It’s a risk. I rarely enter the Twelfth Court twice in the same day, due to the toll it takes on me, but I’ve already come so far trying to save the sailor. It’s mostly sheer stubbornness that hasn’t convinced me to give up already. But I won’t give up. Father never did nor did my brothers.
So I close my eyes.
And disappear.
* * *
I’ve never enteredthe Twelfth Court underwater, so I’m surprised how similar it is to when I’m on land. The world turns violet. Everything goes still around me aside from the shifting, swirling particles that make up all matter. Within the nearly unmoving ocean, my body takes on a new sense of weightlessness. Where I felt like I was trudging through mud during my escape in the restaurant, I find I can move with slightly more ease and fluidity here. And move I do, pushing particles aside as I swim through water that isn’t water, cutting through frozen currents, seeking signs of life. The violet particles that make up living things are always brighter in the Twelfth Court, so I focus on the brightest shades of purple. A fish here, an eel there. Billions of flecks of light sparkle all around but there’s nothing as large as a human. I push more and more particles aside, half swimming, half walking through them.
Then my chest starts to grow tight.
Not from lack of air.
From my time in the Twelfth Court coming to an end.
I turn this way and that, moving faster despite how my vision blurs at the edges. He has to be here. Somewhere.
The particles start to grow larger, denser, vibrating slower. Soon time will recommence, and I might not have the strength to fight it.
I have no choice. I must return to the surface.
My heart sinks with defeat as I begin to swim upward, where the particles are still minuscule.
That’s when I see it.
The bright violet of a body suspended to my left.
I surge toward it, my lungs burning with every stroke of my arms, every kick of my legs. My vision is nearly black now as the Twelfth Court begins to dissolve around me. My stomach lurches and my throat sears, this time from the need for air too. I reach out blind.
And my hand meets something solid.
Grasping whatever I have—an arm, a leg—I kick up, up, through the last remnants of frozen time. My moves are no longer fast. No longer fluid. But I’m almost there. Almost.
My lips meet air just as the Twelfth Court disappears and leaves me tossed by the sea.
5
I’m only somewhat aware as I make it back to the beach. Each move is agony. My exhaustion from swimming in my seelie form, the aftereffects of the Twelfth Court, dragging the unconscious sailor alongside me—it all compounds, leaving me barely able to do anything but float, aiding my progression with a feeble kick and stroke here and there. It’s all that keeps us from heading in a wayward direction and getting dashed into the rocks beneath the bluff.
By some miracle, my feet eventually meet the rocky shore. There I collapse on my back, releasing my charge to fall at my side. I turn away from him, coughing up water and bile. Tears stream down my cheeks as a sob breaks free from my chest.
“Maisie.” Podaxis’ tremulous voice comes from beside me, but I don’t have the strength to open my eyes. “Oh, Your Highness, you shouldn’t have done that.”
“Maybe not,” I manage to croak out. For a few painful minutes, I can do nothing but lie and convulse, catching my breath, gathering some semblance of strength as gentle waves lap over my feet. Anxiety ripples through me as every second ticks by. The tide is going out, so there’s no rush to leave the beach. Instead, my panic is over the fate of the man I saved. I must move. Must roll over and make sure he’s alive. With a wince, I lift my head. It feels too heavy, but I force myself to turn to my other side.
I blink several times, startled to find him so close. The first thing I notice are his rounded ears, telling me he’s at least part human. That doesn’t surprise me. I had my doubts from the beginning that the survivor of the shipwreck could be fae. Very few fae have reason to set sail, even within protected waters. So who is this man I’ve rescued?
I turn my attention to his face. His eyes are closed, jaw slack, mouth slightly parted. Dread sinks my stomach. “Is he dead?”
Podaxis scurries over to his other side and taps a claw against his shoulder. The man doesn’t move. “I don’t know,” he says, voice panicked. “Should I pinch him?”
“Don’t pinch him. I need to check his life force.” I try to recall everything I gleaned from the rescues I’ve witnessed. With my weak limbs, I drag myself closer, draping myself halfway over his chest. I place my fingers at the base of his throat, mimicking what I’ve seen my brothers do. “Damn it, I don’t know if I’m doing this right. I don’t feel anything, but maybe my fingers are just too cold.”
“I could still pinch him. If he’s alive, he’ll shout.”
Ignoring Podaxis, I lift the man’s hand, turning his palm over until I find his wrist. Again, I’m not certain if I’m doing things correctly, but I press my fingers to the crease beneath his palm. I know my brothers tested life force this way, but what did they do if they couldn’t find any sign of it?
The answer comes to me quickly as memories flash through my mind.
