Blood Ties

Chapter 11: Nadia

Does anyone want to die alone?

Tears sprang to her eyes and Nadia wiped them away angrily as she marched through the halls toward her cabin. Had Declan thought of that sentiment before he demolished her city? Before he took his army and rampaged through her temple, destroyed her sacred relics, trampled all over her life? Before he ensured that her friends and those whom she considered family--before everyone she knew and loved died, plenty of them alone?

Lost in her furious daze, she didn't realize that she had made a wrong turn until she stopped in front of her cabin door and heard noises. This wasn't her cabin, not the stateroom that she had chosen at the other end of the ship. Portholes, rather than sconces, provided a source of light that streamed in from the moon. The scent of a woodsy, masculine cologne rather than the fresh salt air filled her lungs. Heaving a sigh, Nadia leaned against the wall to get her bearings and catch her breath.

Then she groaned at the thought of having to walk all the way to the other wing of the ship when Nolan's voice reached her ears. "I was so worried about you. I've missed you, love."

Then, a feminine noise, a giggle, a breath, a sigh. Some words she couldn't quite make out as rustling noises of bedsheets took over. Did he... Was... She paused, pressing her fingertips to her temples as she felt the beginnings of a headache come on. What was it that Nolan had said to her? He had said there was a girl whom he'd wanted to marry, whom he needed money to marry.

So who was this girl whom he was worried about, who was in his cabin? It could not be a whore--men so rarely fell in love with prostitutes no matter how pretty they were, and certainly, she would have heard about another woman's presence on the ship. Or not. Unless she had been too distracted by guilt to notice. That simply would not do. Caution, not numbness, was necessary now.

Tapping her fingers on her chin, she stared at the carved gilt patterns on the door: seafoam and sirens and shells, so intricately detailed that they almost seemed moments from coming to life. Had Nolan lied to her about his marriage prospects? Did it really matter? Men lied all the time. Every other year there was some poor priestess in the temple who broke her vow of celibacy for a man who swore up and down he would marry her, only to abandon her when she was with child. Men lied and stole and betrayed to get what they wanted. Why should Nolan be any different?

No more noises except deep breathing emanated from beneath the door, and with a look of disdain, Nadia turned on her heel and walked back toward the cabin. Her mind was too tired to come up with complicated theories or to involve itself in political or romantic intrigue. When she got back to the cabin she had claimed as her own, all she wanted to do was collapse on the bed and sleep for a few decades, perhaps. Until this nightmare was over. Until she forgot the world, abandoned the truth, and never left a land of dreams.

But the nightmares chased her from waking to sleeping. In her dreams, she met Declan yet again. He was bending over her, his hand pressed to his throat, and she was lying horizontally--but it was not a bed that she lay on. Her body was cloaked in a colour and fabric she had never worn before, because of the great expense it took to dye--gold silk. Nadia shifted, trying to get comfortable, as she realized two disturbing things: first, Declan was crying. Second, she was lying in a coffin.

He was murmuring something over and over; like a litany, like a prayer, like a chant. His words were indistinguishable, but the heartbreak and anguish and desperation that weighed down his tone, that sat in his wet eyes and hollow cheeks, were painstakingly obvious. When Nadia rolled over, he was gone. The dream vanished like smoke, and she finally, for the first time in days, was able to relax into a deep sleep. Words and snippets of images ran through her mind like water, washing in and out in waves, but she ignored them all, forsaking reality for fantasy.