I looked from him to Moray and back. “This…windsbane…it’s bad?”
“If you’re a selkie, yes,” Aven ground out.
Moray shook its head, disgust breaking through the shock and fear. “I told you, the Courts don’t allow it. It’s slow and painful.”
“And windsbane knives?”
“You’ve figured out how many people would illegally skin a selkie for the profit. I’m sure you can imagine that there are weapons designed to make it easier.”
I swallowed bile and kept quiet. Aven got through only a few of the leaves before he dropped onto his back again, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. “How far are from…” A sharp breath before he finished, “from the nearest city? A village won’t have an antidote. Selkies don’t live here.”
“Too far,” Moray murmured. “But I think I can bleed it out.”
He didn’t reply, and fear spiked through me. “Aven?”
His voice was tenser than before, strained and unsteady. “Just do it.”
I flinched the first instant Moray touched one of the cuts—the worst of them, slashed unevenly across his ribs during our interruption. All I saw was the blood welling up again, fresh and bright in the firelight. And then onto the next, and the next, until each was bleeding again. With each new touch, Aven stiffened but didn’t make a sound. Didn’t move.
“He’ll bleed to death,” I said to Moray under my breath. “How are you going to get the poison out like this?”
“I’m a sprite, little one,” it hissed. “We’re worshipped by half of the Courts for a reason.”
Despite its confident words, Moray bobbed above Aven, looking down at him. “The calmer you stay, the faster it will go,” it said before placing one small hand on his chest, over his heart.
I didn’t understand at first. There was a second of terrible silence, of nothing at all, and my heart sank to the cold ground. And then Aven jolted. A tremor rippled through him, and he cut off a sound unlike any I’d ever heard from him. The bleeding increased, pooling across the ground. It soaked into my dress where I knelt beside him, a fresh layer added onto the crusty dry one, but I didn’t move. I didn’t know how Moray was doing it—didn’t want to know. But I couldn’t stop myself from watching.
Aven’s fingers closed over mine, making my hand ache and his knuckles turn white. His breathing escalated again, laced with pain and what had to be fear, shallow and ragged. I wracked my brain for something to say. Anything that would distract him, keep him calm long enough.
“The first time I saw a seal was when I learned to swim,” I said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “I was only four or five summers old, but I remember it. My mother and grandmother took my brother and I to the beach. He could already swim but they’d never let me in the ocean before. There were some seals sunbathing and I wanted to pet them.”
He opened his eyes, locking them onto mine. They were dazed, only half-focused, but held a silent thanks, so I kept talking, not bothering to sort through what I was saying. “My mother pulled me back right away and said not to bother them. I know she only said it because they were wild animals, but my grandmother told me they might be selkies and I should never disturb a selkie.” Aven gave a short, forced breath of laughter. “Mama said not to even joke about that, and my grandmother…” I fought off a smile. It was a terrible time to smile, but it had always been one of my favorite memories of my grandmother. “She said Mama was right, I should never wish for a selkie near our village, but if I ever saw a seal I should be sure to smile at them, just in case. Because nobody, human or tidesperson, ever was truly upset by a little bit of friendliness from a stranger.”
“And did you?” he managed. “Smile at any seal you saw?”
I nodded. “I did.”
“You didn’t smile at me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. I wasn’t very friendly either.”
Moray pulled back, breathing heavily again; it hadn’t sufficiently recovered for all this magic. “It’s done.”
Aven collapsed, every ounce of tension racing from him, and closed his eyes, catching his breath. Though Moray backed away, and the bleeding stopped as strangely and quickly as it had begun, he didn’t let go of my hand.
“It’s done?” I echoed.
“As much as I can. I hope it’s enough.”
“You’re saying if I sleep I won’t die?” Aven asked without opening his eyes. “Because sleep sounds nice, but so does waking up.” At least a fraction of grim humor had clung on.
“Quit talking, selkie, or I’ll bleed out the rest.”
