The water below meerupts.
A pressurized column rockets upward with the force of a battering ram. It hits me mid-dive, slamming into my right wing with a crack I hear before I feel. Pain explodes through my shoulder—sharp, blinding. My wing folds wrong, and I’m falling.
Falling.
The sky spins. I try to catch air with my left wing, but my body tumbles end over end. Lightning sparks uselessly. The river’s surface glitters like broken glass—and then I hit.
Cold. Dark. Water floods my nostrils, my throat. I shift without meaning to—the body’s panicked survival reflex—and suddenly I’m not an eagle anymore, just a woman drowning with a shattered shoulder. I kick toward what might be the surface, but everything is brown and churning and I can’t tell up from down.
Lightning crackles along my skin, shorting out against the water. Useless. My magic is useless here.
I’m going to die.
The thought is strangely calm. I came to prove myself, and I’m going to drown on my first solo mission, and Kael is going to blame himself?—
Arms close around me. Strong. Scaled. Warm despite the cold water.
I’m being dragged somewhere. My broken shoulder screams at the movement, but I have no strength to fight. Consciousness slips away like sand through my fingers.
The last thing I feel is breaking the surface—air on my face, water streaming from my hair—and hands pressing rhythmically against my chest. The last thing I hear is a voice, deep and rough, swearing in a language I don’t recognize.
I waketo pain and bioluminescence.
Soft blue-green light emanates from moss on cavern walls. I’m lying on stone covered with dried rushes, and every breath sends knives through my right shoulder. Water roars nearby—a waterfall, close enough that mist dampens my skin.
I try to sit up. Bad idea. My vision whites out, and I collapse with a groan.
“Don’t move.”
The voice comes from my left. Low, male, carrying an accent I can’t place. I turn my head—slowly this time—and my breath catches.
He’s crouched near the cavern’s entrance, backlit by spray. Tall, broad-shouldered, with blue-black hair lying flat and wet against his skull. His skin has a faint sheen that might bemoisture or might be something else entirely. And his eyes—deep gray-green, like the heart of a storm-tossed sea—are fixed on me with an intensity that makes my pulse jump.
But it’s his hands that draw my attention. Webbed. I can see the translucent membrane between his fingers even in this dim light. And when he shifts position, I catch a glimpse of something at his neck—slits that flutter slightly as he breathes. Gills.
A Deep Runner. I’ve found one—or rather, one has found me.
“You—” My voice comes out as a croak. I try again. “You saved me.”
Something flickers across his face. Not quite anger, not quite regret. “You were drowning.”
“Your people shot me down.”
“My people saw a Sky-dweller in attack position above our waters.”
“I was in diplomatic signaling formation!”
His jaw tightens. “Forgive us for not recognizing the difference. We don’t get many diplomats.”
I want to argue—want to point out that shooting first and asking questions never is not exactly conducive to peaceful relations—but my shoulder throbs viciously and I gasp.
He moves. Fast, fluid, suddenly close enough that I can smell river water and something else—ozone, maybe, or the charged air before a storm. “The bone is broken. I set it while you were unconscious, but it needs proper healing.”
“Where are we?”
I look around the cavern—bioluminescent walls, the waterfall curtaining the entrance, the careful distance he maintains even while checking my injury.
“Somewhere safe. For now.” His eyes meet mine, and something electric passes between us—literal electricity, Irealize, as sparks crackle along my skin in response to... what? His proximity? “Who are you?”
