Was that what she’d done? Horrified, she realized it was true. She’d blinded him. Unthinking. As horrible as ripping away Lisbet’s nose, or kicking away Chief Leroux’s cane. So caught up in her pain, she’d lashed out in the worst way.
She had no excuse. Annika nodded, her lips trembling. “I won’t.” And because it wasn’t enough, “I’m so sorry.”
Harsh breathing filled the silence, then a tortured denial.
He let her go suddenly, pulled away from her in the small space. Annika held herself against the wall, shame joining humiliation and misery. A rough curse filled the air. The crank of the lever followed, the clicking of the gear locks—abandoning the smuggle hole, though it was earlier than they’d planned.
Getting away from her.
Cold air rushed in as he left. She felt her way out, wishing he could take her hand again and guide her, knowing he wouldn’t. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shivered in the darkened room.
He stood closer than she expected, his voice sounding oddly hollow after the intimacy of the hole. “Did I hurt you?”
Her wrist? “No.”
Every other pain was her own stupid fault.
“I’m sorry for that.” A ragged draw of breath. “And I won’t touch you again.”
She closed her eyes. No crying.
No crying.
“I know.”
“Annika, I can’t promise…I don’t—” He broke off. Silence filled the room until he spoke again, each word low and urgent. “I don’t know what we’ll find when we leave
Phatéon
. You have good reason to doubt my friendship now, but I beg you to trust me until we’re safe again. Whatever happens, I’ll protect you. I understand if you refuse to continue our acquaintance, after.”
Disbelieving, Annika stared through the darkness. New Worlders made absolutely no sense.
“David, I attacked you.” And that wasn’t all. “Before that, I groped you. That’s not what a friend would have done. If you’d done the same to me without an invitation, I’d have thought you an animal. That’s not propriety, but decency—and I flung it over the side.
You
have reason to doubt my friendship, fondling you even though I knew you didn’t want me, simply because I hoped that the hardness meant you did. So I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself in addition to my other humiliations, because we’re in considerable danger and yet I’m thinking only of bedding you when I should be thinking about where to find a dry pair of boots.”
He didn’t immediately reply. Then, “Look in the stateroom.”
Because Maria Madalena was rich and moving to an island off Iceland. Yes, she’d have brought several pairs—and she was tall, unlike Annika. Her feet would probably be bigger, and too-large boots were always better than too small.
She waited, but he didn’t respond to the rest of her outburst. Mortified by it, perhaps—or simply kind enough to let it go without adding to her humiliation.
All right, then. She held out her hand. “Will you lead me there?”
The warm clasp of his fingers over hers served as his answer. He drew her toward the door. “Do you have dry clothes?”
“In my cabin.” And more in her pack, hopefully still in the lifeboat. “How wet was your coat?”
“To hell with my coat.”
David suddenly stopped, dropped her hand. Annika bumped into him—not into his back, as she’d assumed, but his front. The hands she automatically raised to brace herself flattened against his chest. He faced her, but she couldn’t see anything of his expression. Her eyes searched the darkness anyway.
He bent his head. She felt his inhalation against her hair, the warmth of his breath against her temple. “I lied to you.”
Lied? She could barely think. “How?”
“I let fear rule me.” Fingers traced down her cheek. Lips parting, she turned her face toward his caress. A large palm cupped her jaw. “Fear that I’d frighten you away. Fear that you’d push me away. I’d like to be ruled by hope instead.”
“What hope?”
Firm, warm pressure against her lips. Annika had barely a moment to realize—
he’d kissed her
—before that touch was gone. She stared up through the darkness, blinking.
His breath shuddered. “Forgive me. I should—”
“Do it again,” she finished for him.
She didn’t wait, bunching her fists in his shirt and lifting onto her toes, searching for his mouth. She found his chin, overshot to his cheek. David stilled against her, then the hand cupping her jaw slid into her hair. Angling his head, he guided her lips to his. Lightly, so lightly, his mouth slightly open and a whisper of breath mingling with hers. Annika’s pulse raced. Oh, this was wonderful. So sweet, almost chaste, and yet her pulse was
racing
.
