Winds of Fate [Books IV - VI]

Chapter 188.2: Refusal

Later
The Queen of Sparta

Eleanore drops everything in the cabin. "Oh Torkin." The poor bird recoils in his basket. "What did she do to you? Torkin!" When Torkin doesn't answer, Doctor Wells offers to take a look. The old doctor deftly feels for the bird, and Eleanore clutches Poco to her chest in bated breath, a hundred horrible possibilities streaming in her mind. Torkin had already spit and vomited on the way... and now he just wants to be left alone. But her stomach cannot stand it too. "Torkin, please."

Doctor Wells raises a hand. "His head probably hurt too much from all the blood flowing when one is upside-down." He nods at them. "Let him vomit and rest his head. Unfortunately, there is not much that can be done for a bird. I am sorry, Eleanore."

Torkin whines and covers his tiny head, but his whine sounds more like the cry of a child. Eleanore crouches by the basket, at the verge of tears. And Poco leaves her just to be beside Torkin, shielding him from the sun. A step behind, Anton watches them quietly, holding his breath. He meets the Doctor's eyes, and Doctor Wells just nods and excuses himself, with a promise to check on Torkin after an hour.

"I should have never let you out of my sight," Eleanore murmurs, planting her face on the window sill. "I'm so sorry, Torkin. I didn't expect her to come—"

"Eleanorrre..." Torkin wearily opens his eyes. "Ack... I was guarrrding you... not the otherrrr way arrrround..."

She shakes her head. "Still."

"Eleanore." Anton takes a step.

Eleanore sits down on the floorboards, sapped once more. She falls to prayer, but shame nips at her. She had failed the Lord and Carlo and Guadalupe, their whole family, and Torkin. She shakes her head and hides. Behind her, she hears her husband sigh deeply. "Eleanore," he firmly calls again, and she notices the difference. Him calling her by her full name never bodes well. However, Anton also just picks her up and steadies her on her feet. He shakes his head. "Do not beat yourself up over it."

"I just make everything worse..." She closes her eyes. "Everywhere I go! I just..." It sits there, on her tongue. I just bring trouble. And for once, she felt doing like what he likes doing... to run and hide, but the question still pours from her heart, "Do I have to stop?"

Anton is surprised by this, and his own struggle dissipates as he takes her words in. He shakes his head, blinks. "No..." He softly says, "No... that is not for me to say or decide for you."

"You're my husband." Eleanore frowns. "Tell me, what I did there was wrong. I know you weren't happy by it." She heaves. "And if I go or not, it matters to you because we share one life now! Don't say that I'm deciding for my own life! How could you?!"

"Mierda, do not shout!" Anton retorts, himself at the end of his wits. She recoils, but he wipes his face and glances at the animals, embracing each other. This is it, Eleanore trembles, her heart racing madly, he is angry at me too. She sniffles, and Anton groans. "Ay, Lenore. I was just saying... por favor, I cannot think if you are screaming at my face."

She plants her palms over her eyes.

He sighs again and takes her hands. "Do not do that again," Anton sternly declares now, his brows meeting, much like when he was still her captain and she was but a humble swabber on deck, "My family saber weighs nearly thrice of your old rapier. You could have broken your wrist when you drew it out like that." He presses her right wrist, and true enough, she has a bruise there now. "Entiende?" Anton sighs. "Eleanore. Among the many things we both have... is our nasty tempers."