The dwarf tucked it behind the plank seat near the prow and glanced back, brows raised. Viv’s doubt must have been plain on her face, because Maylee laughed that delicate laugh, sparkling as the seawater. “C’mon, you know how to swim, don’t you?”
“I knowhow,” said Viv. “But it doesn’t seem to matter much. I still sink like a stone. And with a bum leg? I’m definitely headed straight for the bottom.”
“Well, I never learned, so if we capsize, we’re goin’ down together. It’ll be very tragic and very romantic.”
“You don’t know how to swim, and you like to go out on this tiny boat?” Viv made a show of eyeing her from head to toe. “Guess you didn’t give up the mercenary life for lack of bravery, huh?”
“Enough stallin’. Untie that, all right?”
Viv laid her walking staff against a piling where she was reasonably sure it wouldn’t roll off, then unmoored the ship, tossing the rope into the boat. Maylee held it steady to the pier with one hand, then leaned to the side to make room and said, “You can do it. Left leg in first.”
It had been a few days since their dinner together, and Viv had managed to walk down to the pier with only a moderate limp and the aid of her staff. Still, she couldn’t help hissing and wincing as she made her ungainly way into the boat. There was a bad moment when she hiked her wounded leg after her, wobbling precariously, and then Maylee’s hands were on her waist to steady her.
She slowly lowered herself onto the stern seat, next to the shipped oars. Cool air billowed out from the shadowed water under the pier.
“You know how to row?” asked Maylee.
“Seems like something I could figure out.”
The dwarf gave her a considering glance, then held her hands out. “Eh, pass the oars to me.”
Maylee rowed them away from the pier toward the center of the cove. The sunlight shattered to pieces on the gentle, scalloping waves. A brace of terns followed them, scolding with their harsh, burring voices.
The gong of the tolling hour glanced off the cliffside to the north, and in the distance a galleon forged southward, sails belling in the offshore winds.
The baker’s sturdy arms kept up steady, powerful strokes as she charted a course along the sandbar, heading north and around the cape.
For the first while, Viv clutched the sides tightly, sensitive to every sideways swell and feeling entirely too big for the boat. Visions of toppling overboard—and taking Maylee with her—crowded her mind. No matter what Maylee said, Viv didn’t think there was anything romantic about drowning in sight of land. Eventually, she relaxed, though, and enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her skin and the growing hush as they drew farther from shore. The water glinted blue as sapphires, but Viv could see in the distance where it blackened over unknowable depths.
As they rounded the northern promontory, another small cove came into view, this one shaded by the bluff. When they coasted into the shadows, Maylee dug the oars in to slow to a stop.
The cool of the shade was shockingly sudden, and Viv’s arms broke into gooseflesh. Maylee flicked the end of an oar to catch her in the salty spray and grinned mischievously.
“I’ll remember that,” said Viv, with a slow grin of her own.She looked at the exposed rock of the cliff wall above them, a thousand layers sandwiched at an angle. Gulls twirled before it in a whirl of white, but surprisingly kept their voices to themselves, as though reluctant to ruin the hush. “You come here a lot?”
“It’s quiet. Cool. Pretty much the opposite of the bakery,” said Maylee. She hoisted the wicker basket into the center of the boat, between Viv’s legs, which occupied a lot of the room. Unfolding the linen, she withdrew a full loaf of bread and knocked on it with a knuckle. It sounded almost hollow. “Old and stale. And not for us.”
Viv raised her brows at that.
Maylee tore it in half with a brisk crackling sound, and shards of crust sprayed in all directions like wheat chaff. She handed one piece to Viv, who held it up with a quizzical expression. “Not for us?”
With a secretive smile, Maylee plucked a chunk from the center of her piece and flicked it overboard to float on the water.
Viv started when the bread almost immediately disappeared. A silvery form breached the surface with a sound like a stone dropping into a still pond. “You come here to feed the fish? Feeding Murk isn’t enough?”
“These customers are quiet,” replied Maylee, her voice low. “And look.” She pointed, and just beneath the surface, a swirl of pink and silver made broad, sinuous curves before doubling hopefully back.
“Oh,” breathed Viv. The fish moved like a single organism, and as they turned, the sunlight scattered across their sides in a gleaming flash. “There must be a hundred of them.”
“Peachgills. Yeah. Well, what are you waitin’ for?”
They took turns picking the loaf apart, tossing morsels to the fish and a few brave gulls who swooped down to inspect the proceedings. The slap of the water against the hull and theglipsandglopsof the hungry peachgills lulled them both.
Viv sometimes paused to watch Maylee’s face and the way her cheeks squeezed her eyes nearly closed whenever one of the fish received her offerings. The ache in her leg drifted far away.
When they’d satisfied the appetites of the undersea diners—or at least run out of stale bread—Maylee rummaged in the basket again, withdrawing a green bottle and a pair of glass tumblers.
“When we fed the stale bread to the fish, I figured you’d have a fresh loaf in there for us,” observed Viv.