He laughed weakly and brushed his thumb along my knuckles, the touch startlingly gentle after the way he’d gripped my hand. Lightning followed. “Thank you, Hania,” he murmured.
I couldn’t stop another smile. “Goodnight, Aven.”
He was already gone, his grip loose on my hand. I waited another moment before I disentangled our hands and crossed to sit by the fire. I should have slept but my nerves were too jittery, worry clinging to me. I stared out into the night.
Moray drifted over to me. “Give me your hand,” it ordered. “The burnt one.”
I watched it before holding out my injured hand. The burn was less serious than most of my other injuries, but a bother, and stung more after working on the fire. Moray trailed one finger along my palm, its icy touch sending a chill through me, but the sting faded.
I couldn’t find the words to ask my question, so I settled for a long look. “We can’t heal, truly,” it said, looking out to the dark hills. “But our magic has some less violent uses, too. It shouldn’t bother you now.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, studying my hand. It looked no different, but the pain was gone, and I wasn’t about to argue with that. We sat in silence, listening to the calm white noise of the night. I looked to Aven, a shadowy form behind us. The fire cast flickering light across him, catching on the thin sheen of water and sweat across his skin and emphasizing how ghostly pale he was. “He’ll really be alright now, won’t he?” I asked in a whisper.
Moray was little more than a slip of darkness in the night; I followed its movements by the flickers of moonlight that raced along the edges of its body. “He’ll be alright, I think.” I waited for the sharp comment that was sure to come, but after a pause it added, “Because of you. You…did well.”
I couldn’t help a raised eyebrow. “Was that a compliment?”
It huffed and scooted away. “Don’t expect more, little one.”
“Of course not,” I muttered and looked out at the night. Beyond the reach of the firelight it was pitch-black, even the moon and stars hesitant to cast much more than a faint glow along the sharp edges of rocks. The whispers of movement from the shadows made every hair on my body stand on end, alert, and I couldn’t turn away. Not with Aven in the state he was.
“Nothing out there will come near the fire,” Moray said, reading my thoughts.
“Are you sure?”
“Are you asking if I know my way around my own world?” it challenged. I let that comment sit. Replying would only bring out another insult. After a minute of heavy silence, Moray flitted closer. “I’m sorry. I don’t do well with humans.”
I risked another glance toward it. “We aren’t that different from anyone else.”
“You’re fragile and…emotional. But you saved me. They would have boiled me away, and they would have taken Aven’s skin and left him to die. So…thank you.” I could tell it took effort to force the two words out, and I stared at it before I understood them. Moray was thanking me? The vicious, sharp-tongued sprite who cared for nothing and no one but itself and Aven?
“I wouldn’t have left you. Either of you,” I murmured.
“I would have left you. It would have been fair.”
“Fair isn’t always right.”
“You’re a strange human.”
I managed a half-smile. “I know.”
“Goodnight, Hania.”
I jumped at a cool, fluttering touch against my cheek, like the brush of a water droplet, and my hand flew to the spot. There was no trace of wetness, but the feeling lingered. A kiss. By the time I processed it and looked to where Moray had hovered, it was gone, settling beside Aven.
I leaned against the cold wall of the cave and closed my eyes, listening to the crackle of the fire. “Goodnight, Moray.”
“Try one of those,” Moray pointed to a thin bush growing between the rocks. Little clusters of black berries weighed down the branches, and I stooped to pick one. It was delicate looking, shiny with morning dew, and I gave Moray a cautious look.
“It’s safe?”
“Of course.”
A few days ago, I might not have risked eating anything Moray told me to, but last night had changed things. I popped the berry into my mouth; it was sweet but with a sharp bite, a sudden flavor I’d never had. “What is it?”
“Nightberries are what we call them. Don’t let them burst on your hands or your skin will be black for days. But good, aren’t they?”
