"Please turn the boat around! Arlan is ill, we have to go back."
The boatman only squared his shoulders.
"My orders are to get you to the South, come what may."
Claire ran a hand through her hair.
"Zach would understand… I know he would. Please take us back."
The man just continued steering the oars in the only water as if she had not uttered a word.
She glanced around. There was no shore in sight. And she couldn't swim.
Her eyes dropped to the boy in her arms. He was so pale, his skin icy.
His breath fogged in her face, thin but not nonexistent.
"It's not about money, lass. I have honour, and honour demands that I get you to the South even if it costs me my life."
She blinked. Did his honour impale his conscience?
"What about the boy?"
He flicked a brief glance over his shoulder and continued sweeping the oars through the inky waters. She followed the movements of his arms, watching as they contracted powerfully.
Her vision slowly blurred.
If Arlan died…
