Page 19

19

T he rainforest pressed around them with strangling humidity. Sweat clung to Vivienne’s skin, strands of hair curling against her damp neck. Lewis’ glasses fogged over repeatedly, and soon, his tunic was too damp to wipe them dry. They had been hiking for miles, the air laden with the scent of damp earth and vegetation. Cirrus led the way, followed by the captain and commander, while Vivienne and Lewis fell into step beside Dr. Mercer.

The uneven path twisted through soaring trees, their roots snaking across the forest floor. Sunlight barely penetrated the dense canopy, leaving only dappled patches of light to guide them. Vivienne focused on her footing more than the scenery, unlike Lewis, who tripped twice while marveling at the flora.

"Of course," Lewis mumbled in awe. "Epiphytes! Bromeliads! How obvious!"

Dr. Mercer chuckled, leaning toward Vivienne. "Should we consider his sudden naming of plants a medical condition?"

Vivienne’s mouth curved up on one side. "If it is, he’s got a chronic case."

A piercing cry shattered the steady rhythm of their footsteps.

"Doctor!" Someone shouted up the line. "We need the doctor!"

Mercer sprang into action, grabbing her medical satchel. "Lewis, with me!"

They abandoned their heavier bags as the crew cleared the path. Vivienne followed, heart pounding. When they reached the source of the commotion, a crewman, Tomas, leaned against a tree, clutching his stomach. His face was ashen, his breath coming in desperate gasps.

Dr. Mercer crouched beside him, her voice low and calm. "Hey, Tomas, let me take a look." She checked his pulse, her expression tightening. "Rapid, weak. Pupils dilated. He’s going into shock. Help me lay him down."

Lewis and the commander eased Tomas onto the ground. No sooner had he settled than his body convulsed violently. Mercer cradled his head, keeping his airway clear.

"What happened?" Thorne barked. "Animal? Insect bite?"

A sailor stepped forward hesitantly. "We… we picked some berries, is all."

Lewis’ head snapped toward him. "Show me."

The sailor unwrapped a handkerchief, revealing a handful of deep purple berries, so dark they were nearly black. A silent exchange passed between Lewis and Mercer.

"Nightshade," Lewis breathed, his face paling. "Highly toxic. It doesn’t take much to…"

Tomas’ breathing turned ragged, each inhale a battle against an unseen force clenching around him.

"Dr. Mercer?" Captain Garrett’s voice was measured, but the weight of his tone was unmistakable.

Mercer shook her head, her sable eyes relaying the unspoken truth. It was too late.

The captain knelt beside Tomas, taking his hand. "No sailor should be alone at the end."

Thorne turned to the crew, his voice slicing through the thick air. "If anyone else ate these berries, step forward now. If you have any, discard them immediately."

A few shaken sailors obeyed. Lewis swiftly dosed them with charcoal, hoping to purge the poison from their stomachs before it took hold.

Tomas’ trembling slowed. His wide, terrified eyes locked onto Mercer’s. She stroked his brow, offered a reassuring smile, then began to sing.

Her voice was unlike anything Vivienne had ever heard. It rang through the rainforest, clear and resonant, each note a wave cresting and falling with effortless grace. Though the words were in an unfamiliar language, their compassion and encouragement needed no translation. The crew fell silent, transfixed, as Tomas’ body languished. His eyes fluttered shut. He was gone.

Shock rippled through the gathered sailors.

Captain Garrett removed his hat. "Rest well, Tomas. May the eternal glade embrace you." His voice held firm, but the sorrow leaked through. "From now on, no one eats anything from this island without Lewis or Dr. Mercer’s approval. Understood?"

The crew muttered solemn affirmations.

A stretcher was fashioned from canvas and branches, and sailors prepared Tomas’ body for a proper burial.

Lewis stood frozen, guilt etching deep lines into his face. "I should have warned them sooner," he whispered.

Vivienne placed a hand on his arm. There were no words to make it better.

They continued the trek in heavy silence.

* * *

The tight-knit canopy finally thinned as Cirrus led them into a clearing, small, but level enough for a base camp. Moss and sandy earth cushioned the ground, and towering trees arched overhead, forming a natural dome.

“We’ll make camp here,” Captain Garrett instructed.

Vivienne exhaled heavily, dropping her canvas pack and stretching out her sore muscles. Sweat clung to her like a second skin, and she’d never been so thirsty. Nearby, Lewis knelt, inspecting vibrant ferns and flowers thriving in the extra sunlight. A small smile flickered across her lips. Typical.

He had barely spoken since Tomas’ death, but the gleam of curiosity was creeping back into his golden-brown eyes.

"Find anything interesting?" she asked.

Lewis traced a broad leaf with his fingers. "Suddenly, my gardens feel underwhelming. I mean, look at this place."

She sensed his attempt at levity, but his voice was hollow. His forced smile didn’t reach his eyes.

"Your gardens are magnificent," she reassured.

He scoffed, glancing at the deadly beauty around them. "At least they’ve never killed anyone."

Vivienne cringed. He was shouldering guilt he had no reason to bear. “What happened wasn’t your fault,” she consoled, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Lewis flinched away from her touch.

