10. Preemptive Drowning
Preemptive Drowning
My body reacted before I even had time to think.
I pitched forward over the side, nearly capsizing us as the boat tilted violently under my weight.
One hand grasped desperately for the gunwale while the other blindly shot forward into empty air.
Ocean spray slapped me in the face. I slammed into the gunwale hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.
My fingers snapped shut.
Wood bit into my stomach. It tipped me forward, the bruised blue-gray water rising to meet me. For one terrible heartbeat, I was going over too. But then my legs remembered they belonged to me, and I slammed them down on the decking, my forward momentum stopping with a lurch.
I blinked through the sting of salt to find the compass hanging from my white fist, swinging like a pendulum over the waves.
Hands clamped around my waist and hauled me backward. I fell back into Griffon’s chest as he pulled both of us down onto the bench. We sat there, sucking in air. With his legs on either side of my hips, I was acutely aware of every point where our bodies touched.
A shiver ran up my spine at the thought of how close I’d come to the water. His grip didn’t loosen as he steadied me. Or maybe himself. I couldn’t tell.
As if it would shatter, I carefully laid the compass on my outstretched palm and cradled it as if it were a dying bird. A few drops of seawater clung to the lid, but it was otherwise unharmed.
I glanced up expecting anger, or perhaps relief.
But Griffon’s brows were drawn in, his gaze distant—almost startled.
Even a little undone. His eyes kept sharpening and slipping out of focus again, as if he was trying to grasp a thought that didn’t fit his world.
And whatever it was, I didn’t think it was about the compass at all.
He turned his head slightly, his eyes snagging on mine. His face was right there, close enough that I could see the deep, forest-green ring circling his eyes. He was looking at me as if he’d never seen me before. The hands that still held my waist trembled slightly.
“Griffon?”
And then the look shuttered before he abruptly stood and put the length of the boat between us in only two strides.
“That was stupid,” he said roughly.
I looked down at the compass in my palm. “You said you'd throw me in after it.” My voice sounded steadier than I felt. “Seemed like I should save us both the trouble.” Preemptive drowning seemed far more dignified than waiting to be tossed overboard like yesterday's chum.
He started to speak. “I didn’t mean—” But he broke off, looking away.
His jaw hardened, the muscle feathering like it always did when emotion edged too close and he refused to give it room.
Then, suddenly, he snapped: “You can’t swim.
” He threw the unapologetic truth at me with the delicacy of someone stepping on a rake.
“I know.”
“Why would you—” He shook his head. “It's just a damn object, Wren.”
He took the compass and flipped it in his hand, feeling its weight. He exhaled sharply through his nose as if he doubted the cost of chasing it had been worth it, then tucked it into his inner pocket.
“Don’t do that again.”
“But—”
He gripped the rudder, knuckles going white.
“I mean it.” He snapped the words, but just for a moment, the ire I was used to seeing in his gaze flickered with something else.
Something like worry stretched thin over fear, but it quickly disappeared back under the anger he used to keep the rest of him out of reach.
My only response was a slight nod.
I was far from understanding him, but pieces were slowly shifting into a shape that wasn’t purely hostility.
The thought that he used his anger as a shield lodged somewhere in my chest. Not because of the anger itself, but knowing that shields exist to protect what’s behind them.
And what’s behind it is always something more fragile.
I sighed. Given that my emotional toolkit consisted of dark humor, denial, and the occasional panic spiral, I wasn’t the best example of emotional health either.
We didn’t speak as he steered out of the debris, but whatever hung between us felt… different somehow. Heavier, yes, but less hostile too.
I kept my eyes on the horizon, where the sky met the sea in a bobbing line. Clenching my clammy hands, I refused to let myself think about how close I’d come to crossing it.
Or about that glimpse of raw panic in his eyes when he yanked me back. A terror that strangely hinted I might be a little more than cargo.
It was an hour before the coast appeared on our right against the lightening sky. The heavy cloud cover muted the reds and oranges of dawn. It was about that time when something tapped me on the head. And then another tap. And another.
I looked up in confusion to see the swirling grey clouds as water drops fell on my face and rolled down my cheeks. What in the defeathered dodo…The taps turned into a patter. Placing my hand out, I watched the droplets bounce and cascade off my skin, tickling my palm.
Rain. Actual rain. On my actual skin.
This wasn’t the kind of rain I’d watched through the library’s glass ceiling.
Safe and dry and sensible. This was cold, wet chaos, bouncing off my skin like tiny, rebellious acrobats.
It felt like being repeatedly poked by tiny, icy fingers.
The droplets mesmerized me as they bounced in all directions, pooled in my palm, and raced down my forearm.
