The Gospel According to Verdu (a Steampunk Novel) (The Brofman Series) Read Online Free Page B

very soon, love.” Candice, for all her petite appearance, had the willpower and presence of an admiral, and a salty one at that. Captain Endicott drummed his fingers on the side of his face, contemplating his lack of options.
     
    Chenda sat on the edge of the claw-foot tub, staring out at the moonlit shore. Once again, she found she could not sleep. There was no point in trying anymore, so she stayed up with her thoughts. Wrapped in Fenimore’s large shirt, she contemplated the luxury of another bath, but decided against it. She did not want to wake her husband.
    He needed a break from the constant activity on the Brofman as much as she did. He had acted as teacher, superior officer, guinea pig to her powers, and lover for several months now. A lesser man would have given up, or at least would have complained, but not Fenimore.
    She shifted position to watch him sleep, and smiled as she took in his naked form. The moonlight enhanced the ridges of his torso, each muscle defined and each scar raised in the color-bleaching gloom. He was all shadows, accented with light.
    Fenimore rolled over and stretched a hand out, sleepily groping for his wife. When he could not find her, he sat up and looked around the room. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Hey, what’s wrong? Why you up?”
    “ I just couldn’t sleep,” she said.
    “ Bad dream?” he asked as he threw his legs over the side of the bed and pulled on his pants.
    “ No. Definitely not that. I just wasn’t restful.”
    He moved over to the elegant desk against the wall and snapped on the lamp at its lowest setting. A pool of light splashed onto the desk and removed the deep shadows from Fenimore’s face and chest. He picked up a piece of the inn’s delicate stationery and started to fold the corners absently, not looking at Chenda. “Want to talk about it?”
    “ There’s nothing to say; I just, I don’t know, feel a little wrong somehow.” She came to the desk and sat on his lap, wiggling her way under one of his arms. “You make it easier to bear, though. I love you.”
    They sat there for a long time, simply being together, alone. Fenimore cradled his wife in his arms, gently brushing his lips across her hair, her ear, the end of her nose. She whispered sweet nothings to him as only she could, sending the messages directly into his brain as he touched her bare skin. I love you . . . I love you . . . I love you always.
    But, as it always did, the power of the Pramuc eventually built to an uncomfortable level, an unsafe level, and Chenda knew she had to burn off the excess.
    Darling, I have to take a walk now , she thought to him. Don’t miss me too much .
    “ Are you sure you don’t me to tag along?” he asked.
    She shook her head. She was almost embarrassed to have to go away from him for such an inconvenient problem. It was better to just go off alone and be done with it.
    “ Fair enough,” he said. “I need to write a letter to my mother anyway. It’s my birthday next week, and that always makes her sad.”
    Chenda sat up and stared at Fenimore. She couldn’t imagine what expression she was wearing—a look of shame and horror, most likely. She could not decide what troubled her more: realizing she had never asked when his birthday was, or how a mother could be sad over the birth of her child.
    I don’t understand , she thought at him.
    Fenimore smiled at his wife. “How strange you look! Don’t fret. Let me explain: My mother gets sad on my birthday because my brother died that day. He was born first, and was already gone—his umbilical cord had choked him—then I came right behind, screaming like a banshee. My mother’s joy over me was tainted by my brother’s death. Her pain is always there. When she looks at me, she always sees one where there should be two. I could never be enough for her.” He sighed and added quietly, “Sometimes I feel that empty space where my brother should be, too. In fact, I have felt it quite often of late.