Marveling at the sensation, she trailed soft kisses along the seam of his lips, gently tasting their firm width. Perfect. She could do this forever, but he lifted his head when she reached the corner of his mouth.
His lips pressed to her brow. “It wouldn’t have been anyone,” he said, his voice rough. “It was hard because of you.”
Oh.
He made her hope now, too. “But you said—”
“I lied.”
“Not words. You gave no indication. You never touched me, or flirted, those little things that show interest.”
“Neither did you.”
“I told you I wasn’t bold.”
“And every conversation put lie to it. You say things no else would dare.”
“Only words. I’m not bold when I need to
do
.”
“Yet I was supposed to do?” His chest rose sharply beneath her palms. She thought he might have been laughing. “I was in agony today, wishing that I could touch your hand. Then agony again when I had all of you against me.”
Truly? That was marvelous. “Because it isn’t proper?”
“Because I thought you didn’t want it. You said you wouldn’t bed me without love.”
“Yes. But that is only the bed. I want to kiss and do all of the rest while falling. That’s the fun of it, don’t you think?”
“I hope so.” He wasn’t laughing now. “You believe it takes years for love.”
“Yes.” Torture. A sweet one. “Everyone I know has taken years—but that might be because everyone in my village has known each other all their lives. I wouldn’t mind being wrong.”
“Even if you’re right, I’ll wait.”
He might have to anyway, if Annika didn’t find Källa. But she wouldn’t think of that now. The pain that had been tearing at her chest eased. She smiled into the dark, a stupid silly smile full of daydreams, all so visible to him. “Are you smiling, too?”
“Yes.” He lifted her fingers to his mouth, and she could feel it, the one he used that engaged all of his features, not the half smile, not the one weary with the world.
His smile faded beneath her fingertips. “I don’t know what we’ll face, Annika.”
“I know.”
He met her halfway, his mouth covering hers, hungrier now, harder. His arm wrapped around her waist, lifted her against his chest. Her lips parted under his. Annika moaned as he deepened the kiss, tasted her. Longing twisted beneath her heart, a delicious, welcome ache. She wanted this so much. This was what she’d
always
wanted. Capturing his face between her hands, she kissed him with every bit of need and hope coiling within her.
Chest heaving, he lifted his head. Slowly, he let her slide down
his body, as if he couldn’t bear to let her go yet. “I’ll do all that I can to protect you, Annika. But you
will
abandon me if I can’t. You will save yourself.”
“No—”
He stopped her protest with another kiss. Then softly, “Yes.”
Arguing would do no good, she realized. “We need our packs.”
They weren’t going to get them. The balloon had deflated, covering the access to the main deck like ice over a lake. In the forecastle companionway, she shoved against the taut metal fabric over her head. The envelope hadn’t completely flattened; at least a few feet of air still remained inside. Pushing with all her might, she couldn’t move it an inch.
David had no better luck. “Can we cut through?”
“No.” A steel-tipped harpoon launched from a whale could, but nothing they had was sharp or strong enough. “Even if we could, the balloon covers the lifeboat, too. We’d never be able to find the packs before we suffocated.”
“Dooley and Goltzius wouldn’t have taken their packs on the gliders. They’d be too heavy. We’ll use theirs.”
“I need clothes from my cabin, first.”
He led her down the passageway. The darkness had become oppressive, pressing down on her like the balloon on the deck—made worse by knowing that because the balloon was there, they didn’t dare light a lamp.
In her cabin, he helped her find woolen stockings. Her heart pounded as she rolled them up her calves, wondering if he watched her. She wrapped more stockings up in a tunic to take with her. The two pairs of homespun trousers in her trunk were of a lighter weight than she wanted, best for summer, but her winter trousers were wet, and she could layer one pair over the other. She had mittens, scarves, and hats aplenty, bought with her eventual return to home in mind.
Next to the stateroom, where she waited as he searched for
boots. Relief rushed through her when he located a pair, and she vowed eternal gratitude to Maria Madalena when he returned a moment later with a heavy, hooded coat lined with mink. She put on another pair of stockings to fill out the larger boot size, then followed him to his cabin as he collected the packs, removing some of Dooley’s and Goltzius’s belongings, replacing them with their clothes.
