Chapter 2
Ipulled away, panting as the man’s eyelids lifted and hovered, half-open. He forced a brutal cough from his chest, watery and frantic, turning to his side to spit and hack.
His diaphragm contracted with each breath. I watched the curve of his ribcage through his wet clothes, stomach concave as his mangled gasps ripped the air. He moved his arms slowly, as if in pained awe that he could, his eyes lined with red fire from salt and lack of oxygen.
I watched in shock, realizing I hadn”t expected him to wake up.
How long had he been under?
Muscles depleted, I fell backward with a sigh, waiting for my heart and lungs to calm. My hands wouldn”t stop shaking.
Mihaunaalive, I’d actually rescued a man from the sea. Wouldn’t my aunt love to see this.
He strained, fighting to sit upright, and I rose heavily on my feet to help him. The man gazed blankly at me, mouth parted and eyes wide. Hand extended to him, I cleared my throat, glancing back toward the water. He stared, and I fidgeted for something to say.
“Are you alright?” I finally asked.
“Am I dead?” He blinked once, and fresh tears slid down his cheeks.
“No. You”re alive.”
Blisters covered his face and hands, his lips cracked and bleeding. His headwrap of ruffles had fallen off when I’d dragged him in. Unfurled in the sand, I realized it’d been a rolled-up shirt, elegant and buttoned. Without it, a pale tan line cut across his forehead, stark in contrast to the red burn below it.
He blinked again, mouth agape. “Is this the afterworld?”
“You’re alive—”
“My mother—”
“Do you think you can sit higher?” I asked, propping him up.
“I saw my mother in the water.”
I glanced around, searching for any help nearby, but we were alone. This was Neris Island. No one came here but me and the Naiads—and they certainly wouldn”t help me save a man, even a young one. They hated men even more than I did.
“Can you stand?”
“My mother,” he half-sobbed, as though pleading for me to understand, staring at me between coughs.
“Are you thirsty?” I asked.
He lifted his head, eyes rolling backwards under heavy lids. “You have water?”
“Some.” I offered my water skein to him, watching as he took a large gulp. “Don’t drink too much.”
“I could drink the whole thing,” he said in a ragged voice, downing another swig. I pulled it out of his hand. “Please,” was all he said, his eyes wandering shut again.
“If you drink too much, you’ll vomit,” I answered.
We sat in silence, the sun blazing on us, waves licking his legs and toes. He needed Akamai, but I wanted him alert before taking him to the village doctor. I didn’t need him dropping over the side of the boat and into the water like a dead fish.
The sun sat high over our backs as I surveyed the man, wondering how best to move him. It was difficult to know what he looked like. His dark-gold hair was drenched and full of sand, though I supposed mine was too. His features lay hidden under a blanket of burns over his face, neck, and arms—the worst I’d ever seen. Blisters spanned his cheeks and shoulders, orange and shiny below thin membranes of skin. His lips were vibrant red, his hands calloused and bleeding, his feet bare.
I winced and glanced behind us. “You came here in a rowboat?”
His head swiveled, following my line of sight toward the beach. The rowboat rested, tilting slightly on one side, a layer of sand and water settling along its base.
He mumbled something I assumed was yes.
“Where did you come from?”
He swallowed thickly. “Calder.”
“Calder?The city?” I’d expected him to say he came from a ship, perhaps lost at sea like my mother had been. Up close, he didn’t look like a trader or a sailor, definitely not a pirate, but other types of people traveled by ship. “Calder is almost forty leagues from here.”
He said nothing in response, though his dry lips formed the words forty leagues in disbelief.
“How long have you been rowing?”
He swayed, and I dropped to my knee to steady him, muffling a curse under my breath. His eyes flared at my touch as though I’d burned him, and I realized I’d left white fingerprints in the angry red flare of his skin.
“I left the morning before yesterday.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
I caught a scoff in my throat, impatient. “Why did you row from Calder to here?”
