33. Thirty-three
Chapter 33
Whether the raven-faeries and the sinking Colynes ship saw our escape, I didn’t know. But to all appearances, we were not pursued by wolf-boats or the Temple sailors. I thought I felt heat in the water twice more, but all I could do was get us further away.
I sailed, and kept sailing, until evening fell; until it had been some hours since the last sense of anything in the water. I felt numb, worried about both men and unable to forget the things I’d seen. Oraik woke up and complained of the pain; he went back asleep when I said there was nothing I could do. By the time the sky darkened we’d reached Degnac. At least, I thought it must have been, since that isle seemed to match the distance and direction we’d traveled. It wasn’t as though there was a sign proclaiming the shore’s identity.
Wherever we were, whatever place we’d landed in, it was quiet. We didn’t pass a single village as we approached the forested shore. I was glad of that fact, since a man drenched in dried blood and another who was storm-gray and flecked with gore were bound to attract attention.
It hurt to think about what had happened. All the lives ended, Oraik’s almost among them. I navigated the wolf-boat into a sheltered stretch and reminded myself the warriors Kalcedon had killed were likely killers themselves and working to destroy the Ward. And although I had been ready to hate Kalcedon passionately for not healing Oraik, knowing it had almost cost Kalcedon’s life to do so made that anger reluctant and uncertain.
The cove we’d reached was small but protected. Jutting rocks and a forested spit of land shielded it from the ocean’s view and wind. Hidden as far as we could be from the ocean view, I dropped the wolf's anchor over the side and went to check on Kalcedon.
He lay on his back beside Oraik. His power was still horribly thin, though it had slowly begun to build again over the course of the afternoon. I placed a hand on his warm chest, in the small concave just below his ribs, and sent another thin, trembling vine of my own power into him, as I'd done throughout the afternoon, as often as I could spare it.
“Don’t,” Kalcedon said. He cracked one eye open. “You can’t spare it, weakling.”
“Yes, well,” I said, and brushed a strand of hair off his face as his eye slid shut again. Despite the cold I'd brought on I felt relief that he'd managed an answer. Kalcedon didn’t look as pale as he had earlier, though stains of soldier’s blood on his clothing, hands, and face made for a gruesome appearance.
I turned to Oraik to check on him. The prince was already awake, staring up at the sky. “Are you alright?” I asked.
“It hurts,” he muttered. There was a tightness around his lips he didn’t usually carry.
“Stop complaining. You’ll be fine,” Kalcedon muttered without opening his eyes.
“But—” Oraik said.
“I only had enough for a slow healing. You’re welcome, by the way.” Neither man was looking at the other as they bickered.
“I’m sure you’ll feel better soon,” I told Oraik quietly. “Do you need anything?”
“Water. And something to eat.”
The wolf was too small for a cabin, but there was a bench which doubled as a chest. The hinged seat lifted up to reveal storage. Inside that I found two ceramic jugs of fresh water. I took a gulp, and then couldn’t help but take another before I handed it around. Oraik needed help to sit. He winced and groaned at every movement, earning him dirty looks from Kalcedon. I propped him up against the mast.
“We don’t have food,” I announced. Neither of them bothered to answer, and silently I took stock of what we did have.
Our lives, chiefly, which was the best news of it.
The wolf, whose narrow, long shape was built for speed, not comfort. In addition to the water, the boat’s chest held a compass, a small knife, and sailing supplies such as a storm sail and spare ropes.
The bag I still carried, with such paltry items as changes of clothes, tooth-cleaning paste, and the awkward, lopsided little wooden bird Kalcedon had carved for Eudoria. My clothes wouldn’t fit Oraik, so for the second time in as many days, the prince would have to content himself with wearing bloodstained, ripped clothing. Kalcedon’s shirt wasn’t quite so bloody. And I could change into clean clothes. There was blood on my bag, but it hadn’t soaked through.
“Don’t turn around,” I heard Kalcedon say to Oraik. “I’m washing up.”
“Sounds nice,” Oraik answered, his voice flatter than normal. “Wish I didn’t feel like my chest was on fire.”
I stared at the darkening tree line and tried not to feel sorry for myself. It was going to be an uncomfortable night, that much was clear, but we’d live through it.
There was a small splash.
“Done,” I heard Kalcedon say. I turned and realized that by washing up he’d meant clean himself in the ocean. His clothes were an unfolded pile by the boat’s edge, and his head was visible above the shadowy sea. Suddenly a dip seemed like just the thing.
“Can I join you?” I asked, unsure if he’d want the company after what he’d done. “I can keep to the other side.”
“I don’t care.”
“Meda,” Oraik hissed softly. I crouched beside him. The prince’s eyes flicked towards the water, where Kalcedon bathed.
“What?”
“Let’s leave him.”