They ventured down to the galley kitchen, and Annika realized how starved she was when he pushed a piece of flatbread into her hand. She ripped into it, listened to him rummage through the stores. “Nothing with a strong scent,” she warned. “No blood or juices at all. The wild dogs will be on us.”
He expelled a short breath. “It would be damned easier if we could take our own dogs.”
“The clockwork ones?”
“Yes. But I don’t know how we’d get them out of the cargo hold and through this whale. And they make a hell of a lot of noise—it’s likely better to sneak away.”
Annika wasn’t so certain. The clockwork dogs and the sled might expose them to di Fiore’s men, but they’d be facing more danger than that beyond the camp. She didn’t see another option now, however. “We need something flat and light to use as snowshoes, something narrow enough to walk on—and rope to tie them to our feet.”
“I have rope.” The rummaging quieted, as if he’d stopped to look. “The drawer faces?”
That would do it. “Yes. We need four. I have a pry bar in the—”
A screech sounded, the spine-cringing shriek of iron nails torn from wood.
Or he could just use his hand. Three more times, then she heard the rasp of canvas as he arranged everything in their packs.
A few minutes later, he helped her strap it onto her back. “All right?”
It was lighter than many she’d carried. “Yes. Are they even?”
“No. I’m infected by nanoagents. You’re not.”
And much stronger because of it, less likely to tire. Fair enough. “We can leave through the cargo hold, but we’ll make noise,” she said. “It might be better to climb out of the vents in the engine room. We can find more rope in the bosun’s locker.”
Annika’s heart thundered as they descended to the engine deck again. This was it, then.
Phatéon
had been her home for four years; she’d have liked to see her off in a better way.
She’d have liked to
see
her off at all.
The engine room was still slightly warmer than the rest of the ship, and the air through the vents cold, but not freezing. By touch, she tied the rope off on a pipe and waited for David to climb down from the vent’s opening, where he was studying the hold outside. Slowly, she realized that there must have been a light in the whale’s hold. Though still dark, she could just make out David’s shape against the vent, like a shadow on a black wall.
He returned to her side, took the coiled rope from her hands. “They’ve pumped out most of the water.”
But not all of it? She hadn’t relished the idea of wading through the icy water in her bare feet, then taking the time to put her boots back on, yet that was exactly what she’d have to do. Bending, she started to untie the laces.
“What are you doing?”
“There’s no point in having dry boots if I just soak them again.”
“Leave them on.” His voice stopped her. “I’ll carry you.”
“And then
your
feet will—” Freeze. “Oh.”
Her cheeks heated. His quiet laugh was followed by a brief kiss to her lips.
She savored that as he left her side, tossed the rope through the vent, and went through. Annika climbed up to the opening, her eyes adjusting to the faint glow coming from the opposite end of the hold.
Phatéon
’s hull was a dark curve, the hold beyond a darker
shadow—but not an endless one. She had the faint impression of cavernous walls, a tall ceiling.
She heard David’s boots scrape the hull, then the quiet sweep of water as he waded around the ship to study the rest of the hold. A minute later, he tugged on the line, signaling her to join him. Annika clung to the rope, arms aching with strain. The engine room was on one of the lower decks, but the tilt of the ship had raised this side. Her muscles were trembling by the time she neared the floor. His hands gripped her waist, drew her in until she was cradled against his chest.
“All right?”
She nodded, the back of her neck stiff with tension. “Where’s that light coming from?”
“It’s a lantern hung up at the top of the stair. I don’t see anyone.”
With water splashing at his ankles, he carried her around
Phatéon
’s side. Once past her bulk, the light showed more shadows, clearly delineated shapes. The fluyt had capsized, her deep keel jutting toward the ceiling, her broken masts a tangle of timbers and canvas that lay drunkenly against the aft wall. Enormous hydraulic pistons stood at the port and starboard sides—to open the whale’s mouth, Annika realized.
She’d have marveled if she hadn’t been so terrified.
Half-submerged bodies strewed the floor. David’s arms tightened around her. Annika held on, stricken. She’d seen death before, natural and accidental—and worse. The neglect of a body in the streets. The terrible glee of the hanging. The quiet horror on Heimaey.