The young man did not start at the voice; he had felt her eyes on him since Argaol had dragged him off.
‘Well-wishing,’ he replied without turning.
‘Don’t insult me any further,’ Kataria growled.
‘You’re right, I’m sorry.’ Lenk sighed, his head drooping. ‘Argaol just had a few last words to spare me.’ He glanced up; Kataria was already at his side, staring out at the horizon. He followed her gaze. ‘Can you really see Ktamgi?’
‘Slightly.’ Her pupils dilated swiftly, encompassing her eyes for a moment as she sought out the island. ‘It’s distant, though. It’ll take a few days to get there in this wind.’
‘We’ve got our own wind.’
‘Mm.’
They stood for a moment. Lenk couldn’t help but notice as the breeze kicked up, sending the shict’s feathers playing about her face, caressing her skin with the locks of gold that whipped in the breeze. He clenched his teeth, making the same expression he did when he had once pulled an arrow out of his thigh.
‘Kat, let me—’
‘I’d rather not,’ she replied.
With that, she was gone, returned to her spot between Asper and Gariath. Lenk stared at her for a moment before forcing himself to turn away. His eyes could spare nothing for her now, he knew, not so much as a blink. He leaned out over the railing, squinting.
Odd, he thought, that Ktamgi, no more than a distant black dot, should be capable of looming.
Twelve
WAKE
The companion craft tore through the waves like an overeager child. Its canvas sails bubbled and giggled with the air fed into them, it slipped over wave and surf with a grace both enthusiastic and distinguished.
Lenk would remember to savour the imagery later.
For the moment, his world was one of wood. Fingers aching, he clung to the vessel’s railing, knees wobbling in nauseous rhythm with his churning stomach. His lunch rose up in protest for the sixteenth time, narrowly fought back by a tightening throat, as they cut over another wave. Near-faint, he was spared a violent uprising of jerked beef and fruit as a fist of froth struck him squarely in the face.
‘Fourth time that’s happened.’
Wet strands of silver obscuring his vision, Lenk scowled towards the prow. Kataria leaned on the edge, perfectly balanced, an obnoxious smile beaming in time with the oppressive sun.
‘Choke on it,’ Lenk snarled in reply.
‘You wouldn’t get wet so often if you didn’t put your face over the side,’ she chided. ‘Though, frankly, the concept of water being wet may be too much for me to expect you to grasp.’
‘If you’d like to clean up my mess after I spill it on the floor, be my guest.’ He cast a sneer at her, chiefly to hide his nauseous grimace. ‘Perhaps you could take a moment to roll around in it first.’
‘I didn’t even know you got seasick.’ The shict gave no indication she had even heard the insult as she tilted her head. ‘Where was this love of lurching when we were on the Riptide?’
‘Buried below deck,’ Lenk replied sharply. ‘Since I lack that privacy here, I have the distinct pleasure of hearing you while I—’
His sarcasm caught in his throat, overtaken by a stampede of half-digested meat. In one vile swoop, he tilted overboard.
‘If you’re feeling a bit fragile, I could ask Dreadaeleon to slow down,’ Kataria offered, none too gently.
‘I doubt he’ll listen.’
Their eyes slid towards the stern, narrowing upon the scrawny, coat-clad figure seated upon the sole bench. Legs folded, hands knitted in a gesture that looked painful to even consider attempting, Dreadaeleon’s eyes were shut tightly, lips quivering in a series of incomprehensible murmurs.
Above his head, the air shimmered and waxed, the sails billowing with every rapid twitch of his mouth. Behind him, the combined strength of Denaos and Gariath fought to control the rudder against the fury of the artificial wind. The rogue looked not at all pleased with the task; perhaps due to the proximity of the dragonman, perhaps due to the boy’s coat-tails whipping him about the face.
‘Fortunate that the companion vessel is small enough for him to move, isn’t it?’ Kataria spared a smile for the wizard. ‘I’d wager even the Abysmyth can’t swim so fast.’
‘Yeah . . . fortunate,’ Lenk grumbled, narrowly avoiding a rogue wave. ‘We’ll be food for it that much quicker.’ His cheeks bulged momentarily. ‘And here I am, courteously marinating in my own juices.’