You fool hung unsaid in the air.
“Where is here?”
“Leihani.”
Again, I watched him form the word with his mouth, recognition dawning. “The fishing islands?”
I could’ve laughed, had I not been in utter shock at the man’s obvious stupidity. Who paddles from Calder to Leihani in a rowboat?
“You didn’t mean to come here?”
As if sensing my thoughts, he clamped his lips together. His brows furrowed as he looked away, the sweep of his dark lashes hiding his eyes.
Calder was Leihani’s mother country.
The sun was thin there—or so sailors said. It was blustery from the mountains to the kingdom’s southern tip, and fog hung low over Calder City like a brooding, bad temper. He should never have reached open water.
At least, not alive. Not in that little thing.
He ignored my question. Lips peeled in an open grimace, he clenched white teeth as he scrutinized the angry blisters along his arms. A thin streak of blood ran from his elbow and off the curve of his wrist. I watched the drip, and I wondered how much pain he was in.
“What”s your name?”
He slurred a word at me, something that sounded like Nmoklai.
I blinked. “What?”
The man cleared his throat. “Kye. What’s your name?”
“Maren.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said dryly.
I crossed my arms, my lips thinning to a white line. “You need to have these burns looked at by the village doctor, Kye. I’m sure you need more food and water, too. I think there is a Calderian ship moored at the pier. We can arrange passage for you back home, or if there isn’t room, we can at least send a message.”
Kye nodded, his brows pinched as I offered him a hand. He glanced at it, then pushed to his feet on his own, swaying slightly.
“Is there a dockmaster here?” He was taller than I expected, the top of my head ending at his shoulders.
How had I carried him onto the beach?
“Yes.”
We stared at each other, then he lifted his brows, flicking his eyes impatiently toward our boats.
Well. Okay, then. Ass.
I turned on my heel, leading him to the water’s edge.
Kye walked like he was on fire, his feet slow and careful with each step, and I stopped to watch his movements with a sharp eye, ready to catch him if his knees suddenly buckled. I supposed I’d be an ass as well, had I been covered in burns. But that didn’t stop the twinge of annoyance from settling between my shoulders as I stopped to grasp my va”a, hauling it up the beach where the tide wouldn’t reach it. I’d wasted an afternoon of work and wouldn’t see my Naiad friends again until after Mihauna, three days from now, just to save some ungrateful idiot from the sea.
Naiads kept strict traditions during the height of the month, and they’d never once broken custom in the fourteen years I’d known them. Three days doesn’t seem like a lot of time to go without friends, but it was for me.
“What are you doing?” he asked, watching as I stowed my canoe.
“I’ll come back for it tomorrow.”
He waited, hovering over his rowboat, his foot positioned behind the only set of oarlocks. When I returned, he stretched a hand, inviting me to sit on the bench along the prow.
He looked ridiculous—half-dead and burnt to a crisp, unable to stand without wavering.
I didn’t even try to stifle my laugh. “You can’t row.”
Pressing a palm into his thigh, he leaned forward and cocked his head, looking up through his lashes at me. In the sudden sunlight, his eyes sparkled, golden-brown and dangerous. “Excuse me?”
“You won’t make it past the reef.”
He squinted at me and quickly dropped his eyes, as if the sun behind me was too powerful for him to stare against.
“I can’t let you row us,” he snapped. “You’re a…” He gestured at me, waving his open hand in a vague circle.
“A woman?” I finished for him, raising my brows.
“Well, I’m not a lout.” His sunburn flared a deeper red up his neck, and his brows knit closer than the roots of two trees planted together, angry at having to compete for space.
I tilted my head. That’s what he was worried about? Not pride, not that I couldn’t row, but that it would be unchivalrous to let me?
“You’re not a lout,” I conceded, waiting for him to vacate the seat. But he didn’t. He remained standing like a gigantic red oaf, waiting for me to sit first.
