Blades of Men (on hold - sorry!)

Chapter Eighteen: Athalia

Hey guys!

I'm sorry. I know it's been ages, and this is a still a pathetically short chapter, but if anyone's interested, I'm rewriting Keys of Life (I didn't realise I was so melodramatic!).

So keep your eyes peeled.

And here it is.

Hope you like it.

SleepyBug.

P.S.

And thanks to autumn_duskflame for saying she wanted more. God knows how long it could have been 'till the next update if she hadn't.   

Chapter Eighteen: Athalia

   My stomach rolled as the boat gave another lurch. I prayed that it wouldn’t be much longer, that everything would go smoothly and that we would get there before I threw myself off the side on the ship in utter mortification. Not only was Conrad sulking over my refusal to say anything more about my engagement to his uncle, but he was now watching me retch into the foaming waves.  

   “That shouldn’t have happened,” I said. Emotions flung themselves around my body like the broiling sea below me.

   “You mean the fact that you lost your lunch –or is it breakfast now? Or something else altogether?”

   Conrad had his eyes closed. He sighed, a brief, unexpected smile coming to his face before his jaw tightened and his eyes became guarded once more. Whenever I saw him like this, I could remember the fear I had felt whenever I had first seen him, the sense of dark longing and danger that beckoned like a forbidden fruit. His voice was cold and steely.  

    “Why didn’t you tell me?”

   I felt all the blood drain out of my face. My lips still tingled from his kisses, the ones that sent sensation racing through my body until my toes curled, and then back again to speed up my pulse.

   “I could have sworn we were talking about you – or rather, you’re behaviour – instead of my imploding nuptials.” If it was possible, his face tensed further.

   “You don’t deny it, then.”

   I sighed. I didn’t want to talk about it, would rather consign it to a far-flung corner of my mind where I could allow it to reside in a neat box. Packaged away, it couldn’t hurt. I wouldn’t let it.

   “Stop. I don’t want to talk about this. It doesn’t matter anymore,” I winced, even as I said it. I fought down another wave of nausea as the next barrage of insults barged into my brain. 

   “Oh. God forbid – we should actually talk about our lives! Why not just continue to ignore any reference about family!” His voice was lonely against the backdrop of the sea. I could imagine him as an infamous pirate, back from plundering English ships and wealthy with the spoils of all things illegal. I shook myself. This was not helping.   

   “Don’t even think about it, Conrad. Let’s talk about you! Why do you hate them? What did they do?” I flinched at how defensive my voice sounded.

   My stomach chose that moment to let loose another wave of nausea as the ship pitched up and down like a demented animal. I felt as if I was only just clinging on to my sanity, just as I could feel myself about to be thrown into the cold waters below me.

   I could see it as it happened. One lurch, my hands slipping from the wet wood, tumbling and twirling in the air until the sudden shock of finding myself sinking. I could almost feel my lungs burning at the slow floating, even as my hair billowed out around me like a shroud. My searching mouth letting the murky liquid fill my chest as I couldn't stop myself gasping fruitlessly for air, the moments of panic and then -  

   Oh, Lord. I couldn't breathe.  

   Conrad watched me as the next bought of dry heaving ran its course, the great heaving whooshes of air bringing relief from the dry aching as he started to come closer – smoothing my hair down my back, rubbing my arms and finally pulling me tight to his chest as if he could protect me from the cruel breeze and the devil himself.

   “I suppose we’ve reached something of an impasse, haven’t we?”

   I turned to him, using the slight lull in the wild tipping and bucking to grind words through my teeth.

   “Can’t we just leave this - for now?” I said, fighting to keep the tears from my voice, trying to stop from choking on the knot that formed in my throat. I mused absentmindedly in a small corner of my brain at all the effort needed to spit out seven measly words.

   And it didn’t quite work, either. I couldn’t stop the hopelessness from seeping into my tone like poison.

   My eyes were grainy, encased in sand – I’d had so little sleep, and my head hurt from thinking about Conrad. My stomach felt as if it would never stop its horrendous revolt against the rest of my body, and then the memory of that kiss, of the way he devoured my mouth, it...it still made my legs turn to butter.

   A tear escaped. I turned away from him. He guessed, though. He always did.

   “I’m sorry.” It forced its way through my mouth of my own accord. Yet despite my reservations, I could feel his spine melt until he was pressed tightly against me.

   “Shh. It’s okay. Everything will be okay, I promise you that much.” He pressed his lips into the top of my hair, smelling the strands.

   In that moment, nothing mattered but the feel of his attention wrapping around my soul until softly, slowly; I fell asleep in his arms.