74

Ash

I don’t believe my eyes when Salila comes out of the surf with Marcus in her arms. He’s alive! Still, my hand goes to my sword, which isn’t there. Useless.

“Stay back.” I motion to Tyche.

Salila has her mouth on Marcus’s, breathing for him until he splutters and coughs, drawing his own breath. He gains his feet as she puts him down, and Salila returns to the sea without a word.

“You’re alive.” I lead him to the shallows, but Marcus looks confused. He shivers in the darkness, his hands curling into his chest. The bandages are loose, hanging in strips, the ends floating on the water as his teeth chatter.

I know what salt feels like on my blisters. What he must be experiencing with all his gaping wounds I can’t imagine. I stagger with him toward the cliffs. Tyche slips over wet kelp as she comes down to greet us. “More.” She points back toward the sea.

Kaylin walks out of the surf with his arm supporting Piper. Behind him is Belair, falling to his knees, crawling, but managing on his own.

“Stay here, both of you.” I let go of Marcus and he crumples to the sand.

I run to Kaylin as Piper drops to all fours. Her serpent immediately goes to ground. “Samsen.” She gasps and coughs up water. “Find him.”

“Already done,” Kaylin answers as a tall, dark-skinned Mar emerges from the sea. She’s like Salila, female, yes, but longer of limb. She carries Samsen over her shoulder. I run to her. “Is he alive?”

The Mar hisses at me, but I don’t back away. Before I speak again, Kaylin stands between us.

“Shashida,” he says, formally. “For your help, we are grateful.”

“You know her by name as well?”

Kaylin takes Samsen out of her arms.

The Mar woman leans very close to Kaylin. “You play a dangerous game with Teern, brother.” Her voice is husky and moist, more phantom than human.

“I hold you to your vow, on your life.” Kaylin turns away, and Shashida disappears into the sea.

My breath catches. “Did you just threaten her?”

“I promise, when we are safe, I’ll explain everything.” Kaylin carries Samsen to shore.

We huddle under the towering sea cliff while wind whistles through headland pines. It’s not much shelter, and it certainly isn’t warm. I’m shaking uncontrollably. We all are. I go to Tyche, hoping to comfort her.

The girl nurses her soggy wet toy to her chest, the little replica of her phantom. Her hair sticks to her soaked clothes, and she’s cold beyond shivers.

“We have to make a fire.” I repeat it a few times before anyone responds.

“I think we must,” Marcus agrees. “Though it’s a beacon to our whereabouts.”

“If anyone is looking.” Kaylin turns to Samsen, who sits hunched next to Piper. “Can you call dry wood?”

“Give me a minute.”

“I can do it.” Tyche sounds small in the dark.

“Do you have the strength?” I can’t see how.

She tucks the stuffed toy deep into her pocket and rises to her feet.

“Let her,” Kaylin says quietly in my ear. “She’ll gain comfort from raising her phantom.”

For a sailor, he knows an awful lot about savants and their phantoms. Tyche avoids eye contact as she walks away from our circle.

“I’ll come with you.” She doesn’t indicate she’s heard me, but I follow anyway.

Farther down the cliffs, the young orange-robe drops to her knees and up comes her phantom, sand flinging everywhere. It shakes kelp and bits of shell from its hide and turns to lick Tyche’s wet, salty hair. The intimacy warms me and makes Tyche sigh. Kaylin is right. It’s the first relief I’ve seen in the girl’s face since Aku fell.

There’s no sign of shock or confusion in her phantom’s expression. That makes sense. Going by what Marcus once shared with me about De’ral, the little impala has been watching from the depths through Tyche’s eyes, feeling through her hands, hearing through her ears.

Tyche lifts her chin. “Dry wood, please.”

The phantom blinks its big brown eyes and sings. The melodic tune lifts above the pounding surf, enchanting me, and all the nearby driftwood on the beach. When that’s piled high, dry branches rise from the wooded glen beyond the headland. Piece by piece they float toward Tyche, stacking neatly at her feet. I grin through chattering teeth. The tone of the phantom song is so soothing; it calls up feelings of peace and warmth inside me, and I think everyone and everything on this beach must be touched by it. I sweep up an armful of wood to take back to the others. “Well done.”

Together, Tyche and I lay the fire. The tinderbox from the gear is long gone, but being the resourceful sailor that he is, with only a dry stick and a flat piece of driftwood, Kaylin sparks a flame.

“Is there anything you don’t know how to do?” I ask him.

“Aye, lass. Plenty.” Not boasting makes him seem even more capable.

Cheered on by the breeze, we have a roaring flame in no time. My arms and legs tingle as blood returns to my limbs. Everyone else relaxes as well, clothes steaming in the warmth, blue lips turning to more natural tones. For Tyche, the heat is a sedative. She rests her head on her hands and falls fast asleep. The rest of us talk quietly while we busy ourselves drying our clothes in front of the fire.

“Do you know where we are?” Marcus asks Kaylin.

“I have us north of Gleemarie.”

I sit next to him and pull up a mental map of the area. “How far would that be? One hundred and fifty leagues from Baiseen?”

“As the crow flies. On horseback, farther.”

“Horses,” Marcus says. “We’ll need fast ones.”

“To reach Baiseen in time to warn of Tann’s madness, and for the southern realms to hide their first whistle bones?” Kaylin asks.

“Is there any other goal?” Marcus’s voice is challenging.

“Survival in enemy lands comes to mind,” Kaylin says to us all, but his eyes rest on me.

“If we replace the horses every night and morning and stick to good roads, we can reach Baiseen in five days or less,” Marcus says.

“Ahead of the warships?” I ask.

Kaylin shrugs. “Depends on winds and currents.” He looks at the faces around the fire.

“We need rest,” I say, letting my eyes fall on Belair, who hunches like an old man.

“Don’t look at me like that. I can ride,” he answers, straightening. “But how do you propose we find fresh horses, morning and night, and disguises to keep us out of shackles, seeing as we must stick to well-trodden roads if we are to reach Baiseen ahead of the fleet? Enemy roads, I might emphasize.”

“Gleemarie has plenty of farms.” I frown. “There’s no coin, though, is there?” I look hopefully at Kaylin. “That chest of gold?”

“Gone,” he says. “But that shouldn’t slow down a band of savants.”

I pinch my brow, guessing what will come next.

“Will there be food?” Tyche’s eyes open again, large and luminous.

“Hungry?” Kaylin asks.

She frowns at him, and then, as if making a decision, she says, “Yes, please.”

“That I can see to.” Kaylin chooses a straight branch from the wood pile, pulls out his knife, and in two strokes, gives it a sharp point. “Fancy fresh rock cod?”

Tyche nods again.

He pulls off his shirt and starts to walk away.

I run to catch up. “You’re going to spear fish? In the dark? After what we’ve just survived?”

“The little lassie is hungry.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles.

A bubble of laughter escapes my lips. In spite of everything, he has our well-being on his mind. Still, I force a mock frown. “And I suppose I know what you mean when you say lack of gold won’t slow down a band of savants?”

He leans in close, his arm going around my shoulders, seemingly unconcerned that all eyes are on us. “Aye, lass,” he whispers. “I’ll make fine thieves of you yet.”