Page 14 of Avalon Tower
I hold his gaze. “I’m just wondering out loud. Would they even let your ship leave the port? They’re truly terrified Auberon will take the rest of France.”
Viviane leaps onto the dock, and the damp wood creaks beneath her feet. In the next heartbeat, she has her blade at my throat. The sea breeze whips at her blonde ringlets. “I’m taking her out.”
I freeze, unable to breathe. I’ve never been threatened with a weapon before. My head spins, and my knees grow weak, but I force myself to meet her gaze.
“No!” Aleina calls out.
“Don’t, Viviane,” Raphael barks. “Too messy.” He leaps down, too, and steps closer. In the dying light, his pale eyes pierce me.
I should be stepping back. Turning away. But for some reason, I’m standing my ground. My gaze flicks to Raphael. “They’re just three extra people. The boy hardly takes any space.”
With his hands on his hips, he stares back at the dock. “Fine. Viviane, lower the sword. Everyone comes aboard. I don’t have time for this.”
I exhale in relief. After a few seconds, Viviane drops her blade.
The redheaded mother looks at me with tears in her eyes. “Thanks,” she whispers. “For everything.”
I swallow hard. “Sure. I’m glad I could help.”
One of the young ginger women scoops Malo into her arms and carries him up the gangplank.
Raphael’s head is turned, and he’s staring intently at something. I turn to see what he’s looking at, and my heart skips a beat. One of the policemen is running for us, his feet thundering over the wooden dock. “Nia Melisende!” he shouts from the distance.
“How does he know your name?” asks Raphael icily.
“He checked my passport.”
Raphael pulls on a cap, covering the curved tips of his ears. Then, smoothly, he leaps onto the dock. To my surprise, he slides his arm around my shoulders, and turns me to face the other direction. He points out to the sea, like he’s showing me a sunset. “Follow my lead and play along. Stay relaxed. Calm.”
My breath slows, my thoughts zeroing in on the warmth of his arm around my shoulders. Bizarrely, I find myself actually staying calm, as if his words are a command I can’t ignore. His masculine scent triggers a long-buried memory, but the last time I saw him, he wasn’t nearly this muscular.
“Nia Melisende!” the cop calls again from behind us.
With his arm still wrapped around me, Raphael turns, a calm smile on his face. He raises his eyebrows. “Looking for my wife? She’s not feeling very well, I’m afraid.”
We make a ridiculous pair. I’m short as hell, and Raphael towers over me.
The policeman is still catching his breath, one hand on his chest. “My colleague said”—he gasps and breathes in deeply—“there were others who walked in with you. Unaccounted for.” He waves at the boat. “Those lot. We never checked their papers.”
Raphael frowns. “Ah, no, it’s fine. They had their passports checked earlier.” He pulls his arm from me, coughing into his elbow. “Bloody hell, Nia. I told you that you were going to give me that fever. Have your blisters gone?”
I stare at him for a moment, but only just a moment. I can always figure out what people want and give it to them. It’s one of my greatest skills. And right now, I know exactly what role I’m supposed to play.
I wince, touching my side. “No. I must have caught something terrible.”
Raphael grimaces. “I tell you what. It’s the mongrel flu, is what it is. Do you know how bloody contagious that is, Nia?”
“Well, it’s not like I did it on purpose. If you weren’t manhandling me all the time, you might have avoided catching the chancres.”
“Chancres?” asks the policeman. His mustache twitches.
I shoot him a forlorn look. “In all the places the sun don’t shine. They’re in my throat, too, and if I cough…” I start to cough.
He pales, then glances at the boat. “Perhaps I needn’t worry about their passports, then.”
I nod, still coughing. “I hope it’s not fatal. They all have it, too.”
The cop casts another worried look at the boat. He starts to turn and walk away, and my chest unclenches. But before he takes another step, he freezes. As he turns back to the boat, his brow furrows. The wind skims over us. Slowly, a look of fury crosses his features. I turn to see who he’s looking at—Malo, his little pointed ears showing through his dark curls.