Unbound (The Griever's Mark series Book 3) Read Online Free

knife?”
    “I always have a knife, Logan,” she says with a hint of amusement, and her humor—no, simply her voice—helps me sink into the calm I need.
    I move away as she shapes her spear. It glows silvery-blue. It is menacing and beautiful, like her. She slashes through the ropes, and the Earthmaker collapses to the wooden planks.
    “I have to go below deck. I feel my patch weakening.”
    I nod, but Astarti hovers beside me. Her fingers brush my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps.
    “Get us in quickly, all right?”
    I want to touch her, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to let go, so I just nod again, and Astarti is gone.
    I turn back to the Earthmaker. His eyes focus on mine briefly, widening a little. I try to still myself, to force my eyes to hold blue, but I’m too unsettled. I can’t see them, of course, but I know. The Earthmaker’s gaze drops to my bare chest, skimming over my scars. I think of those on my exposed back, which I am showing to everyone. I force the thought away.
    Though the Earthmaker’s wet clothes cling to his wiry frame, I see he wears the loose linen trousers and billowing shirt typical of a sailor. Even so, I ask, “Are you a prisoner?”
    His eyebrows slash downward. “I told them to tie me as soon as we saw the storm coming.”
    I glance around the ship, noting for the first time the huge dark blood stains, the crossbow-like contraptions mounted along the gunwales, and the brick stove for boiling blubber down to oil.
    I look at the Earthmaker again. “This is a Valdaran whaling ship.”
    “Yes.”
    “And you an Earthmaker.” If he is not a prisoner, there is only one explanation for his presence here. Stricken. Long ago, I suspect.
    “So are you.” His eyes narrow. “Kind of.”
    I ignore that. “Are you the captain?”
    He snorts and jerks his chin to where my mother is crouched beside a man with a face white from pain and a forearm bent at a sickening angle.
    As I make my way to the captain, impatience gnaws at me. I must get this ship moving.
    When my footsteps fade, I have to stop and concentrate on forcing myself back into my skin. I hate the extra delay, but I can’t help these people if I can’t control myself. Measured breathing doesn’t work, so I imagine a whip lashing across my back. I let memory bring me the pure, mind-clearing flash of pain. I let it anchor me in my body. I let it settle into my bones with familiar weight.
    Centered now, I open my eyes.
    “Logan,” my mother calls from across the deck, “help me straighten his arm.”
    Impatience seethes, but I go to them. I need the captain’s help.
    I crouch beside him. I grip the man’s elbow, pressing it to my knee to keep it stable.
    “Ready?” my mother asks, and I feel the captain tense. He nods, and my mother, gripping his hand, pulls the arm out and straight. The captain howls with pain, and I don’t blame him. I hold his arm steady while my mother lays her hands on the rapidly swelling flesh.
    The captain clearly had no idea what to expect because when the pain vanishes, he jerks away. His face is full of wonder. He says something in the guttural tongue of Valdar. I know enough of the language to understand his, “thank you,” but what he adds after is lost on me. It doesn’t seem to be lost on my mother because she laughs, blushing a little.
    I say in crude Valdaran, “Sail, up.” I point to the helm with its huge wheel. “You, steer. Kelda.”
    The captain shakes his head and says something I can’t follow, though I think he says something about Ibris. I look to my mother for translation, but the strange Earthmaker speaks behind me. “He says we are headed for Dalamas, in Ibris.”
    “Tell him he won’t make it to Ibris with a hole in his ship the size of a whale’s head.”
    Before an argument can ensue, I stride across the deck. Most of the deck has been washed bare, but I step around the occasional groaning sailor or mass of tangled rope. I pass the broad brick oven,