Cold river water rushed over my shoes, lapped at my ankles, and splashed my shins. Every muscle, bone, and joint clamored a complaint, and I let the water soothe away the leading edge of pain. I scooped up a handful for a drink. The river held rainwater, but I tasted a hint of sweetness, probably from seawater seeping up from below.

“You’ll ruin those ridiculous shoes.” Brantley kicked off his boots and settled on a boulder, dangling his bare feet in the creek. “The water’s not going to hurt you.”

“My choice.” I turned away, not wanting to explain that even a creek bed could be hazardous for me to touch. We’d both grown more irritable as days had passed with little food, and I pressed my lips together to keep from lashing out at him.

A splash sounded as he came up behind me. “Traveling will be that much harder if your shoes are wrecked and you have to go barefoot.” Brantley’s breath brushed hot against my ear.

He had no idea. Traveling would not be harder; it would be impossible. My very sanity would be threatened if my bare skin was forced to touch our world.

My shoulders sagged. I couldn’t afford to let these thin slippers fall apart. I tromped to the bank and wiped my shoes on a wide burdock leaf.

Brantley watched me with a puzzled frown. “I didn’t mean to chase you out of the water.”

Should I explain? Could I? Or would he assume I was as mad as Dancer Subsun?

“Dancers only touch the raw earth after a lifetime of preparation, and only in the central ground. I can’t risk . . . communicating . . . with the earth out here.”

He barked a laugh. “And here I was about to ask you to do some of that dancer stuff”—he wiggled his fingers—“and drum us up some berries or something.”

I sighed. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“I thought the Order controlled everything.”

“I’m not in the Order anymore, in case you hadn’t noticed.” I loathed the bitter edge to my voice. He’d sacrificed a great deal to escort me to safety and didn’t deserve my irritation. I drew a steadying breath. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t mean to take it out on you.”

I managed a small smile. “We’ve found a river, so there’s reason to hope.”

He sloshed over to me and stepped up onto the bank. “That there is. As soon as we reach the rim, we’ll have full bellies. Roasted copper fish, smoked sea trout.” He licked his lips and grinned.

I didn’t share his confidence. Who would help a runaway dancer and a herder wanted by the Order’s soldiers?

Brantley flung droplets at my face, jarring me from my pessimism. “Cheer up. We’re not lost anymore.”

I scooped both my hands in the water and threw it his direction, dousing the front of his shirt. “So now you admit we were lost?”

His laugh was rich and deep. “Let’s go, dancer. The ocean is calling.”

I shivered. The Order taught us the sea was vast, dangerous, and so honeyed that its water led to illness. I couldn’t match Brantley’s eagerness to reach the shore, but it could lead us to Undertow and maybe even my family. A mother’s gentle encouragement, an uncle’s laughing eyes, a sister’s hug. Who knew what I might find? The hope stabbed me with a pang as sweet as ocean water.

“Lead on, herder,” I answered.

His enthusiasm fueled my steps with new lightness as we traced the riverbank. Overhead, a harrier bird glided, banked, and dove beyond the trees. The pines and willows swayed to the subtle motion of the ground, changing heights as deep waves rolled beneath us. Songbirds caroled delicate melodies. Even the whir of insects sounded happier. I was able to ignore my gnawing hunger and the pervasive fear of pursuit. A tiny kernel of anticipation sprouted in my soul.

Late in the day, the trees parted, the river widened, and we came to a sight that stole my breath.

The primary sun rested low over an unending expanse of ocean, sparkling with shades of amber and peach. Gentle turquoise currents played tag with the shore, where tangled plant roots disappeared into the water.

Brantley noticed my awe and clapped an arm around my shoulders, drawing a deep, satisfied breath. “Always pains me to be away from the sea too long. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

I tore my eyes from the sea for a moment to look at him. His smile was broad and relaxed, and a contented sigh lifted his chest. He was the happiest I’d ever seen him.

I followed his gaze back out over the vastness. A thrill of amazement whispered over my skin. “The water really does go on forever.”

No wonder the Order fought so hard to keep our world secure. What would it be like if our island pulled loose to spin aimlessly through the limitless waves? A shiver of dread rippled up my spine, yet I also felt a tug to embrace the dance of ever-shifting froth, playful wind gusts, and soaring seabirds.

