The voyage to the Isles would take a week, and as soon as Jaythen heard that information, a part of him panicked. The first mate had informed him when he asked that morning. He panicked because he didn't believe that Avalyn could go without changing for a week. The most time he had known for her to stay human was three days and no more. Here, they were already on the second. He cursed himself for not realizing before they set sail. He had doomed everyone on board.
Avalyn joined him in the galley; she stretched her arms with a sleepy grin at seeing him perched at one of the tables and eating oatmeal. She looked absolutely harmless at the moment, but he knew better than to assume the best with her.
"Good morning," she sat next to him with her own bowl of oatmeal.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, truly wondering if she could ignore the toss of the ship in her dreams.
"As well as any night," she shrugged and blew some steam that rose from the food on her spoon before eating it. She chewed thoughtfully, studying him.
"What?"
"You seem more charming than usual this morning,"
He held in a laugh, amazed a potion had worked so fast. He had only spoken one sentence to her and she thought it had made him more charming. She shook her head, seeming to suspect something was off about his unwarranted charm "I suppose you're tired and want to sleep now?"
He nodded, he had spent the rest of the wee hours of morning laying on the deck and watching the stars fade into the sky as the sun rose. It was actually quite breathtaking how it seemed that a giant, unseen paintbrush had slid across the heavens, dousing it with the dawn.
He gave a small yawn in reply, "Don't let the men give you any trouble while I'm asleep."
She bit the inside of her cheek from laughing outwardly at him. Her expression was enough to assure him that she wouldn't.
He made a quick detour on his way back to the bed, searching to see if there was any hidden space that was large enough for Avalyn to change—though even if there was she still wouldn't be able to hunt—and that seemed a crucial part of keeping her content.
He gave up and fell into the bed and tried to fall asleep despite the jostling of the ship.
The days went by like so, the two youths always seeming to see each other in those moments between dawn and dusk. They never had much to say—only recounted what they had done whilst the other was asleep. Jaythen had bonded with some of the crew during evenings, playing cards or dice games but never betting too much to lose the rest of their gold coin. Avalyn told that she would watch the sea when she was awake and alone. She had found a dusty old book somewhere on the ship and had began to read it to pass time. She didn't say anything about wanting to change but Jaythen could see the furrow deepen her brow when she was complacent—inwardly fighting and too proud to complain, for what could anyone do?
On the fifth evening, the ship was creaking as per usual as it rocked on the sea. The only light was from dimly lit lanterns that hung from the ceiling of the galley. Jaythen sat on a crate and played cards with some of the off duty crew. He was losing and had lost interest anyway, so he glanced at Avalyn to see what she was doing to pass time. She was frowning as she read that dusty old book. He was very impressed that she had resisted changing to dragon for so long. Though this night, she seemed very concentrated, more so than usual. He could see something was off about her. Not only was she frowning, but she was gulping in breaths as if to calm herself. He flipped his card hand onto the crate as he stood, "I'm out."
"Avalyn?" he crouched beside her. She broke out of her concentration and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him close. He was caught off-guard by her action and nearly fell into her lap, suddenly very fearful for her.
"Every part of me is struggling to not change," he whispered in a contained hiss.
They were in trouble. She pushed him back—apparently full of anger and frustration at trying to suppress the creature within her. She snapped the book shut and stood abruptly, "I need air."
He followed her to make sure nothing bad would happen—after all she was the only female aboard their ship. Not that she couldn't take care of herself—she could faster dispose of any man who troubled her than Jaythen could. No incidences had arisen between her and any of the men of the crew. They left her alone for the most part. Man could be dense but none would dare disturb a girl with that of Avalyn's scowl. She swiftly climbed the stairs and emerged on deck, still breathing in gulps of air.
"Is it painful?" He caught up with her.
She whirled around, "It's…consuming."
He couldn't understand—she looked desperate, her eyes wide and unsure of what to do. She shook her head back and forth and gave him an apologetic look.
"I'm sorry but I have to turn."
"No!" he cried making a grab for her.
She maneuvered out of his way, "Leave me be, Jaythen you will only get hurt!"
"You will be destroyed if they see what you truly are! These are sailors trained to defend themselves; they will take a harpoon through you!"
