“There isn’t time to dig it out with care before this storm makes it too dangerous to be on a hillside,” Linc said. “See the flashes? Electricity in the clouds. Let’s shelter and come back when nature’s spent its voice.”
“What she’s doing?” Wexler, the younger of the two pirate brothers, asked.
Linc turned and walked to the edge of the cliff, joining Wex. Larsinc looked out and saw a vision. There was a young woman, slim and tall, walking toward the water. Her hair was the color of moonlight. She wore a shift that glowed; it was made of a rare fabric that came from very few worlds. He hadn’t seen hair the color of hers since he was a boy in the homeland of his birth.
“Hey!” Wexler yelled as the girl climbed over a rock barrier that had been placed to hold the sea back. She dropped a few feet into the water, which was to her thighs. The storm was pushing high tide in fast.
Linc thought she might have left a net to trap fish that she was going to retrieve. She might not want to lose it in the storm. But as she walked farther out, he knew that she had a more sinister mission in mind. The water was to her chest now, and the waves crashed onto the shore. She was very close to the rip currents that the signs warned about. They’d be dangerous on even calm days, which this night was not.
She needed to turn back immediately. Any moment, she’d be caught in the currents and, in this storm, she’d never survive. She must realize it. His muscles bunched in frustration. What could have driven her to this? Where was her family? Her friends?
Wex shouted again.
Linc doubted the girl could hear him. She never turned her head, and the wailing wind drowned out everything. Linc didn’t believe she would’ve turned back anyway. She had not hesitated, even when the water crashed over her head. If she wasn’t rescued, she’d be dead in minutes.
Linc glanced down at the rocks below them. There was no time to deliberate.
He turned and stalked several feet from the edge. Then he turned, sprinted, and leapt off the cliff. He arced outward to clear the rocks, diving into the sea. The water was cold when he crashed into it.
When he surfaced, he couldn’t see the girl, but on and off the fabric that glowed caught his eye. He swam hard. Cresting waves engulfed him as the wind howled. The current had caught him, and he wasn’t sure he could pull himself free of its grip. He fought, his heart hammering, muscles burning.
A pale hand darted above the surface and then sank. She’d reached up, but there was nothing to catch. She couldn’t save herself.
He doubled his efforts. If he died it would not be for lack of the will to live.
He choked on water, sucking in breath whenever he could get his mouth above the surface. Under it, the gown still glowed with moonlight, like a beacon that matched her hair. He caught it and followed the billows to her body.
His foot hit the sandy floor of the ocean, so he was on a sandbar. Better luck than he could’ve counted on. Her limp body swayed in his arms. He battled to get her face above the water and dragged her back toward the shore against the sea’s sucking grip.
The work was hard, but when his shoulders were above the surface, he knew he’d won. He’d stolen their lives back from the ocean.
He carried her to the barrier and lifted her over it with shaking arms. He dropped her onto the sandy ground then he hauled himself over the barrier, his muscles quaking with fatigue. He knelt, panting for breath.
She lay like a carving in alabaster, pale and still. Her face was delicate and breathtaking. “Traced by a bird’s wing” was the expression in Linzen to describe features so beautiful that they stole one’s breath.
Her eyes opened and were a glittering green. Linzen green, he realized with a jolt. She turned her face to cough, a faint mist of water escaping on her breath. Relief flooded his body. When she looked back, her brows drew together. For several long heartbeats she didn’t speak, then she finally asked, “Where’s your forked blade?”
He learned forward, not wanting to miss her words.
“Aren’t you a Median warlord?” she asked.
He laughed, surprised by the unexpected folklore reference. The legends claimed the Linzen people had risen from the mythic Medians who guarded the riches of the sea.
“If I were Median, I’d have dragged you down,” he said in Orium.
She offered him a faint smile, then had to shield her face from the driving rain. She turned and crawled to her feet.
He rose too. He was taller than her, but not by as much as he was with most women.
She shivered and dashed out of the clearing to some nearby trees for shelter.
“No,” he said, grabbing her arm. “Lightning is coming.”
“I can’t stand out there. And the caves are so cold!” she called out, trying to overcome the noise of the storm.
He ignored her protests, taking her arm and pulling her with him. A streak of light lit the night, and a loud crash drew their attention behind them. The tree that she’d been holding had been cleaved in half.
She stood frozen for a moment. Then he jerked on her arm, and she followed him with swift steps, leading her to the nearest cave. Inside it was cold, but he pushed her onto the soft ground. “Wait here.”
