He hadn't yelled. He hadn't thrown her out. He had simply looked at her as if she was a ledger entry that hadn't quite added iup.
I am a traitor. A liar.And fer what? Fer a braither that daesnae even love me.
Then, the bells began.
It was a rhythmic, clanging heartbeat that spoke of disaster.
What has happened?
The air in the chamber grew thick, smelling of her own stifled panic.
The sound was the final blow. She couldn't take any more—the silence of the room, the weight of the lies, the agonizing distance of the man just a few walls away. She needed air. She needed to be anywhere but within the four walls of her own failure.
She rose, threw a heavy, dark cloak over her shift—the wool scratching against her collarbone—and slipped out of the room.
The gardens were the only place that didn't feel like a cage, even in the dead of night. She walked past the dormant rosebushes, her boots crunching softly on the frost-dusted path.
She reached the outer edge of the grounds, where the garden sloped down toward the rocky shore path. The wind slapped her face and she relished in it, carrying the scent of salt and the acrid tang of woodsmoke.
She was about to turn back when a sound cut through the wind—a high-pitched, thin wail that made the hair on her neck stand up.
It was the sound of a small, terrified child.
"Is anyone there?" Enya called out, her voice sharp and authoritative despite the tremor in her hands.
She hurried toward the sound, her cloak catching on a gorse bush. Below the path, the shoreline was a jagged mess of black rocks and churning, white-capped water. The current there was a localized monster, fueled by the narrowing of the bay.
"Help! Help!"
Enya’s heart stopped. She saw a small, dark shape bobbing in the freezing water, tiny hands clawing at a slippery, weed-covered rock. A boy—no older than six—was being dragged outward by the receding tide. He must have slipped from the path in the dark.
"Nay!" Enya screamed. She didn't think about the weight of her skirts or the lethal temperature.
She might be a traitor but she would be damned if she let the water take that child’s life.
She threw off her heavy cloak, her shift fluttering in the gale. Her skin erupted in gooseflesh, but a fiery, desperate heat was rising in her gut. She scrambled down the rocks, her fingers scraping against the sharp barnacles until they bled.
"I’m comin' fer ye, lad! Keep yer head up and try tae breathe!"
The water hit her like a wall of liquid lead. The cold was so intense it felt like fire, a searing, bone-deep shock that stole the air from her lungs. She gasped, her chest seizing, but she didn't stop. She kicked out, her arms churning against the heavy, salt-choked waves.
The current was a living thing, a cold hand trying to pull her down into the kelp. Enya fought it with a stubbornness that had been forged in years of silence.
She reached the boy just as his head slipped beneath a swell. She lunged, her fingers catching the rough wool of his tunic. His small body shook violently as he latched onto her arm with a strength born of pure terror.
"I’ve got ye," she choked out, a wave crashing over her head and filling her mouth with brine. She spat it out, her vision blurring. "I’ve got ye. We’re goin' tae the shore."
She turned, trying to swim back toward the rocks, but her limbs felt like they belonged to someone else. They were heavy, sluggish, the blood in her veins turning to slush. Every stroke was a battle. The weight of her waterlogged shift felt like a shroud, dragging her down.
She saw a flat, low-lying rock about ten feet away. If she could just reach it, she could push him up.
"Kick, lad! Kick with me!"
With a final, screaming effort of her muscles, Enya lunged forward. She felt the jagged edge of the rock against her palm. She hoisted the boy up, her muscles tearing as she shoved his small, shivering frame onto the solid stone. He scrambled upward, coughing and retching, but safe.
"Go!" she gasped, her voice barely a whisper now. "Climb... climb up tae the path."
The boy looked back, his eyes wide and white in the dark.