"Do you think I don't know that?" her eyes blazed, she unclasped her necklace and tried handing it to him, "Give this to my mother when you find her—at least she will know I was searching for her."
He took it but shook his head, "You won't turn, and you won't be destroyed."
"You can't tell me what is or isn't going to happen, as if you are the lord of me. I have to turn, and it is something you could never understand!"
She bolted past him, to turn, to be the beast her body was fighting not to become but she had given up. He tried restraining her, but she threw him off—she was blinded in ire, needing to kill to satisfy her inner-demon. She had forced it down for five days and now was going to let it out—she would be discovered and destroyed. She instead pressed her fingers into his neck, nearly suffocating him. Now he was her prey. He knew she didn't mean it though. She was hurting him so he would run from her—to not be further harmed. She was a great storm about to let forth the rains and she wanted him to take shelter and be dry.
He foolishly tried restraining her again, knowing he couldn't do much but to delay the transformation. She would surely sink the ship in her rage. She managed to get free by struggling violently and pushed him to the ground. This action caused her to lose balance and stumble backwards.
"NO! Avalyn, look out!" Jaythen scrambled up, seeing she was about to impale herself on a protruding stake. She managed to clear the fatal blow by falling slightly to the right but it did not save her from getting cut open. The sharp edge tore through the side of her dress and into her skin. She landed on her side, the rage dissipating as she grimaced and held it with both hands pressed tightly.
"Avalyn?" He fell to his knees by her side, "Are you all right?"
She lifted her hand and they saw a rich red liquid smeared across it. She looked at her own blood curiously for a moment—it didn't look special, but it was valuable enough for beings to destroy her for just the tiniest drop.
Her bemused expression didn't last long for then a shock of pain sprang into her features and she began to scream. Her screams were from deep within her—haunting, panicked and full of pain. She closed her hands over the wound and curled herself into a ball. He forced her arms away to examine the wound—it wasn't so deep that it couldn't be healed. It was no deeper than the cut he gave her that was forced by the white witch. He sighed with relief.
"Avalyn, it will heal. All we need to do is clean it—" he tried to explain to calm her frantic shouts of agony but she did not stop. He stared at her, realizing she was far from well—she had paled significantly and the veins in her neck were so strained they were a bright violet underneath her skin.
He looked to the stake and saw her blood on the tip—and then sucked in a sharp breath—seeing that it was made of iron.
Iron poisons fey.
He had never suspected that disadvantage of fey would be hers as well. It did make sense though and he should have noticed sooner. She had headaches when near large amounts of the metal, and it was probably the reason she told the maids to remove the fire-poker in her guest room at the castle Wendbury.
The iron stake had gone in deep enough to contaminate her blood. Avalyn was shouting no more but breathing heavily with her eyes wide open—staring at nothing in particular—in a shock of some sort.
He quickly grabbed her into his arms and rushed down the stairwell to the sleeping compartments. He knew calling the make-shift physician wouldn't help since she wasn't fully human and they would have no logical clue to why she was suffering so badly. He set her on the bed and paced wildly trying to think of how to save her. First thing he needed to do was clean the wound and stop it from bleeding. He grabbed a bottle of rum he had won in a game of cards and yanked the stopper out with his teeth and steadied her while he poured it over the cut. The alcohol washed her blood away but she started to scream again and dig her nails into the mattress.
She began to twist wildly, trying in anyway to find a comfort from the poison inside her. He placed a hand on her forehead finding perspiration because her body temperature had risen to an almost burning touch. He withdrew his hand in horror—panic setting fully in his chest that she was going to die.
"Avalyn? What do I do? You can't die!" he held her head up, looking into her dimming emerald eyes and felt tears threaten the corners of his own. He was supposed to protect her, never to let her be harmed but as he stared at her he felt like a helpless child.
She sucked in another heavy breath and started to lose consciousness as her arm barely lifted to indicate something.
