60

Salila

The surface breaks as I leap out of the water, air flowing over my skin, tickling my toes, making every pore gasp at the shock. It’s a sensation I don’t mind, but now’s not the most conducive time to linger in it. “There you are…” I dive straight back in then dart to the surface to watch.

He runs half crouched toward the pier, carrying a body—dead or alive, I can’t tell. “What are you doing? The Isle’s in flames, or haven’t you noticed?”

He’s not answering me, but then, he probably can’t hear much with his feet on dry land. I swim in circles under the surface, waiting. Once he’s in the water, I’ll grab him. We can shoot under the hulls and across the channel, none the wiser. I stop suddenly, my hair floating away from my face. Was that the girl running with him? Still alive? “Can’t you get a single thing done right anymore?”

I roll on my side and break the surface just enough to have a better look. “Kaylin!” If I were prone to cursing, this is where I’d release a string of them. It is her, alive as the day she was born. Does he know the tidal wave of trouble he’s bringing down on himself? No one crosses Teern.

I frown at that. There have been one or two instances in the past, resulting in mixed levels of success, but almost no one crosses Teern, certainly not the favorite son who bears the Sea King’s trident.

I stream toward the pier, rehearsing how I will talk sense into him, but find I’m not alone. A rowboat, oars dipping and pulling through the chop, parallels me, riding low in the water. It’s overfull of savants. “Ha!” I run my tongue over my teeth. Nothing like a good complication to push the point along, or points, in this case.

Kaylin wants the sloop, that’s obvious. But he’ll need help with this mob on their way. I smile at the little boat’s hull, wondering if these landers ever learned to swim. In my experience, not many have. “Kaylin, if you’re listening, you owe me for this.” I divert my course, straight toward the little boat. The current ripples over my body, and bubbles escape my lips as I laugh under the waves. This will be fun.

The oars continue their rhythmic dips in and out of the water, two on each side working in perfect harmony. The boat makes good speed. They’re already shouting to the soldiers on the dock, alerting them of their approach. Good idea if they don’t want to be mistaken for Aku savants and end up full of arrows.

I come up under the hull and cling there like a long, lean remora. The planks are mostly strong as I tap—solid, solid, not so solid, weak… I punch my fist right through the planks, and the wood splinters to bits, water sucking into the hole. The inevitable cries and chaos ensue. I love this part.

“Shark! Shark!” they cry.

“Not yet, but soon, little baitfish.” I grab the lead ore, snap the paddle off, and flip the rower out of the boat before he can let go of his end. Such a lovely splash he makes. I circle the boat, breaking the other oars and tossing them, some with clinging landers attached, some without, into deep water.

They all climb on top of each other to reach the bow—the only part of the vessel still above water. It sinks quickly with the added weight, and they thrash about until their heads disappear under the surface. Such a noisy lot, and nary a swimmer among them. I can’t help but smile and bare my teeth. Fifteen, I count. “Shall we put you out of your misery?” I take the horrified expressions as a yes and bite them all, through skin and into belly or throat, until the crystal water is tinted red with their blood and guts.

“Now you can cry shark, my silly landers.”

They’ll be here any minute.