The sea had been restless all evening. Wind howled through the rigging, pulling at the sails like grasping fingers. The sky churned with thick, rolling clouds, blotting out the stars. Waves slapped against the hull, each one stronger than the last, as if the ocean itself was issuing a warning.
And yet, Rian grinned like a man invincible.
"Wind's picking up," said Lys, as he looked down at his scry, his voice tight with unease. He stood near the helm, gripping a rope as the ship pitched slightly beneath them. "We should adjust course before we hit open waters. That storm's closing in fast."
Rian, leaning against the wheel with a bottle in hand, waved him off. "It'll pass."
Lys frowned. "You don't know that."
"I do." Rian took a swig of rum before handing the bottle off to someone else. "We keep course. We're making good time."