Brantley moved closer to the edge and rubbed his hands together. “Now we can get some food.”

I turned in a slow circle on the short band of earth where we’d emerged from the forest. I surveyed the matted woven weeds where water lapped along the rim, the river we’d followed, and the emptiness before us. No sign of habitation, no fruit trees, no berry bushes. Where did he plan to find food?

I perched on a fallen tree, a safe distance back from the edge, my gaze drawn again to the shifting colors of the setting sun reflected on the water.

Brantley rummaged through his pack and pulled out a thin wooden whistle. He blew a few notes, a repeating pattern. Then he kicked off his boots, tossed aside his cloak, and pulled off his vest. Had he gone mad?

When he took off his shirt and flung it to the ground, I looked away.

Could proximity to sweet water drive a person to madness even if he didn’t drink it? I was too tired to run back upriver, and too tantalized by the ocean to want to leave, but I was worried about my companion’s erratic behavior.

He sat at the edge and dangled his feet in the water, scanning the horizon.

“What are you doing?” I finally called from my safe spot near the woods.

“Patience,” he said.

I waited, watching the shifting colors of the subsun reflecting on the waves. After several minutes, my stomach grumbled a reminder that Brantley had promised he’d find food. I stood, determined to broach the topic, but a ripple moved off to the side and drew my attention. I blinked a few times. One low wave moved against the rest of the lapping current and headed our direction.

Had Brantley’s tune called forth new waves in a similar way that dancers spoke to the earth?

A shape rose from the surface. I wanted to dash to Brantley and pull him back from the edge, but I was paralyzed and only managed to squeak.

He didn’t hear me over his joyous laughter.

A creature lifted a head and chest from the water. It moved toward the shore with the agility of a river fish, but its long neck supported a head with floppy ears, a tapered muzzle like a forest hound, huge violet eyes, and a mouth shaped into a perpetual smile. Instead of fur, its blue-gray skin was so smooth that water beaded and rolled away from the portion of its body that broke the surface.

He should have retreated to safe ground, but Brantley yelled, “Navar!” and dove into the water. Or had he fallen? The strange fish dipped its snout down and up several times, then stretched out, submerging most of its shape.

I clutched my throat and tiptoed a few feet closer to the edge, riding the rocking movement underfoot caused by the creature’s wake. I expected to see Brantley devoured. Instead he appeared on the far side of the creature and propelled himself up on its back in one smooth movement.

Arms outspread for balance, Brantley stood—stood!—on the slick body and shook wet hair from his eyes. “Meet my friend Navar,” he called. Knees slightly bent, he maintained a balance that any dancer would envy. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

Navar raised her head again, turned her long neck to peer at Brantley, and bobbed her muzzle up and down. After Brantley twirled a fist in the air a few times, his mount faced forward and propelled the two of them in a wide circle. The sun silhouetted Brantley’s muscled form, his chest full of sea air, profile rising to meet any challenge. Together, he and Navar looked like a mythic being born of water and sky.

“We’ll be back soon with supper,” Brantley shouted.

Then with dizzying speed, they shot across the water and faded from sight toward the horizon.

Sinking to the rolling ground, I dredged my memory for any childhood knowledge of huge aquatic beasts. The sweet scent of ocean waves tasted familiar in the back of my throat, but I couldn’t conjure any recollections similar to the scene I’d just witnessed. Brantley treated Navar in the way a tender would treat a favorite pony. I shook my head, half in awe, yet still half afraid.

How could Brantley plunge into the wide ocean, leaving the safety of our world? How could I trust the beast would bring him back? As shadows stretched longer, I shivered. Sudden solitude lowered over me like the dusk. The expanse of water made me feel very small and alone. Not knowing when—or if—Brantley would return hollowed my chest. I hugged my shins, resting my chin on my knees.

I thought I’d begun to know Brantley. Determined, reckless, teasing, strong. I’d learned many sides to him as we’d traveled and grown to appreciate most of them. Yet I had no idea of the level of his courage. My blossoming affection for him now seemed like a silly girl’s fantasy. I was far from worthy of a man like him. I was a castoff. Worse than a castoff. I’d fled my calling. Abandoned my vow. Besides, I couldn’t daydream about joining my life with any man. I was, after all, a dancer—of a sort. Odd how that pledge to forsake family, future husband, or children made less sense to me with each day away from the Order.