A bark of laughter sprouted from my chest as impatience roiled through me. “All right. Your hands haven’t stopped shaking, but sure. Row the boat. Mihauna alive,” I muttered the last words under my breath as I sat down, though by the way his eyes darted to me, I was sure he’d heard them.
He placed his hands at the stern, straightened his arms, and pushed us out of the sand. I watched him climb back in, panting softly, his fingers quivering so hard he lost his grip on the oars.
We were going to die.
An Aalto-born idiot who I’d fished out of the water less than an hour before was going to kill me.
Mihaunain the stars, if it happened, let it at least be fast.
“What?” he demanded, catching the look on my sour face as he stroked, shoulders shaking and jaw clenched.
“Nothing.” I crossed my bare legs in front of me, leaning my back against the corner of the prow. “Just enjoying the view.” Of you struggling.
He must have understood my meaning, because he ducked his head into his chest, intent on the fascinating image of his own kneecaps through his saltwater-stained pants. I hid my snicker in my knuckles.
The quiet swish of water rippled out from us, and every few minutes, fish plunkedin the water as they jumped for insects and slapped back to the surface.
Our progress only slowed as the undertow fought with the mightier waves of the channel, and even though the tide was low and calm, I did begin to feel sorry for him. He grunted softly with each thrust, the veins in his arms bulging as his muscles contracted, until he pulled his oars across his thighs and drooped over his own lap.
The rowboat rocked as a wave gently lashed at us from the side. I leaned in, my mouth hovering just beyond the shell of his ear. “Ready to switch?”
His fist clenched as he exhaled slowly. He sat up in a motion that was more like rolling his eyes with his entire neck, and I bit my lip to refrain from laughing at the lunacy of it as he pushed himself to his feet to switch sides with me.
“Ready?” I asked again, burrowing my bottom into his vacated bench seat with a little wiggle.
Chin in the back of his fist, he twitched a glare at the water and didn’t answer.
I dipped the oars in, and we were off.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I showed off a little. Every Leihaniian is a strong rower. You have to be, growing up on a tiny island surrounded by tropical water with fish as your main source of food.
But I cut through the waves like a curse word thrown at an enemy, fast and sharp. The sea reeled in my wake—of course, the sea and I understood each other. In a strange way, the sea was my friend. Not the way that Nori and Olinne were my friends. Nor that it spoke to me in words or stories, though sometimes it felt like it did.
The sea and I simply understood one another.
I knew its moods. The ebb and flow of indecision, the thrashing rage of high tide, the undercurrent of jealousy. I knew its voice, the crash of its screams or the thrum of its lullabies. I knew when it welcomed company, or when it needed a minute to calm.
I loved the sea the way only a sailor would. Not that I would compare myself to one. Entitled, boorish, drunken, pathetic—
“This isn’t the pier.” He raised his head as I curved the boat toward my father’s house.
The harbor sat in the distance, plainly in view from my private beach. One trading ship sat anchored, waving the Calderian flag, a cluster of smaller island outriggers surrounding them.
“This is where I live. I have to get my father.” Maneuvering his bulky paddles through the seaweed, I glanced up to find him studying the beach as if he found each article highly offensive. The house up the grassy hill, the old logs that served as benches. My father’s overturned va’a, disassembled nets in buckets.
Before he could move, I splashed into the water and began pulling the boat up the sand. He started upright, obviously intending to help, but I’d anchored it before he even fully rose to his feet. The Calderian shot me a glare and settled back into the wall of the boat, turning to face the water.
Something inside of me nestled smugly in my stomach, and I turned to run up the path to my house, taking the steps two at a time.
“Makua.” My father, Ano, sat with my aunt, Palunu, both cross-legged with a drink in their hands. Next to them, my uncle, Naheso, perched on our log-bench mid-sentence, waving his arms as he gestured through a story. At my tone, my father glanced up, eyebrows high on his forehead.