“ What ? No.”
“I heard what he said about me.”
“He burned himself cold to save you.”
“No. To save you .”
“Well,” I said, with a sharp exhale. “Kalcedon… he’s complicated.”
“All the more reason—”
“Enough, Oraik. I’m going to wash up.”
“Fine,” Oraik mumbled quietly. “Just leave me here. That’s alright. I can’t do anything, anyways.”
“I won’t be long,” I promised him. I moved behind Oraik’s line of sight, peeled off my filthy clothing, and slid off the edge of the boat into the Etegen sea.
It was warm despite the cooling night. Inside the sheltered cove the swells were small, and the water shallow enough that I could just brush the sandy bottom with my toes, if I stretched. Suspended in weightlessness, I closed my eyes and tried to take a moment of peace.
“...Meda?” Kalcedon asked from the other side of the boat.
“Hm?” I swam his way and peered around the corner of the ship. Kalcedon was a shadow in the dying evening light, the sea lapping an inch below his collarbone.
“Do I have blood on my face?” he asked.
I studied his wet skin in the day’s last light and found him staring back at me just as hard. The wet slopes and angles of his body were at once familiar and foreign. He felt weak, no longer dead-cold but even more human than Eudoria had been.
“On your chin,” I whispered. It was hard to get the words out, hard to bring myself to speak. I wasn’t sure why. He sank below the surface for a moment, all the way under and not just his chin, and then rose up and pushed his dark, shaggy hair out of his face.
“Now?” Saltwater ran in rivulets down his face, glistening on his jaw and dripping from his chin.
He had killed. Savagely, and without hesitation. Kalcedon, who could not even bring himself to remove rabbits from the garden or to pluck snails from their shells. A smear of darkness on his face was too warm to match the rest of his gray skin. Blood.
“Not quite.”
He scrubbed again with his hand, missing the spot. Silently I reached up and touched the dark stain. His skin was warm, pooled heat beneath the surface. Kalcedon replaced my hand with his own and scraped it over his skin. I let my hand fall. We were staring at each other as if we’d never seen each other before.
“What about me?” I asked softly.
“Unsullied.”
“If you hadn’t been there,” I said quietly. “If you hadn’t come, when you did.”
“Are you trying to say thank you?” he asked. His voice sounded low, a half-whisper. “I’ll always come for you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But…”
“But?” The cove’s gentle waves lapped against him, swallowing his shoulders for a moment before baring them again.
How was I supposed to say this: that I owed him my life; that there was nobody I would rather owe it to? That I was glad for his safety; that I never wanted him to burn so cold again?
And that I might never get the sight of what he’d done out of my head?
“All those people.”
“They were Colynes. They locked you in the bottom of ship.”
True enough. And yet.
“I think you might have overreacted,” I said. Kalcedon’s eyebrows rose.
He reached forward, lifting a hand from the water. I didn’t move as his fingers brushed against my cheek. I froze, and my heart froze with me for a beat, as a scouring warmth dragged across my flesh.
“Don’t you understand yet?” Kalcedon whispered harshly. “I’d rip this world apart at the seams for you.”
“What are you two talking about?” Oraik called.
“Nothing,” I snapped.
“I’m bored,” Oraik said. “Meda, come back and sit with me? Or at least catch a fish if you’re staying in the water?”
Kalcedon snorted. His fingers were still on my face, and I didn’t dare move. I was very conscious of the fact that we were both naked. The ocean lifted and dropped my body, making me feel nearly like I didn’t have control over it. It would be all too easy for the two of us to collide. And even though I felt sick to my bones, I wanted to; I wanted him to hold me, to make me forget that we’d both almost died.
Kalcedon leaned forward towards me. I swallowed my breath, as motionless as you could be while floating weightless in the sea. He pressed his lips to my forehead.
Heat. Despite his weak state fire leaked through me, singing deep into my veins, tissue, and bones. He wasn’t touching me anywhere else, but I knew, intimately, confidently, how close we were standing; the very shape of him. I was more aware of him than I was of the sea holding my body up.
I reached a hand towards him, slowly, and collided with the hard plane of his abdomen, slick skin and a burn in my hand; the catch of Kalcedon’s breath, the way his whole being shifted towards me.
“Did you hear me?” Oraik asked.
Kalcedon backed away, dunked his head back beneath the water, and swam off, emerging a dozen feet behind where he’d been. He was facing the other way. I retreated to my own side of the boat. My heart slammed against my chest.
“Hello? Meda?”
Kalcedon didn’t answer, and neither did I. I couldn’t say a word. My body felt like it was on fire. Holding my breath, I dove down to the bottom of the cove and grabbed a handful of sand to scrub. I scoured my skin until it burned, but it didn’t match the memory of Kalcedon’s touch.