The subsun angled until the glare hurt my eyes. Shaking my head with a heavy sigh, I rose and proceeded to set up a camp in the hopes that Brantley would return. I gathered wood and lit a small fire to help him find his way back. For hours I stoked the flames alone, watching the subsun sink toward the horizon. Then a sharp whistle pulled my head up.

Out across the water, Navar darted side to side while approaching. Brantley adjusted his stance to her movements and called out occasional instructions. I couldn’t fathom what he was doing.

Then Navar dipped her head deep under the water and tossed it upward. Water rained down on the shore, along with the slippery splashing sound of fish slapping the ground. Three more times, the creature angled, dipped, and butted small copper-colored fish into the air. Supper fell at my feet, and I raced to gather up the fish and deposit them by our fire. I laughed as my tunic was soon wet from the wriggling catch.

Meanwhile, Navar floated right up to the edge of the island. Brantley stroked the beast’s neck and murmured praise, then leapt lightly to the tangled mat of vegetation and strode toward me.

The creature vanished like a dream, and if not for the fish scattered nearby, I would have believed I’d imagined it.

Brantley stretched. “Told you I’d get us some dinner. Took longer than I thought. Used to be we’d find schools near the coast, but . . .” He trailed off as he noticed my baffled expression. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “I’ve never seen . . . I didn’t know . . .”

“I told you I was a herder.”

Which had conjured images of him tending land animals in a midrange pasture. “What is that . . . creature?”

“Navar? She’s a stenella. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen one before.” He grabbed his knife and efficiently gutted one of the fish. “How did you imagine a herder from a rim village provided for his family?”

I felt more ignorant than a first-form novitiate, so I ducked my head and peeled bark from a stick to skewer the fish. Why couldn’t I remember more from the handful of early years before I was brought to the Order? Had people of Undertow herded fish toward shore this way? Perhaps even my father? What else had I forgotten?

I set aside my worries as the scent of crisping fillets rose from the fire. After days of hunger, the tremendous gift of food pushed everything else from my mind. We ate in companionable silence. The meat was flakey and tender, with only a hint of sweetness. Somehow the citrus-honey flavor of the sea didn’t bother me as much as I had expected. I smiled to myself. Saltar Kemp would be horrified if I became accustomed to unfiltered sweet water.

After we’d eaten our fill and stoked the fire, Brantley leaned back on his elbows with a sigh. “You can’t tell me you’d rather live inside the cold walls of the Order or the stiff cobblestones of Middlemost.”

The mat of tangleroot that formed the ground this close to the edge rolled unevenly. I wanted to grab the surface to steady myself, but kept my hands folded in my lap. “I’m not sure I could get used to how much everything moves out here.”

“This is nothing. Try riding the rim when a storm blows through.”

I didn’t want to imagine that and shook my head.

He leaned back and studied the sky. “Seems the weather hasn’t been as bad the past few days. Think the High Saltar has given up on harassing you?”

“I hope so. I’m not important enough for her to bother with.” The memory of her eyes burning into mine, demanding descriptions of my experience, argued against my optimism.

“Well, get some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll follow the rim toward a village. I think we may be close to Whitecap.”

Dense undergrowth stretched into the distance along the shore as the ground bobbed unpredictably. Walking the edge would be even more daunting than our hike from the center. “Is Whitecap near Undertow?”

He must have noticed the weary edge to my voice. He sat up and unfurled his cloak, draping it around me. “No, but traveling will be easier now.”

I squinted again at the shore. “It will?”

“Sure, now that we can travel by water.”

“By water?” I tossed away his cloak and stood to confront him. He didn’t think I would leave the safety of land, did he? Ridiculous!

Ignoring my alarm, he chuckled and surged to his feet. He threw an arm around me and planted a brotherly kiss on the top of my head. The warmth of his body so close to mine stirred an errant wish for something more than a casual touch. Something I’d never known to miss until now.

Before I could examine those thoughts, he flopped beside the fire again. “Stop worrying. Tomorrow you’ll learn how to ride.”

My throat tensed in a choking grip as my pulse pounded so hard my breath came in rapid sips.

Ride? I couldn’t even swim.