He didn't know what she meant, it could have been delusional pointing but his eyes fell upon where she had indicated. The knapsack was hanging on the post of the bed. He jumped up and opened it, finding what was left of the set of potion vials. He quickly examined all the labels—finding the one to be a potion for healing. He didn't know if it would work—it merely was scripted as 'Heal'. He had no other options though—there was nothing else he could do to save her. He quickly gathered her up so she was leaning against him, yanked out the cork with his teeth and held her chin, forcing her jaw open to pour the potion down her throat. He made sure none was spilled out of her mouth because the only clear instructions the apothecary gave upon its purchase was that every drop must be consumed. He didn't know if it could even work with her, were the potions only for humans or for all living beings? He let her drop to the mattress, and watched intently to see if it worked. It might have because Avalyn was still alive—although gone from world. She lay limp and pale, with miniature tree-stem-like violet spreading up her lovely neck. Her bare neck—he took her necklace and studied the jewel, the same tone as the poisoned veins underneath her skin. He wondered if the color was significant or just coincidence.
If the potion worked as slowly as the hair-growth potion or the luck one she would surely die before the effects took place. Although, the charm potion had taken effect much faster so he held to that thread of hope for her survival. Her breaths were shallow, fast, ragged and her hair stuck damply to her face, neck, and shoulders.
He found a piece of cloth and a bucket of sea water. The water was cool enough though—so he soaked the cloth with water, rung it out and sat by her side—running the cloth over her skin to make sure he didn't lose her. The cooling wouldn't cure her, but he had to make her last moments as comfortable if these really were her last moments.
His eyes were growing tired from straining so hard, never glancing away from her, refusing to leave her alone. She was asleep but not dead yet as he could see the erratic rise and fall of her chest—however though small and infrequent a movement it was.
"You must pull through Avalyn," he found himself saying in a strained yet determined voice he had never used before, just to fill the silence—though she couldn't hear him, "We're almost to the Evening Isles—and you'll be able too see your mother."
It would be tragic if she perished when they were so close to finding Alys.
He swallowed a knot in his throat as he looked upon her sleeping form, "For what it's worth, I don't care what you are and it wouldn't matter anyhow—because I am quite fond of you." He leaned closer, as if he was sharing a secret with her, "And I would be utterly lost without you."
Of course she didn't respond and he withdrew his close proximity and laughed out loud at himself through his deepening sorrow at his foolish belief that his words would somehow cause her to wake up and be cured. No, he shook his head and continued to cool her skin with the wet cloth. He began to nod off and stopped himself from falling over, into the bucket. Avalyn was still unconscious—her body fighting the poison of the iron—hopefully with aid from the potion. He set the cloth into the bucket and removed it from the bedding area. His leg had fallen asleep from sitting in that stiff position next to the bed, he stood and stretched. Instead of leaving her alone, and putting himself on the dirty floor, he threw off his boots and sat himself next to her on the mattress, just in case something should turn for the worst. He would have at least liked her to know that she wouldn't die unloved—for he did care a great deal about her as evident by his actions this night. He hadn't even felt a fraction of emotion at his father's death than the engulfing worry and anxiety at the mere possibility of the death of the girl with green eyes.
He maneuvered her so that her head lay against a pillow at his side and he sat against the headboard propped up. He fell asleep sitting like so and holding her hand, thankful for every heartbeat he felt through it.
The sounds of the sea lulled him out of his sleep. A dull morning light cascaded through the single porthole in the compartment and illuminated the door to the room. He blinked drowsily and his heart nearly stopped beating at remembering what had happened. He held his breath and glanced down to see if Avalyn was better or at least still alive. She slept soundly against him, face half obscured by her hair, and now with a stable intake of breath. She hadn't died, thank God. The potion had worked.
As he looked upon her, he couldn't help but to feel a sweetness towards the girl with green eyes. It was a wonderful feeling, to know she was alive and that he had saved her—finally repaying her for all the times she had helped him. He was so overwhelmed with joy that he couldn't help but to sing gently:
"If I had words to make a day for you
I'd sing you a morning golden and new
I would make this day last for all time
And fill the night with moonshine"
She made a soft, incoherent, mumbling noise—hearing the lullaby she could no longer sing herself and snuggled closer into him, which only furthered his endearment of her. Lovely, sleepy, Avalyn—he was truly appreciative to know such a girl, no matter of her unnatural, dangerous nature and undoubtedly appreciative that she was alive.
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