She lifts her face. A sheen films the whites of her eyes. “You don’t?”
“Harper,” I whisper, making sure her name will not carry. “I’m here.” She clutches my hand with iron strength. She will not let go.
A wave of concern moves through me with startling intensity. A weakened Harper, an uncertain Harper, a frightened Harper. None sit well with me. “Come.” I coax her from the boat onto the rocky shelf.
The two sea-nymphs lead Harper and I to separate huts. Clay walls, fired red by the single candle sputtering in the room’s center, enclose the circular interior. A tub full of steaming water awaits, and a change of clothes rests on a sturdy wooden chair. Once I remove my boots, the sea-nymph departs to give me privacy.
My knees creak as I hobble toward the tub, but I’m unable to unbutton my dress, so stiff and icy are my fingers. Blast this fabric. I step into the tub fully clothed, sinking into the scalding water with a helpless whimper. Once I regain use of my limbs, I’m able to slide off my gloves, unbutton my dress, and peel it from my soiled skin. They have provided soap, which I use to scrub away all remnants of that nightmarish lake. I briefly remove my undergarments and wash those, too.
Skin pink with irritation, I climb from the tub and don the long linen dress provided, my cincture and gloves, and a burgundy cloak. Then I go in search of Harper.
She huddles near one of the cooking fires, hair wet from her bath. Instead of wearing the clean clothes provided, she has changed back into her filthy, sodden dress. She shivers, blue eyes locked on the dancing flames, and she does not appear so certain of herself in this moment, her spine curved and wariness abloom in those dark pupils. Well, good. That makes two of us.
With a sigh, I remove the cloak from my shoulders and drop it onto Harper’s lap. She stares at it before handing it back.
“Take it,” I snap. “Otherwise you’ll freeze to death after I’ve gone to such lengths to save you.”
Her fingers tighten around the fabric. After a moment, however, she tugs it around her body.
Sinking onto a nearby log, I join her in studying the lash of red-orange flames. The air reeks—fish and char. “Did you let them heal you?”
“They gave me a tonic.” The words are mumbled. “The voice stopped. I should recover without any adverse effects.”
I’m relieved. I hate that I am relieved.
Our packs sit at Harper’s feet. Someone must have brought them from the boat. Tugging mine closer, I pull out a few strips of dried hare. When I offer some to Harper, she shakes her head.
“Why did you save me?” she whispers.
I stow the food in my pack, taking the opportunity to think of an appropriate response. “How do you know it wasn’t Zephyrus?”
Harper snorts, hunching lower, and stares at the ground. “Why should the West Wind care for me? All I do is irritate him.”
I’m not going to argue with that.
Along the shore, a trio of sea-nymphs drags a net from the water. It bulges with writhing, eel-like fish. The clan eats what the River Mur provides them.
“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know why I saved you. If you ask me, it was a senseless decision to save a woman who has spent the last decade doing everything in her power to make my life miserable.”
Harper frowns, hands clenched in her lap. “That’s not—”
“Don’t say it’s not true,” I growl. “Don’t you dare say it.”
She falls quiet.
What, exactly, compelled me to desert the safety of the boat and dive into those dark unknowns? We believe water acts as the entrance to Hell and eternal woe. Those who drown may never know peace. Yet I leaped without regret.
A stone rises to block my airway, warping the emerging sound. “Maybe I should have let you drown. The Father knows you deserve it. But I suppose I can’t stand to see someone die, however cruel that person is.”
Harper will not look at me. Neither will she speak. She is not heartless. I have witnessed her kindness, however twisted, however rare. Maybe she’s just heartless to me.
“Nothing to say? Not even athank youfor saving your life?”
“I’m sorry,” Harper whispers.
Clumps of fabric wad between my clammy hands. “I’ve spent the last ten years waiting for those words.” One glimpse of remorse, genuine regret at her actions. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. “But it’s not enough.”
Her head snaps up. In the shifting light, a distinct sunken quality distorts her cheeks.
