Leda

Chapter Thirty-Two: Open Water

There was nothing left in Meracad's stomach. At least, that was what she thought. But when the galleon pitched and rolled again, the nausea welled, brewed and burned. She clutched at the taffrail, closing her eyes. The sickness peaked and she retched, releasing a string of bile over the side and into the churning waters below. Panting, sweat beading her brow, she sank down amongst coils of rope and barrels. Giving birth had not been so exhausting, surely. The human body, she concluded, was not designed to cross salt water. She thought longingly of Hannac ˗ of floors which didn't move beneath her, of solid stone walls. If nothing else, she would make Josen pay for forcing her on board a ship. For making her suffer in such a miserable, demeaning way.

"You'd best drink, Madam." Ven Lund towered over her, his bulk blocking out daylight. "Here." Bending down, he handed her a cup of water. She took it and gulped. It tasted of wood and earth, reminding her once more of Hannac and spring rains.

"Steady now ˗ not all at once." Ven Lund crouched before her, took back the empty cup and smiled. Meracad was not sure how to respond when Ven Lund smiled at her. Sometimes it seemed more of a leer; at others, it carried genuine warmth. He drew a tattooed hand over the shining baldness of his scalp.

"It gets better," he said.

"Does it?" Meracad managed to sit upright, her back resting against the warm wood of an old barrel.

"Aye. Yes. With the months."

"The months? I fear I don't have so long to test that theory out, Mr Ven Lund."

"No, well. More's the pity. A fine addition you make to my ship, my Lady."

She frowned, embarrassed. With a sigh, Ven Lund sat down beside her, pulled out a cloth and polished his face and head. "But I heard I'd not be the kind to catch your eye" he added, favouring her with a lewd wink.

Meracad stifled her disgust. "I don't have a 'kind' Mr Ven Lund."

"Not even our handsome princeling?"

"Not even he."

"Well, well, well. You do surprise me. And would you happen to know where our princeling is right now?"

"I believe he's entertaining Dæly in his cabin," she said pointedly.

"Ah." Ven Lund scratched at his beard. "In that case, I'll not disturb him."

He got to his feet, squinted out to sea and smiled again. "Don't worry, Meracad. Not long now."

The ship lurched once more and her stomach heaved. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps a person could get used to life at sea. But she had no intention of trying. Clutching the taffrail for support, she hauled herself upright and stared out at the endless rolling waters. It was not as if the sea was particularly rough. The waves were high, it was true, but Ven Lund had assured her these were amongst the fairest of days to be crossing open water. And as the galleon split the waters, she could at least hope that he was right ˗ that they were nearing land, that she'd see Leda again soon and the moors and rocks of the North.

Below, the door to Josen's cabin creaked open and Dæly stumbled out blinking into the light, tucking his shirt into his trousers. Neither he nor Josen seemed concerned to disguise the fact that they were lovers, although Josen countered Meracad's reproaches with frail fictions. Dæly was serving him his supper, he insisted, cleaning his shoes, washing his linen. Meracad merely smirked in response and turned her back. Josen could have bedded the entire crew for all she cared, were it not for his risible claim of loving Leda. Besides, if there were genuine love there it was wasted. Leda had promised herself to Edæc, and what Leda wanted she ˗ almost always ˗ got. She thought of her daughter again. Had she reached Dal Reniac in safety? Was she with Edæc now, ignorant of the storm brewing in Colvé? On that score at least, Meracad agreed with Josen. They had to reach Dal Reniac before Castor did.