I hadn’t expected my aunt and uncle to be here. Unease dripped in, and I shifted my body onto the bamboo railing. “I found a man in a rowboat. He’s sunburnt; he needs help,” I said, avoiding my aunt’s eyes, which widened with curiosity.
Strangers washing ashore wasn’t a common occurrence. The Calderian’s presence would undoubtedly spread within the island as a subject of gossip—along with who had found him.
Ano stood, knees popping, and followed me back down the trail. My father was a big man, and he wore tattoos like armor over his shoulders and arms. Broad-chested, the center of his stomach had only recently begun to soften with age, though plenty of the island women still watched him when they thought I wasn’t looking.
My aunt and Naheso came, too, though they lagged behind, curious about who I may have discovered. Kye was bent forward in his rowboat, looking every bit like a red, raw corpse.
At the sight of the man, my father swore under his breath. “Makua Ahi, Maren, this boy needs a doctor. Why did you stop here?”
Avoiding my aunt’s incredulous gaze, my voice dropped to a murmur. “Because, Makua, I can”t be the one who brings him into the village.”
Meeting my eyes in reluctant understanding, my father sighed, tromping through the grass toward the rowboat. I stood by the water’s edge, listening to the smooth rumble of my father’s voice from down the hill as he greeted the stranger. Kye glanced over his shoulder at me, frowning, and I held up my hand, offering a small wave goodbye.
Hopefully, he’d make it home safely.
My aunt watched from the pathway, arms crossed, her face wrinkled in distaste. She aimed her dark irises at me, lowering her chin into her ample chest. “What did you do now?”
“Nothing, Anake,” I answered, watching the rowboat as it shrank around the shoreline. I wondered if I’d be able to see it from the height of my veranda.
My aunt followed me back up the pathway, my uncle in tow. “Your mother also had a habit of luring men into the water. She met her end when she made the sea angry. If you”re not careful, you will too.”
“She did not. Neither will I.” I pursed my lips, numb to the insinuation I’d grown up hearing. “He’d been rowing for almost three days. He came from Calder.”
“Calder,” my aunt said in surprise, pausing to consider the distance. “Are you sure? He”s not a sailor? He didn”t fall off a ship?”
“That”s what he said.”
“To Neris Island, of all places. The island none of us will visit out of respect for Nahli, yet you’ve made it your second home.”
I laughed at what I knew she wasn’t saying, feeling her anger burn behind me as I turned to climb the steps of my veranda. Shielding my eyes from the low sun, I searched for the rowboat but couldn’t find it. Wherever my father and Kye were, they were hidden in the curve of Leihani, tucked under palms and seaside cliffs. The docks straight ahead were visible, but they’d rowed far enough that details didn”t exist, just distant colors and blurs.
“Why did he come to Leihani?”
I sighed. “I don”t know, Anake.”
My aunt leaned into my face, shoving a threatening finger under my nose. “I won”t help you lure him to his death.”
Naheso sucked his teeth, wrapping a gentle hand around his wife. “Come on, Palunu. Nola will be home soon.” He met my eyes briefly over his wife’s head. Compared to his wife’s sharp gaze, his was calm and quiet, like the dew that pools on island leaves at night.
I let him see me exhale, grateful. Naheso was the only islander to step in when anyone accused me of something nefarious, which happened more often than I’d like to admit. All it took was the subject of my late mother to make islanders lean to the side, throwing me covert glances as they whispered to each other behind the backs of their hands, pretending I couldn’t see them.
My aunt swiveled on the pathway, jerking her arm free of Naheso’s grip. “I won”t be a part of your games,” she said loudly enough to draw a few islanders out from their own verandas. “I”ll tell him what you are.” She turned and stomped down the path, hau bark skirts rustling.
I watched her go in calm vindication.
There was a good reason for asking my father to take the man to the village. I knew well enough what the islanders’ reaction would be were I the one to row a half-dead man into the harbor.