A giggle escaped as I observed the water in motion.
I glanced at Griffon. The hood of his cloak shadowed his face, but his eyes lingered on me. His brow twitched, and for a split second, the hardness there softened—as if my awe at something so simple had caught him off guard.
The wind howled, and the boat rocked. I pulled up my own hood, but it did little against that cute patter that was now a full-on downpour.
Well, that was a quick lesson. Rain was charming for about thirty seconds.
After that, it was just miserable. Within minutes, I was soaked and shivering.
The cold had worked its way in, stealing what little warmth I’d clung to.
The boat pitched under the choppy waves, and I grabbed hold of the bench. Suddenly, my stomach decided to stage a revolt. I dove for the side of the boat in time to lean over the edge of the gunwale and vomit into the sea.
Wonderful. Splendid. At least the fish would eat well today.
My throat burned, and I hunched over the starboard bench, too nauseous to care how pathetic I looked.
Dry heaves rattled through me, sweat prickling my skin despite the chill.
By the third time, my stomach was empty, but my body still trembled, insisting it wasn’t done.
I pressed my forehead to the cool wood, willing the spinning to stop.
As the boat continued to roll over the swells, we didn’t speak. The wood creaked beneath us as the icy rain fell relentlessly. My head throbbed, and my muscles ached from fighting the waves. Eventually, I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. Darkness swallowed me whole.
When I woke, the sea had calmed. The sky was dull and gray, and no longer dumping buckets of water on us. But sitting up made the world tilt. My head spun. My stomach lurched. I pressed my forehead to my knees, waiting for the nausea to stop.
Something thumped next to me.
“That might help. Just eat a little at a time.” Griffon looked like hell. Damp, tired, and thoroughly done with my existence.
I unwrapped the thin fabric and found a small loaf of bread. Nibbling at it in tiny bites, I tried not to think about my stomach twisting. It grumbled begrudgingly, as if it were warning me not to get too comfortable.
“You want me to take over for a bit? So you can sleep?” My voice rasped.
He shook his head. “I’m good for now. Once we’re further into the gulf, I’ll show you. Here,” he continued as he tossed me a waterskin. “Sip it, or you’ll be hugging the side again.”
I took it. But as I drank, I noticed him watching me out of the corner of my eye. And not just watching…burning a hole into the side of my face.
I waited, the silence stretching as whatever came next hesitated in the air.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “About last night.” He paused as if trying to find the words. “What I said was…unnecessary.”
It wasn’t an apology. It was no more than an admission of fact, but my emotions were so raw. So fit to burst. Exhaustion weighed on me, nausea blurring my better judgment. I’d been unraveling since the catacombs and didn’t have a secure hold on all the pieces I held close to my chest.
“I’m very aware that I don’t understand how this world works quite yet…” I took a deep breath, knowing fragments of myself were slipping freely through my fingers. “But I understand anger.”
His breathing shifted to something sharper, the familiar blade he pulled when anything brushed too close.
I kept my eyes on the water. There have been times anger built inside me like steam with nowhere to go, forcing its way through every part of me until it vibrated in my fingertips. “Sometimes it feels like my rage could crack the world open. And sometimes I want it to.”
The confession hung in the salty air between us. I’d never admitted that out loud before. Not once. Because anger erupts from the places we’re cracked, the places in our soul that have rankled and never healed.
Looking up, I held his gaze. “Have you ever felt like you’ve been screaming for ages and yet you’ve never made a sound?”
His expression faltered, as if the question had caught him off guard.
Amber sparks flickered in his green stare.
He pulled those eyes away, staring past me toward the horizon.
In a motion I was becoming familiar with, he gripped the malachite dagger at his thigh, not to draw it, but to steady himself.
The gesture was so instinctive I wondered if he even knew he did it.
The boat rocked beneath us as moments passed.
Finally, he exhaled slowly and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
I was a little bit broken, and I’d lived with that truth long enough to know how to navigate through the pieces. And with that slight movement, I suddenly realized he was a little broken, too.
His eyes found mine again, and in them was recognition. Because in that moment, we knew the cracks we’d buried deep inside ourselves were there in the other as well.
“I don’t fault you for your anger. I get it.” Sitting a little taller, I continued, “But let’s get one thing straight—I didn’t cause your pain. So…” I took a deep breath. “I’ll be damned if I let you burn me down with it.”
His body tensed. I braced myself for the venom I was becoming so familiar with.
Instead, his eyes returned to the water. He rolled his shoulders as if he were trying to shake something loose inside his chest and let out a long exhale. “Fair enough,” he murmured.