Something I almost remembered.
A rumbling voice whispered my name. The wave broke over me, and I surged into it, my toes lifting off the stone. I could feel the sea outside the tower—infinite, roaring, and dizzyingly deep. Trailing my hands through the foam, I marveled at how sensitive they were. I felt a thousand tiny individual bubbles and each movement of the waves as they danced a wild rhythm.
Something clammy and wet trailed against my face. Dazed, I reached up.
I wore a crown of dark green seaweed. Pulling an errant strand away, I stared at it between my fingers.
“How?” I yelled over the churning water, as I drifted slowly down, my toes once more touching the step. I laughed. “How did I not know?”
My eyes stung, and not from the saltwater. All those years hoping. Being jealous of Pa and Fee. Wondering if I belonged.
There had never been anything wrong with me. I did belong. Just not to the river.
I looked up at Markos, my throat almost closing on the words. “How did you see it and not me?”
“Sometimes,” he said with a wistful half smile, “we need others to see the good in us before we can see it in ourselves.”
He waded down the stairs, struggling against the weight of his wet clothes. When he reached me, he circled my waist with his arm. I buried my face in his neck, breathing him in. He smelled of salt and blood and Markos.
He hissed sharply, pressing a hand to his side.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“You are hurt,” I said. “I should’ve expected it. Just like a boy.”
“It’s not bad,” he said between tightened lips. “Let’s go.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, we’re trapped.”
“Caro, look.” He turned me around.
Only moments ago I had stood waist deep on the steps, but now the water sloshed around my ankles. Opposite us, a door loomed in the wet stone wall. What had been a great lake was rapidly becoming a puddle. The receding tide had littered the room with detritus—overturned chests and crates, a layer of slimy sand, and bits of broken shells.
Just my luck, to be chosen by a god who was a bloody show-off.
We splashed down the tunnel. As it turned out, it led to a small beachside training yard filled with weapon racks, one of which had been knocked over by the waves. Markos grabbed a sword off the wet sand, and we ran into the fort. I tried to draw a map in my head of those twisting corridors, but it was hopeless. Picking a direction, I crossed my fingers that it was the right one.
Markos’s hands settled on my waist as we peeked around a corner, causing all my senses to skitter and jump.
“If you’re going to kiss,” Kenté said from behind us, “I suppose I can look away.”
I whirled. “We’re not going to—Why would we do that?”
“No?” She tilted her head toward Markos. “Ah well, lost opportunities.”
He immediately let go of me, the ear that wasn’t covered in blood turning pink.
“What are you doing here?” I asked to cover my own embarrassment. Part of me missed the warmth of his hands.
“Looking for you, of course. You didn’t answer when I called down the stairs.”
We found Nereus leaning casually against the wall, picking his teeth with his knife. Philemon’s wrists were bound with strips of what had once been his own trousers. He looked very much like he wished to be elsewhere.
Removing a piece of seaweed from my hair, Nereus twirled it between his fingers. “Crowned, I see.”
“Oh, you know about that little display, do you?” I raised my eyebrows. “You might have told me.”
“You speak as if it were a secret.”
“It was to me, since certain of my allies are most irritatingly given to talking in riddles.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s who you meant when you said you were sent. She sent you. The god.”
“She who lies beneath.”
I stared him down. “And who are you, that you can be called up by a god? Tell me the truth. Are you a shade? Are you … dead?”
He winked at me. “Not today.”
“Are you Nemros the Marauder?” I demanded.
The edges of his eyes crinkled. “I have been many men and gone by many names.”
“How many lives have you served her?”
“One. A thousand.”
“Do you mean one or do you mean a thousand?”
“Yes.” He grinned.
“That’s not an answer. Doesn’t it bother you?” I asked. “Don’t you want to be free?”
“If I wasn’t serving her, where would I be? Dead, that’s where. Free or dead’s no choice at all. I like the smell of the sea on a fine day. The feel of the spray. The taste of the rum.” He shuddered. “I’ll do whatever she asks of me, if it’ll keep me out of the bottom of the ocean, or worse—gods forbid—under the ground. Now.” He inhaled. “I smell a fight.”
Markos stepped up. “Wait.” He eyed Philemon, then punched him hard on the jaw. The pirate collapsed on the floor.
“Ow.” Markos winced, shaking out his hand.
I raised my eyebrows. “That wasn’t very honorable.”
“Yes, well, let’s just say I’ve come around to your point of view,” he said. Leaning over the man, he drew himself up regally. “Also, I would like my coat back.”
Nereus slashed the ties at the pirate’s wrists, shoving the knife against his throat. “You heard your Emparch.”
Philemon struggled out of the coat, muttering curses under his breath.
Markos sniffed it before putting it on, his nose wrinkling. “This has been a very trying week for my clothes.” He straightened the collar. “Let’s go.”
As we burst into the great room, we discovered the battle had been won without us. Holding my breath, I took a frantic accounting of the men and women still standing—Pa, Ma, Captain Krantor, Captain Brixton and her mate, and many more, including Antelope’s captain.
I exhaled in shaky relief.
Pa and Captain Krantor stared down at something on the floor, hats clutched in their hands. It was the body of the wherryman Hathor, lying beside three other wherrymen and two more from Antelope’s crew. I swallowed. He was the one who had not wanted to come because he had a family.
“Current carry you,” I whispered. For the first time in my life, I felt strange saying the words. It was a riverlands expression. I wasn’t certain it belonged to me anymore.
Pa’s shirt was missing a sleeve. I realized it was tied around Ma’s arm in a makeshift sling. She seemed all right, despite the smudge of blood on her cheek. Certainly she was bossing people around with great energy.
“I’ll worry about that,” Ma shouted to one of the Antelope’s crewmen, gesturing with her good hand. “You worry about clearing that gods-damned cellar. You might as well carry up anything valuable while you’re at it, for they won’t get much use out of it where they’re going, will they?”
Behind me, Markos laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“All this time I was thinking you got it from your father,” he said.