memories that were now flooding his mind. He thought that if he explored a new city and learned a new language, his head would be too busy to remember. But the ankle had slowed him down considerably.

Soren was worried, Tanden knew that. But Soren thought—everyone thought—that his ankle was the whole reason for his moodiness. His ankle was a contributing factor, but only so far as it stopped him from fully throwing himself into Crayse.

And now, the worst was happening. They would be on the Wanderlust when the day came. Not in a port, where Tanden could make excuses and disappear on his own. On the Wanderlust, where there would be nowhere to hide. No privacy.

And the closer the day came, the harder it was for Tanden to not think about it.

He kept fiddling with the ring, partially to keep his hands busy, and partially to disguise their shaking, and turned to watch the shoreline slowly drift past.

***

It was slow going for their first few days out of Crayse. The air shifted between a breeze barely enough to flutter their flag, and a strong gust blowing in the wrong direction. But they moved steadily South, and then South-east.