“Then you’d better listen.”
He grunted and closed his eyes, and she knew in that moment he was going down. She dug her fingers into his arm, desperate that the small dose of pain would snap him back to himself. Instead he snorted and shook her off. “Let me concentrate, woman.”
Selium poured off his face, neck, and upper chest like thick syrup. Most of her experience with the stuff had been with it contained, hidden away in the buoyancy sacks of ferries or cargo-transports. To be so close to the raw material… It made her small hairs stand up, despite the heat. Detan opened his eyes, and the sheets of it entwined to form a ball about the size of her two fists pushed together. Worth enough to pay her sergeant for half a year.
“Need to weigh it down.” His words were tight and clipped, urgent.
She dragged off her coat and threw it over the ball, letting the heavy material do some good work for once. Detan sighed and his shoulders slumped. He brought one hand up to rub at his eyes while the other fumbled in his pocket.
“Damn stuff wants to go up-up-up no matter what.” He pulled out a bit of twine and tied her coat around the hovering ball, making it look like the balloons used for short-range transport vessels. Taking firm hold of the dangling twine, he wrapped it around his fingers a few times and gave it a tug to secure it. “Can’t tie it to your wrist unless you want to lose that hand, and you definitely don’t want this much sel tied to your belt.”
Ripka laughed so hard and sudden that she spit. With a grimace she wiped her mouth and immediately regretted it as the back of her hand tore the thin, dried skin of her lips. Blood smeared her hand, her cheek. She resisted the urge to spit out what had gotten in her mouth – she needed all the moisture she could get. Detan looked hale already, or at least better than the stumbling, sweating shade of a man he had been. He was even smiling, which she thought was pretty stupid considering the circumstances.
The selium pushed against its containment, flattening the top curve of the balloon just enough to cast a small shadow over them both. Ripka sighed with relief, that sliver of shade the most luxurious thing she’d ever experienced.
In silence they trudged forward, heads bent and necks extended as if they could reach the wreckage of the Larkspur faster if only they could stretch out their bodies.
“Almost there,” he said as they drew near, lips cracking with each syllable. She wanted to do something for that, to ease his pain a little. Wished she had something for her own lips, too. There were salves back in the city, tinctures to smooth the burn of the sun. Some plants she knew to be good for sun exposure, their dewy leaves capable of producing a cool balm. She scanned the area, taking in the vast emptiness all around them. Not so much as a scrub broke through the rough soil.
Ripka frowned, eyeing the wreckage with care. She’d seen the Larkspur only once before, but she was certain there wasn’t nearly enough wood to cover the whole ship smashed on the sands before them. “What is–?”
Detan laughed and threw his arms wide. “Welcome to Tibs’s cabin. We were saving it to cover the disappearance of the Larkspur, but this seemed a more pressing matter.”
It did look like the cabin of a ship, one that had been dropped on its side and cracked open like an egg. The walls leaned outward at crazy angles, the fresh-milled timber filling the air with the warm scent of some sort of resinous hardwood. Stunned, she followed Detan into what was left of the shelter, and nearly wept with joy when she saw Tibs had stashed a full amphora of water amongst the rubble.
Without a word they sat in the makeshift shade and shared out the sand-warmed water in slow, careful draws. After some rummaging, Detan found a cloth-wrapped package of dried meat and a small jar of pulpleaf salve. Beneath a broken beam he discovered a wide-brimmed hat, the edges singed, and Ripka was shocked to see his eyes glisten and his face screw up with the threat of tears.
“You all right?” she asked.
“Fine, fine.” He cleared his throat and pulled the hat on his head, then offered her a scarf to cover her own head with and the packet of meat. Despite being hard and stringy, it was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.
“Ready for the final press?” Detan asked when the water and food was gone.
“You think we’ll make it?” She handed the now half-empty jar of pulpleaf salve to him, already feeling her skin soften and cool from its application.
“Oh, captain, it’s not the heat that kills you. It’s Thratia’s assassins waiting on the ridge.”
Ripka glanced sideways at him, and saw him grinning like an idiot. As usual. “Wonderful.”
He began to apply the remaining salve with extreme care, his bandaged hand trembling with the effort as he held the jar in his good hand. After a moment, Ripka knelt before him. Without a word, she took the jar and pushed his wounded hand aside, knowing just where he’d gotten that particular injury, and took over smearing the salve against his already blistering arms. He cleared his throat and shifted, uncomfortable. Keeping her gaze locked on her work, she said, “Thank you.”
“Said I wouldn’t let you walk.”
She glanced up at him, unable to help a wry smile. “That worked out well.”
He barked a laugh. “Best I could do under the circumstances.”
She finished applying the salve and stood, tossing the empty jar to the sand. He sat there a moment, eyes drooping, sweat turning the fringe of his hair into spikes against his brow, the selium balloon tugging at his good fingers. The phantom of Tibal’s words came back to her, his warning of Detan’s temper, and she shunted them aside, guilt beginning to gnaw at her. No matter that he was in some way responsible for the fire that’d seen her shoved out here. He’d come back. Though it killed her pride to admit it, he’d saved her, when he didn’t have to. They locked gazes, and she looked away, proffering her hand.
“Time to go and see what Thratia has waiting for us,” she said.
“Well, this will be interesting,” he said as he took her hand and stood, his little balloon bobbing crazily. She forced herself along beside him, huddling close to keep under the shade of the balloon. Somehow, she managed to keep her tone light despite their coalescing disaster.
“You could always throw selium in their eyes.”
He frowned, rubbing the line of his jaw with one grubby finger. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Chapter 35
The weight of Ripka’s coat did most of the work for him, but he couldn’t get lazy. Couldn’t let his concentration slip. Maybe the doppel could keep it all together without so much as a thought, but all it took for Detan to lose it was a momentary distraction. Just a stubbed toe or a glance at something shiny, or – fiery pits – the way Ripka’d looked at him when she’d thanked him, and the sel would be free to ooze out from the imperfect seal of the coat. To climb up high and never come down again. He wondered how much was up there, and where it stopped. Did the sun have to push its rays through it? Was that why the light always felt so sluggish and angry-hot?
Don’t distract yourself. He clenched his jaw and focused. Ripka had been divested of her weapons, so that meant it was up to him. He still had his old longknife. Not that it would do much good in his hands; his skill with such things was rudimentary at best. But he did have the sel. To throw in their eyes, indeed.
He pulled out the knife. Looked at it.
Passed it to Ripka. “Here, you hang on to this.”
“You’ll need it,” she said, trying to push it back towards him.