They cooked the crabs in a bed of coals, needing sticks to push the creatures back into the searing heat until their struggles ceased. The white flesh was delicious, but salty. A bounteous feast and an endless supply that could prove fatal.
Baudin then collected more driftwood, intending to build a beacon fire for the night to come. In the meantime, as the sun broke the eastern skyline, he piled damp seaweed on the fire and studied with a satisfied expression the column of smoke that rose into the air.
'You planning to do that all day?' Felisin asked.
'Every now and then,' he replied.
'Don't see the point if those clouds roll in.'
'They ain't rolled in yet, have they? If anything, they're rolling out — back to the mainland.'
She watched him working the fire. He'd lost the economy of his movements, she realized; there was now a sloppiness there that betrayed the extremity of his exhaustion, a weakness that probably came with finally reaching the coast. They'd lost any control over their fates.
The crab meat began taking its toll. Waves of desperate thirst assailed Felisin, followed by sharp cramps as her stomach rebelled at being full.
Heboric disappeared inside his tent, clearly suffering the same symptoms.
Felisin did little over the next twenty minutes, simply clawing through the pain and watching Baudin, willing on him the same affliction. If he was similarly assailed he showed no sign. Her fear of him deepened.
The cramps faded, although the thirst remained. The clouds over the straits retreated, the sun's heat rose.
Baudin dumped a last pile of seaweed on the fire, then made ready to retire to the tent.
'Take mine,' Felisin said.
His head jerked around, his eyes narrowing.
'I'll join you in a moment.'
He still stared.
'Why not?' she snapped. 'What other escape is there? Unless you've taken vows-'
He flinched almost imperceptibly.
Felisin went on, '- sworn to some sex-hating Ascendant. Who would that be? Hood? Wouldn't that be a surprise! But there's always a little death in lovemaking-'
'That what you call it?' Baudin muttered. 'Lovemaking?'
She shrugged.
'I'm sworn to no god.'
'So you've said before. Yet you've never made use of me, Baudin. Do you prefer men? Boys? Throw me on my stomach and you won't know the difference.'
He straightened, still staring, his expression unreadable. Then he walked to the tent. Felisin's tent.
She smiled to herself, waited a hundred heartbeats, then joined him.
His hands moved over her clumsily, as if he was trying to be gentle but did not know how. The rags of their clothing had taken but moments to remove. Baudin guided her down until she lay on her back, looking up at his blunt, bearded face, his eyes still cold and unfathomable as his large hands gathered her breasts and pushed them together.
As soon as he was inside her, his restraint fell away. He became something other than human, reduced to an animal. He was rough, but not as rough as Beneth had been, nor a good number of Beneth's followers.
He was quickly done, settling his considerable weight on her, his breath harsh and heavy in her ear. She did not move him; her every sense was attuned to his breathing, to the twitching of muscles as sleep stole up on him. She had not expected him to surrender so easily, she had not anticipated his helplessness.
Felisin's hand stole into the sands beside the pallet and probed until it found the grip of the dagger. She willed calm into her own breathing, though she could do nothing to slow her hammering heart. He was asleep. He did not stir.
She slipped the blade free, shifting her grasp to angle the point inward. She drew a deep breath, held it.
His hand caught her wrist the instant she began her thrust. He rose fluidly, wrenching her arm around and twisting her until she rolled onto her stomach beneath him. His weight pinned her down.
Baudin squeezed her wrist until the dagger fell free. 'You think I don't check my gear, lass?' he whispered. 'You think you're a mystery to me? Who else would steal one of my throat-stickers?'