I nodded, watching as it swooped down to pick one for itself. When it had pulled one free, I picked another and ate it. “Very good.” My stomach twisted at the tiny bit of food; I hadn’t eaten in over a full day, and with our supplies lost—a little pang hit me with the thought of Tobin’s bow—hunting was going to be much more difficult. Our mutual hunger had driven Moray and I out of the cave just after dawn, Moray assuring me that daylight would keep anything from going after Aven, but we stayed close.
The sprite moved to another bush nearby. I followed. “And those,” it added, pointing to the identical berries growing there, “those are feverweed berries. They look alike, but are very different. Don’t pick feverweed. It’s poisonous.”
I nodded, repeating the names to myself. “Feverweed is poisonous. Alright. How do you tell them apart?”
“See the leaves?” I knelt to see where it indicated. “Feverweed’s leaves are long and thin. Nightberry bushes have rounder leaves. And feverweed berries don’t stain as much. If you only have the berries to go off of, crush one.”
I filed that away in the back of my mind. “How do you know so much about plants?”
“All sprites do.” It set off toward the nightberry bush. “We need to. We don’t have the luxury of Courts, where our food is grown and harvested in farmlands and sent to us. We find our own.”
I found a flat rock to sit on and busied myself picking more berries. “I thought you came from the same Court as Aven. The Dragon Court.”
“I live there. Or I have, on and off. They always welcome me back, but since Aven disappeared I’ve never stayed longer than a year or two. I was born on the shore, like all sprites. There’s a stretch of ocean to the south that’s neutral land.”
“What made you live in a Court, then?”
Moray paused, studying a berry, before saying, “Aven did.”
There was a beat of silence as I considered whether to ask. I settled on, “All he’s said is you’re old friends.” That would let Moray decide if it wanted to continue.
It spun a slow loop through the air, thinking, and then spoke. “Sprites don’t have families in the same way other races do. We come from the sea. During the birthing season, we gather to teach the young, but we stay together only to learn what we need. I was young, on my own just long enough to know I didn’t like it, and near the border of Aven’s Court by chance. He was a youngling, even younger than me. He’d decided to run away. Some trivial disagreement with his father, I think, but I doubt he’d admit the details now.” I laughed. “He’d never seen a sprite before. I’d never seen a selkie before. We were both young and naïve and needed a friend. After he gave his parents an ample amount fright he went home and I kept wandering, because that’s what sprites do, but it didn’t take long for me to go back.”
I tried to imagine a young Aven, upset with his father and running away to the wilds over it. The thought forced a smile from me. “You’ve been friends since?” I asked.
“It took me a few years to give up wandering and settle with him, but yes. It isn’t unheard of for a sprite to call a Court home, but it’s unusual. When Aven disappeared, some begged me not to go after him, because they didn’t want their Court to be without a sprite’s favor.” The emphasis was sharp and mocking.
“But you did go?”
“Of course. They said he must be dead, but I couldn’t accept that.”
“Either the windsbane’s affected my head or you two are, for once, having a civil conversation,” a voice said behind me, and my heart soared as I twisted to look at Aven. He stood halfway between us and the cave, looking a little pale and unsteady but alert. Alive.
“She’s not the worst pet you could have found,” Moray said with a cool shrug, but my feet were already moving of their own accord, flying to Aven. I flung my arms around his neck, and he caught me, stepping back to keep his balance.
“Don’t scare me like that,” I said.
He laughed and I closed my eyes, savoring the sound. “I’ll try to refrain from being poisoned again, I promise.”
“I don’t know what I’d do if you’d…” I couldn’t finish.
His arms tightened almost imperceptibly around me, and his voice softened. “I’m alright.”
I was suddenly aware of the warmth of him against me, the arm that circled around my waist. My fingers tingled with the memory of that caress before he’d fallen asleep. I pulled away, averting my gaze. “I’m glad you’re alright.”
“I wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t been there. Though you were the one to get us caught in the first place, to be fair.” Laughter sparked in his eyes, and I pressed my lips together.
