Sins of the Sea by Laila Winters

Author:Laila Winters [Winters, Laila]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-30T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

FYNN

The sunlight filtering in through the open bedroom window was a curse, one meant to blind him as he rolled onto his stomach and buried his face into a soft, feathery pillow that vaguely smelt of cinnamon. His head was pounding, like someone had taken a mallet to his skull and was repeatedly beating him in the temple. A visceral groan escaped from him.

How much had he had to drink last night?

Jorel had kept the wine flowing for hours, filling Fynn’s glass the moment he’d drained it to the dregs. Red wine, honeyed wine, and spiced wine, mead that burned Fynn’s throat and beer that warmed his currently churning stomach. They had racked up a bar tab greater than the coffers in Fynn’s trove, and apart from that, the Captain had paid Jorel one hell of a tip for his services.

He groaned again, also aware that Jorel had left him to wake alone.

Alone in bed, at least, because Amael was sprawled in an empty chair across the room, counting a pouch of gold coins. His mouth twitched with a smile as Fynn pried open one eye to look at him. “He left about an hour ago,” the boatswain told him. The humor in his tone had Fynn stuffing his head beneath his pillow, the bedsheets reeking of that cinnamon-scented cologne that Jorel sometimes liked to bathe in. “He was careful not to wake you, but he asked me to thank you for a fun night.”

“Bullshit.”

“He asked me to thank you for the—”

“Keep talking, Amael, and I’ll drown you in the Emerald.”

Amael snorted as he rose from his chair, untangling his long limbs and stretching as if he’d been sitting there for an even longer while. “Jorel left you a kettle of tea steeping on the counter. It was nice and hot when he left, but since I couldn’t return to this room until you’d both fallen asleep, I didn’t think you’d mind if I helped myself.”

Fynn pulled back the pillow and glared at him, his eyes still crusted with sleep. “Is there any of it left?”

“None. It was delicious.”

A snarl ripped between his teeth. “You ass,” he said. “You could have left me at least a cup.”

The boatswain laughed as he crossed the room. He brandished a white mug from the counter adjacent to their beds, then filled it with tea from the still-steeping kettle. A small fire was lit beneath the metal pot to keep it warm. “Jorel said you’d be in a foul mood when you woke. That you’d drank enough wine to render an entire army useless. I didn’t want to deal with you, so I only took a few sips.”

Fynn was sitting up, albeit slouched against the headboard of the bed, when Amael pressed the mug into his hands. His tingling fingers leeched the warmth from the glass, steam rippling in plumes from the dark liquid inside. Fynn drank, a mixture of herbs and spice sliding down his throat until there was nothing left. Until

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