A/N: Sorry for missing last week. My Internet had cut out again, and it was just one of "those" weekends. Thank you for bearing with me. :-)
Plus I kept screwing up this next scene, where I cut a good thousand words at a time and kept having to try again, inching forward, aware I was getting it wrong but unable to figure out what "right" was…
Until @GraceMcDermott made a suggestion last night…okay, technically, it was in the wee hours of this morning…that reminded me about the old method I used years ago when Evonalé got stuck: storyboarding with 3x5 cards. Plus she mentioned walls and sticky tack (if you don't know what that is, I'm sorry for you). So now I have the next bit of the story figured out, transition-wise, and a few other major points written down, and the notecards all arranged on my wall by my bed.
Anyway, as an apology for the delay and the not-that-long post tonight, you get an update tonight, plus you can go get a separate sci-fi short story free on Amazon, this weekend only (for now): http://amzn.to/1a04dMa . (That freebie terminates 2/2/14, I think Pacific time.)
—•—•—
I wake up just before sixth bell, my stomach howling and the room dim from a turned-down lantern.
My hammock rocks with the boat’s motion, and I frown at the wooden slats above me as the bell tolls. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Fortunately the locked room means Doff would have had to use his magic to enter—which indubitably would’ve woken me up—but a nap of unintended duration sets a dangerous precedent for how this pregnancy is going to affect me.
I should have woken with third bell, even without Aldrik’s help.
The bucket’s still near me, and a good thing, too. I need it as soon as I sit up. My throat burns, and I wrinkle my nose at the taste left in my mouth.
“Tuelzi?” He’s awake, then.
“Told you to wake me at third bell.”
The faint purple light is angled to leave his face in shadow. “You looked so peaceful.”
I scowl at him. “The shifts have changed.”
He shrugs.
I let out a few choice curses in seafarthen. Point was to stop Doff before he had a chance to hurt another seawoman.
Aldrik doesn’t so much as flinch. “We should make a showing in the mess for supper.”
Trust a traveling companion to state the obvious. I freshen up as best I can. Aldrik’s magic tugs something, and he hands me a moistened washcloth.
I frown at it, naturally leery of magic I’ve not done myself, but accept it. “Thanks.” The cloth’s cool against the back of my neck. It helps the nausea.
That gives me an idea. I adjust the kerchief holding my hair back so it’s rolled on the diamond angle, making sure it hits the nape of my neck. “Wet this, too?”
His magic promptly wells up, and my kerchief becomes wet and cool.
“Thank you.” I spend a moment enjoying the reprieve from the nausea. “You’ll want to avoid that in Pardyan. Wouldn’t want to end up in a duel.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aldrik says mildly.
His wife was from the Pardys Isles. He probably does know more than I’m giving him credit for.
As I straighten up, he’s by my side, ready to help. A frown creases his brow. “Have you kept down anything, the past two days?”
Come to think on it, my dizziness might have more to do with dehydration than any sensitivity to the ship. I bite my tongue to keep from cursing further. Pardyan is dangerous, and Oswen is worse. If this child gets me killed—
YOU ARE READING
1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of Deception: Book #4, Chronicles of Marsdenfel
FantasyThis book is FOURTH in a series + a FIRST DRAFT. It may not make sense without having read the rest of the series. This is being posted as part of the First Draft Fridays run by Carradee, a.k.a. Misti Wolanski. Thus, this version is rough and may or...
