Chapter Fifteen....Rough Journey
The ship was too heavy, laden down with reciprocal gifts from King Eetion. And that's why it wasn't floating as nearly
as smoothly as it should.
The rowers had gotten lazy and weren't being as careful as they had on the way there.
She had suddenly become overly sensitive to the lapping of the waves on the boat.
Hector wracked his mind, and those were the lame excuses he came up with, but they all led him back to the same
conclusion. All of the above were wrong, what had obviously happened was Triantifilla had somehow gotten a hold
of his wife, despite his carefulness.
That's why she was suddenly so intolerant of the journey, unable to hold any food down, or do much more than curl
up on their bed and try not to vomit with every movement. It was the only possible explanation he could think of.
And he was so close to turning the ship around and taking care of her mother once and for all. Problem was. there
was a storm behind them. They'd easily beat it back to Troy, but to get back to Greece, they'd have to go straight
through it. So common sense won out, and they remained on course.
He was returning from the galley with dried bread, in the hopes of settling her stomach for at least an hour. "Here."
He said, carefully settling on the bed next to her, lest he jostle her and send her running toward the port hole again.
Andromache opened dull eyes and looked at her husband as he sat down next to her. The bread he was holding
looked about as appetizing as raw fish at the moment and the thought of raw fish had her closing her eyes and
breathing shallowly through her mouth for a minute. She wanted to ask how much longer it was to Troy. But that
would sound like a spoiled child and it wasn't as if Hector could make the ship go faster than it already was. She just
- she just wanted to get off this rocking ship and hide in her room in bed until she was past this - whatever this was.
Her mind had a whispered word for it but she didn't even want to think it.
And Hector looked so worried. She'd seen him worried before but she'd never seen the undercurrent of fear hiding
in his dark eyes before. He looked years older and it made her heart ache. She would have given anything to spare
him this.
And she'd been so careful, her and Lucia both, watching everything that they were given to eat or drink. It had
actually started a few days before they'd left for Troy but she'd thought it was a cold and she usually ignored those.
She was still pretending it was a cold. But she didn't think Hector believed her anymore.
Her slim hand shifted. Found his and curled there.
"I'll be all right." she offered quietly, giving him a pale smile. "I will."
Hector sat the bread aside with his free hand and then raked that hand through his hair. He was a man who solved
things. Pure and simple. And no matter how hard he thought he couldn't come up with a solution to this. He was
schooled in the bare minimum of the healing arts, and that was how to stabilize a battle wound. That was about it.
Poison, he had no idea how to cure that.
If he could have willed the boat back to Troy faster than it was already going, he would have. He was actually trying
that, without much success.
She was so pale, her freckles stood out in stark contrast. The space under her eyes was shadowed with dark
smudges. He probably had those same smudges, come to think of it. Came from lack of sleep. He squeezed her
hand gently and arranged the blankets a bit around her. Feeling pretty helpless and useless, because that's all he
could do.
"We're almost back." He said, offering her a smile, trying to cover the worry. "Flat, unmoving land, I promise." She
wanted to pass it off as a cold, he wanted to pass it off as sea sickness. Anything other than what they were both
sure was the truth.
She reached up gingerly and slipped her fingers down his cheek. Giving him a soft smile in answer to his own.
"I love you." she told him, voice gentle.
So - much she wanted to tell him. Things she wanted to say in case her soul didn't make to Troy. He wouldn't want
to hear them. They didn't talk about the afterwards if he didn't return when he rode off to war. She'd never thought
to tell him what she wanted for him if she was the first to die. She'd never thought she'd be the one to leave him.
Careful, she shifted over to make room for him on the bed with her. The sickness came and went in waves and for
the moment she was fine. If she didn't move.
"Lay down." she gave his hand a gentle tug. "You look like you're going to fall over."
He carefully and slowly laid down, afraid he'd bring back the nausea if he didn't. He was tense in his inability to
do...anything. And the sense of failure was only held back by the hope they got back to Troy in time to
stop...whatever this was.
The witch should have struck him, he was stronger. Which was probably why she didn't.
Finally settled down next to her, he stroked her hair. "Do not argue with me. When we get back to Troy, I'm sending
a forward rider to tell my father you're ill," to avoid a parade and procession, "and you're going straight to the
healers." There was no room in his tone for any argument, should she decide to try.
"I didn't really want a parade anyway." she managed to tease, giving him a soft smile. Eyes shut because his gentle
touch on her hair was soothing.
They should talk about what he should do without her if it came to that. The permission to remarry, how important it
was that he keep living, guardian of Troy, and on and on.
The voiced understanding that he was going to go back and kill her mother with his bare hands if Andromache
didn't make it to Troy.
Opening her eyes to look at his face, she murmured:
"Do you remember what you told me? When I told you why I couldn't marry you? What you promised me?"