“If you weren’t hurt I’d hit you.”
“See, I’m influencing you for the better.”
Moray rolled its eyes. “If you can walk, Aven, I suggest we get out of this Court before we’re forced to repeat yesterday.”
“I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”
We started off again, snacking on nightberries to stave off hunger. Even wounded, even without our supplies, my steps felt lighter. We’d escaped. We’d survived. And maybe, just maybe, I could do this.
After we’d walked some time, I asked, “How far are we from your Court?”
“If we don’t get off track, another day should get us past the borders,” Aven said. “They did us a favor, actually, dragging us closer overnight. Which is good, because we’re in no shape to be wandering around hostile territory for much longer.”
“And what once we’re past the borders?”
“To the Eyes of the Dragon,” was Moray’s grim answer.
My insides knotted themselves. “The Eyes of the Dragon?”
“Where humans would be taken.”
“What happens in the Eyes of the Dragon?” Moray looked to me and then the ground but said nothing. I glanced to Aven, who looked straight ahead. “Aven, what happens in the Eyes of the Dragon?”
He sighed. “One of a hundred things. It’s where all workings of the Court are watched over and controlled. And it is where humans are taken. But I can’t say what might happen to one there.”
Something in his voice sent a chill down my spine. “Making it to your Court is the easy part, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer. He took my hand, but that was an answer.
None of us spoke for a long while.
By evening, we were passing into the loose beginnings of forest once again, the rocky hills fading, but our progress was slow and quiet. Though some of the color had returned to Aven’s cheeks, and the rustling of animal life grew plentiful to allow us to have a decent meal, we had nothing to help us catch it—even the knife Ilosia had given me had been left behind in the village. Aven wasn’t as steady and light on his feet as he should have been, and Moray had to take long rests from flying on his shoulder or mine. My feet were determined to roll and stumble in the last few hours we kept going.
We stopped beneath a cl
uster of those alien trees. I sat watching Aven study them. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Wondering if I could break a thin branch off. Normally I would, but…” He trailed off, but we all knew what he meant. He wasn’t fully recovered yet, and pushing himself so far wouldn’t be helpful.
“Why do you need a branch?”
“We need something to hunt with. We should make it to a camp or village near the border before we starve, but I’d like to not rely on them. With you around they could be less than friendly. And since I didn’t think to take anything from the bastards before we left, we’ll have to be creative.”
“A sharp rock, a branch, and a few leaves will get us a working, if crude, spear,” Moray spoke. “I don’t know if it will last beyond a few kills, and they won’t be very pretty kills, but it’d be better than nothing.”
I took one of the feathery leaves shed from the tree above me. It was thin, delicate-looking, but when I tugged it between my hands it didn’t break. Stronger than it looked. I cast Aven a glance as he too studied them. “You like your spears, don’t you?”
“I’m best with them. Though I can handle myself around most weapons.”
I sat a bit straighter, curiosity grabbing ahold of me. I knew his father had died in the war, but beyond that I knew next to nothing about Aven’s family or past. “Why spears?”
“Selkie tradition.”
“How did you learn about other weapons?”
“My upbringing ensured I was at least passable at defending myself in any circumstances.”
“What kind of upbringing is that?”
“A much faster one than anybody should have,” he muttered. When he caught me watching him, he added, “My father was a warrior. As you know. As his only son it was my duty to be, as well.”
“Did that start before or after you tried to fight in the war?” I asked.
Moray threw me a look at the question, but Aven answered nonchalantly. “I insisted I start training just before, when I found out he was leaving. I’d known that, should there ever be a war, he would go fight in it. But I didn’t understand until it happened. I was too young to. I was too young to start training even, really, but nobody was going to turn down a child who wanted to train then. My father left to protect my family, and I vowed I would protect them when he couldn’t, and that I would be the finest warrior my Court ever knew, that I would end any other war before it started, so no other youngling would ever have to watch their father walk away to die.”
Tide Page 21
