Leesil's poorly hidden enthusiasm drained rapidly over the following four nights.

As much as he relished the idea of fresh sea air and the rushing wedge of white water slipping past the prow of the wind-bound schooner, sea travel was new to him. By the second midday, the queasiness in his stomach grew to full nausea. Saliva continuously filled his mouth between intermittent dry spells, and food was about as appealing as the slop bucket the cook had just poured over the side. Perhaps there was a reason his mother's people didn't travel.

He stayed on deck in the open air as much as possible. Eventually the wind would pick up, the ship's rock and lunge would increase, and he would stumble below deck to curl again upon his bunk. All he could do, between heaves, was mope and sulk for the rest of the day. His vision of this journey was a far cry from the reality.

He'd hoped traveling the open waters with Magiere and altering their routine might present another opportunity to close their distance. Instead of daily matters at hand, there would be the plans, strategies, and tactics that had brought them so close once before. It should've been an opportunity to be off with Magiere, living in inns, eating when and what they could, and sharing days without scheduled responsibilities or mundane tasks of any sort. The old days once again.

So far, none of this had happened.

Besides being sick, he was almost reluctant to open his mouth, not knowing what might uncontrollably come out-or up. In addition, their cabin was the size of a closet with two bunks and barely enough floor space for their chest and Chap. It was probably the largest private space for purchase on a small but swift cargo vessel where passengers were an afterthought.

Leesil looked around the cabin illuminated by one lone lantern hung from a hook in the corner. It swung slowly back and forth, making the shadows undulate in a manner his stomach didn't appreciate.

When they first saw the cabin, Magiere nearly backed over him trying to leave the room. They'd slept for years out on the road with nothing between them but a campfire. Once, after a fight with an undead and the first emergence of her dhampir nature, he'd sat up all night with her sleeping in his lap to make sure she was warm and recovered by morning. Now she balked at sharing a cabin with him?

Leesil lay curled on his lower bunk, eyes shut, almost wishing they'd never left Miiska. He felt snuffling near his face, and then something warm and wet dragged across his nose. He opened his eyes. Chap licked his face once more with a soft whine that sounded almost sympathetic. Leesil barely patted the dog's silky head and felt his stomach lurch at the smell of Chap's breath.

"Oh, hell's abyss!" he groaned. "What've you been eating now?"

The cabin door slowly creaked open, and Magiere leaned in as if snooping to see if he were asleep. With mild annoyance, he noticed that she appeared to feel fine. Her smooth, pale cheeks showed not the slightest tint of sickly yellow and green undertones.

"Any better?" she asked.

He grunted in answer. "How much farther to Bela?"

"Captain says we could reach port tomorrow if the wind holds. If the wind calms, it might be longer… but he also said you'll probably stay sick either way."

Oh, merciless saints, how wonderful, Leesil thought.

Magiere's brows knitted. "I guess some people get seasick and some don't, but once it sets in, apparently it takes a week or more to develop what he calls ‘sea legs' and grow accustomed to the motion." She hesitated in the doorway. "Are you going to sleep? Do you need some time alone?"

Time alone? What did that mean?

When he was in the cabin, she'd find a reason to be elsewhere. Really, where else was there to go? The schooner wasn't that big. Then it struck him that she was the one who wanted the cabin to herself, and that filled him with enough anger to quell his nausea. Here he was, sick at the mere thought of food, and all she could think about was her privacy. Leesil rolled off the bunk before his stomach tried to stop him.

"Where's that coin purse Karlin gave you?" he asked.

"The coin purse?"

"Yes, I'm going to buy some wine to settle my stomach-up on deck," he said, then added with barely disguised bitterness, "and you can have the cabin to yourself."

She frowned, started to respond, and then went to their chest and removed the purse.

"How much do you need?"

Anger became incensed outrage, which made his stomach feel worse. So now she wouldn't trust him with their coin?

"I don't know!" he snapped. "How much do sailors charge at sea for their stash of wine?"

From her stunned expression, Magiere was plainly confused by his outburst, but if she had the sensitivity of a tree stump, she'd have an inkling that she deserved it. He couldn't believe she was this thickheaded. He snatched the pouch from her, poured a few coins into his hand, and handed it back.

"For safekeeping," he said, "before I gamble it all away… or worse, drop it over the side while puking up the dinner I haven't even eaten yet."

"Leesil…" Magiere's own anger began to show. "You're ill, you half-wit, and wine isn't going to help. Just lie back down and rest."

"Oh, I think wine is an excellent idea." Even with the possibility of retching as a real threat, he swept his arm out as dramatically as space allowed and gave her a shallow bow. "I leave you in peace."

He pushed past through the narrow door into the small hallway and up the steps to the deck. She didn't follow, but he didn't expect she would.

Leesil leaned against the rail, one hand clasped tightly around the braid of a rope ladder leading up into the rigging. Nightfall sometimes brought a calmer sea and smoothed the ship's rolling. He breathed in mouthfuls of fresh night air and felt his stomach settle to a low grumble.

Embarrassment filled his slightly cleared head. Behaving like a peevish child wasn't going to make Magiere wish to spend time with him. Hearing voices, he turned toward the stern.

Just below the ship's elevated rear squatted four sailors playing cards by lantern light. Now and again, they passed a large gourd, stained dark around the neck from years of wear by rough, sweaty hands. Leesil forgot the lingering seasickness, his mind now better occupied.

In addition to the lean, weathered captain, the schooner boasted a first mate, eleven hands, and a cabin boy. These four were apparently off duty, and a round or two of cards might be distracting. Leesil walked over but didn't sit down uninvited.

"I don't suppose there's D'areeling wine in that gourd?" he asked with an overinnocent smile.

One sailor with a missing ear and only three fingers on his right hand paused and looked up.

"Of course, and we'll make you a roast pheasant with almond gravy for a late supper."

The others laughed, but no one asked him to join the game. They sat on small casks or piles of canvas and rope and used an old empty crate for a playing table. One large, off-white sail flexed above them in the breeze.

This was a rough life, and Leesil had already surmised that most sailors found passengers to be little more than a necessary annoyance, if not an outright inconvenience. However, he knew the most common way to find acceptance at any gaming table, and he gently clinked the coins in his hand.

"Well, wine or no," he said, "this damned seasickness won't let me rest. Could an honest and sleepless fellow join your game for a while?"

The sailors exchanged glances, probably thinking him a witless ne'er-do-well riding on some recent rise in fortune. The earless man handed him the gourd.

"Don't ask what's in it. We make it out of whatever's handy."

Leesil smiled broadly, playing the fool, and took a long pull on the gourd. He regretted it immediately.