Page 110 of Her Creation

“The good longboat is ready with supplies,” he said with a harsh look in my direction. Despite the venom in his eyes, I could tell he was worried.

“You should be rested enough for the journey,” Victoria said as she squeezed my forearm gently. “If not, then we will wait.”

“What journey?” I asked, absently finding myself leaning into the woman’s warmth and kindness. It was such a stark contrast to Inno’s coldness.

A heavy, heartfelt sigh left her. “If it is not your boat, then it will be another. Inno would just as soon kill you or let you die in the wilderness, but I see you as a blessing, an opportunity where we can both have something we want. You with your life, and us with…” She trailed off, looking at the floor.

“You with what?” I asked cautiously.

“I am tired of running, and though I’ve been burned a thousand times, I have no choice but to hope that as a woman, you will hear my story and understand better than most the struggles that I have gone through to find this love. It is with great risk, I lean on the assumption that you too, Clara, have been robbed of something you longed for simply because of who you were born as.” Victoria glanced at Inno at the door as if needing strength from the sight of him to finish. “Our fate rests in your hands. I will send you out with the necessary provisions in the direction of a nearby whaler. I have repaired your wounds, and they will give you no further problems. All I ask in return is that you keep our secret. You tell no one of our location and instead inform them that the land is uninhabitable.

“Please,” Victoria pleaded softly as she helped me hop down the cabin’s stairs. She took a step back onto the porch.

Innominatus stood a few feet ahead, waiting for me to follow.

“You more than anyone know what I am losing as a woman, giving this opportunity up. How can you trust that I won’t tell everyone where to find you?” I asked.

“I can’t,” Victoria answered solemnly as her eyes moved between mine.

I followed Inno out into the snow, struggling to walk. Innominatus set me up in the boat and pushed it out in the right direction, telling me exactly where to go to find the whaling boat. His yellow eyes lifted to mine.

“Please keep our secret. If for no other reason than love.” With these surprisingly soft words, Innominatus pushed the boat out into the water and looked after me with a small nod.

Every so often I would adjust the fabric at my chest, relaxing as soon as I felt the comforting crinkle of my logbook’s pages. I tried to relax as the boat bobbed across icy stillness. At one point, the sky darkened and I lay down and looked at the stars, wondering if I would ever actually be found and what I would do if I were.

If I turned them in—told the Admiralty the exact location of where to find them, and the land that could be developed—there would most certainly be a prize. I would be a hero, and if I wasn’t going to be allowed to be a cartographer, a hero seemed like a nice thing to take its place.

I rolled to my side in the dark boat, flinching when the ice-cold wood pressed against the wound at my side. I’d never experienced love. I’d been too busy trying to make a space for myself where the world didn’t think I belonged to worry about love. The closest I’d ever come to love had been on the very ship that Innominatus had destroyed, with a man he killed.

My incision burned and my foot throbbed painfully. The cold wind was harsh and unforgiving, and I knew I would probably die out here. Carefully, I sat up to look at the calming sea, and as I did, a large whaling ship came into my view.

I grabbed the paddles and moved as quickly as possible, which wasn’t very fast, against the icy wind and the slush of icy water. Adrenaline shot through my veins. I might still make it out alive. Distant shouts sounded, and I relaxed a fraction knowing that I had been spotted.

As I got closer, I waved my arm, keeping one low so it didn’t pull at my aching side.

Relief flooded my system when I saw the men rush to bring me aboard. Again, I squeezed the logbook tight to my chest, feeling the comfort of knowing I had every coordinate, every detail of Victoria and her creation’s story, and mine, written down. It was all exact.

When my feet finally touched the deck, I wanted to cry. I was rushed inside to the warmth of the kitchen fire and as relief spilled over me and they peppered me with questions, I began to tell them what had happened as they helped carry me, my legs and feet too frozen and in pain to move very well. As they turned me into the galley, and I felt the heat touch my skin, I could hardly keep my mouth closed, wanting justice for myself and the crew more than anything else at the moment. The heat of the room touched my face as I was moved into it.

“Clara.” Mick’s one blue and one hazel eye widened with shock as he rose to stand. “You’re alive!”

I had no time to reply before he had dropped his blanket and was before me, wrapping his arms around me in a tight embrace.

I could hardly believe it.

Somehow, by the grace of God, Mick had survived the attack. But how?

I realized how rare it was to find love at all, and how important it was to take a chance on that love.

Chapter 33

Log entry

April, 1803

Location: The British Admiralty’s Hydrographic Office

The early entries detailed conditions aboard the ship: currents, weather patterns, navigational challenges, crew morale. Set among them were observations less official, but no less exact. Isolation. Fatigue. The slow erosion of certainty. I had recorded these things as data, believing them relevant, but amid the careful logging, it became a diary of things that were more important than coordinates.