Rising Tide by Mel Odom Read Free Book Online

she slapped him.
    Jherek saw the blow coming and chose not to dodge it entirely. Malorrie’s martial training included close-in fighting as well as the blade. Her open hand collided with his cheek and he felt one of her rings cut his face. Blood trickled down his cheek and he tasted it inside his mouth as well. She’d hit harder than he’d expected.
    “Tell your fellow sailors that you made an improper advance toward me,” the Amnian woman whispered roughly. “If you don’t, trust me when I say that you’ll regret it.”
    He met her gaze. “If you think that I would choose to dishonor you,” he told her in an equally low voice, “you still show your ignorance of the kind of man I choose to be.”
    “You’re no man,” she said. “A man would have come to me himself, days ago.” She turned sharply and walked away from him.
    Jherek stood there, his face burning crimson, and listened to the jeering catcalls of the other sailors. Shaking a little with the anger and fear that nearly consumed him, he walked to the nearest rigging and leaped up into the ropes. He climbed swiftly, edging out to the area that he’d been assigned to repair.
    When he showed no sign of responding to the catcalls and off-color comments, the other sailors gave up baiting him. High above the deck, feeling the morning sun soak into him, he let go of the emotions, pushing them out of his body. Madame litaar had been the first to get him past the fear that had become his birthright. She had taught him to trust himself, and gradually a handful of others, but he was at his best when he was alone.
    His fingers worked cleverly, almost without him thinking about it. He braided the new rope in with the old rigging, then cut away the frayed pieces. The cries of the heggrims, following after Finaran’s Butterfly for the garbage that was dumped every morning and after every meal, soothed him. He chose a new piece of rope and paused long enough to gaze out across the water.
    The ocean spread rolling and green. He loved the sea, loved the sailor’s life, loved the autonomy of living aboard ship. Those things took him away from large groups of people. Interacting with others, especially when they didn’t make sense, drained him and often left him dispirited.
    He breathed in the salt air and felt invigorated. The Amnians would be gone soon, and they’d be home in Velen for a few days. He found he was looking forward to it more than usual.
    “What happened betwixt you and that girl, lad?” Jherek sat in the rigging, tied in now as he worked the more narrow and more tricky spots on the mast. The storm yesterday morning had been unforgiving, ripping across the cog’s decks and doing exterior damage that would be repaired at a later time.
    “What’s she saying?” Jherek asked carefully.
    Captain Virne Finaren stood on the nearby mast arm, a short burly man of sixty and more years who hadn’t given up any aspect of his duties to his ship. The captain still hand-trained the more capable of his crew. He’d taught Jherek the few things the boy hadn’t known about ships.
    “She’s saying that you made improper advances toward her,” Finaren said.
    He wore a full beard the yellow color of Calim Desert sand, spotted now with winter silver. The sun had tightened his eyes, making them slits across copper pupils. His face was seamed from exposure to the elements and a dagger thrust had left a harsh scar above his right eyebrow. He wore a doublet, breeches, and boots. A red kerchief kept his long hair from his eyes.
    Jherek didn’t say anything, keeping his hands busy.
    “I’m caught in a bit of a muddle,” the captain admitted as he went on.
    “Why?” Jherek asked.
    “A crewman of mine making advances against a woman on my ship, he’s a crewman going to get a taste of the cat.”
    Jherek knew Finaren was referring to the cat-o’-ninetails he kept for ship’s discipline. “Very well,” he said.
    “Very well?” Finaren repeated after a