Wicked Waters | Oceana Book I

Chapter 2.2

Jack looked up from the chart spread across his desk as Windjammer responded to a gust of wind, picking up speed and heeling further to starboard. He held out a hand to keep a short stack of books from sliding across his desk and onto the floor. All around the cabin his belongings shifted and settled with Windjammer's motion. He half expected to hear his name shouted down a hatch, summoning him onto deck for a sail change, and was glad when the shout didn't come. Although he loved a brisk sail, he had gone nearly two nights without a proper sleep; as a result, deck work lacked its usual appeal.

Jack finished plotting their position by printing the time and date beside the point. He took a moment to secure the items strewn about his desk from future gusts before exiting his cabin, giving Mizzen a scratch behind the ears on the way out. She let out a little chirrup in response, one eye slitting open just in time to watch the door slide shut.

Although Jack intended to stick his head up on deck and see if the watch needed any help, he was waylaid by the sound of muffled cursing in the galley.

"I hope that has nothing to do with the biscuits you said you were making," he said, poking his head around the corner to investigate.

"I should have known it'd be you, nosing around for baked treats," Ehrin said. "Haven't lit the stove yet."

"I can see that."

Ehrin narrowed her eyes at him, dropping a sodden book of matches onto the countertop. "Yeh, and it's because whatever scoundrel raided the larder and made off with my mangoes also knocked my matches and a bundle of herbs into the washbasin. Don't suppose you'd know anything about that, would you?"

Callum's daughter was a pretty woman – dark eyes, full lips, a narrow waist – but not the sort he'd dare trifle with. Jack held up his hands, turning his head to hide his smile. "I'm an innocent man, my Lady of the Galley."

"I don't buy that for a minute. You only give me the 'my Lady' bit when you're up to no good," she muttered, picking out another match and striking it with little success.

He cocked his head, fixing his eyes on the slit in the bottom of the oven, just wide enough for a match to fit through. A moment's concentration, a push outward from his breast and there – the flame caught, and the oven came to life. Ehrin, for all of her bluster, was no shrew: a wide smile bloomed across her face at his small kindness. Beneath it all he could see that ever-present wonder that accompanied the use of his enchantment whenever he was around one who had none.

"First choice of biscuit?" he hedged.

Ehrin gave him a smack on the arm for his cheek. "Is that where all those brown spots on yer nose came from?"

"Didn't Lars once say it's because Oreler sneezed on me as a babe?"

"That's disgusting."

He grinned, dropping his elbows on the divider between galley and companionway. "Anything else, my Lady of the Galley? I'm keen with my offerings, so long as you favor me with a corner piece."

Her eyes dropped to his talisman: the pinched silver loop of a Seer. "I s'pose I'm starting to understand why Illen's blessed carry on about your signature."

"I'm not quite what I seem."

"Are any of us?"

It was a fair point. They called Ehrin their cook, their surgeon, or the Captain's daughter to outsiders – but she was as much an officer as he was.

The thunderous trod of feet announced the approach of another one of their crew. He was unsurprised when Jonah turned the corner; unless they sailed through the hush of a night passage, Jonah's exuberance didn't lend itself to careful stepping.