Vivienne buried the sting of rejection. He’s hurting, that’s all.

"I should check if Dr. Mercer needs help," he muttered and walked away without looking back.

Vivienne let him go, arms crossing over her chest as she scanned the clearing. Crews bustled about—setting up a makeshift kitchen, sorting supplies, distributing water skins and food packets. She joined the line, exhaustion making each step feel heavier.

While the crew rested, officers began organizing camp. Dr. Mercer pointed out a nearby stream for refilling water, while Commander Thorne and Gus coordinated the layout of tents.

Vivienne studied the commander as he worked. Unlike the king, the chancellor, or even her father, Thorne’s authority wasn’t built on fear. His orders were met with obedience not because of intimidation but respect. Well, except for when he threatened to gut Cirrus, that had felt more like a promise of justice than an idle threat.

The camp slowly took shape. Cirrus supervised a sailor rigging a canvas canopy. When he caught her eye, he grinned and motioned her over.

Lifting her pack was torture, but she managed to trudge across the clearing. “It’s something, isn’t it?” Cirrus motioned to the surrounding rainforest.

"It sure is," Vivienne panted. "Something hot and humid and—wait, how are you not sweating?"

While she was drenched, every strand of hair sticking to her skin, Cirrus barely looked unfazed. Flushed, but far from suffering.

He smirked. "I've been here a time or two. Maybe I'm acclimating faster."

“Got any secrets to accelerate that?” Her voice was more plea than question.

Mischief gleamed in his ice-blue eyes. “Would you like me to… acclimate you?”

She narrowed her eyes. How does he turn everything into flirting?

"I don’t think Commander Thorne would appreciate any acclimating ," she shot back.

Cirrus groaned, rolling his eyes. "That mother hen can mind his own business."

Vivienne bit back a laugh at the image of Thorne clucking at Cirrus.

* * *

Night settled over the camp, the rainforest humming with life. Insects droned in the heavy air, distant birds called to each other, and something rustled in the undergrowth. A faint floral scent drifted on the breeze.

Vivienne lay on her bedroll, staring at the slivers of sky visible through the canopy. Tiredness tugged at her, but sleep felt impossible. She had never slept outdoors, let alone surrounded by so many people.

The sound of another bedroll rustling nearby drew her attention. Cirrus had set up no more than five feet away. Propping her head on her arm, she flashed a snarky glare. “Can I help you?”

Cirrus stretched out, his ice-blue eyes flicking between hers and her lips. “I don’t know, Banns—can you?” he purred.

The heavy scrape of boots sounded behind them. Commander Thorne stood with his bedroll under one arm. With a snap, he unfurled it between them, his tight, forced smile at Cirrus steeped in unspoken warning.

Cirrus scowled but rolled the other way in melodramatic defeat.

Thorne lay back, hands behind his head. “Miss Banner,” he acknowledged, his eyes on the sky.

“Commander,” she matched his tone, still watching him. “Do you always take such an interest in your researchers?”

“I do when one of my officers can’t seem to leave them alone,” he replied evenly.

Cirrus’ deep breathing joined the rainforest ambiance as a protesting growl clamored through the stillness.

“Did you not eat?” she asked.

“We ration for the crew. I had what I needed.”

“Your stomach says otherwise.”

His voice carried a hint of irritation. “Miss Banner, my stomach is none of your concern.”

“It is when it’s going to keep me awake all night.” Huffing, she pushed herself up to a sitting position and rummaged through her canvas pack, pulling out a handkerchief-wrapped bundle. “Here.”

Thorne sat up, warily eyeing the offering. As he unfolded the cloth, his brows furrowed, but the curiosity in his dark eyes betrayed him. “Where the everdark did you get these?”

“They were a going-away gift from a friend.”

He inhaled deeply, the scent of sugar and spice tempering the angular lines of his face. “It’s good to have friends with access to pastries.”

Vivienne chuckled. “I suppose I’m the friend in this case?”

“That depends on how many of these you have left,” he stated, his expression warmer than she’d ever seen. “Thank you.”

She held his gaze. “Anytime, Commander.”

Thorne took a bite, closing his eyes as a rare look of pleasure crossing his face. “I think I’ve had this before… a long time ago.”

“You have? Do you go to Johanna’s bakery in Vantner?”

He shook his head, a small smile curving his lips. “No. I received them as a bribe of sorts.” He paused, glancing at her. “But that’s a story for another time.”

* * *

Vivienne stirred as the soft glow of dawn filtered through the canopy, casting dappled light across the camp. Blinking away sleep, she shifted onto her side.

Commander Thorne’s bedroll was empty, neatly wound. Of course, already on duty.

She peeked around to find Cirrus laying on his back, his white-blond hair a tousled mess, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.

Something near her bedroll caught her eye.

Her handkerchief, the one she’d wrapped pastries in the night before sat beside her, folded with military precision. Resting on top, nestled in the center, was a delicate tropical flower, its coral petals vibrant against the worn fabric.

Vivienne’s fingers hovered over it, her pulse skipping. A small, appreciative smile played on her lips.