And then something heavier hits us, something that shrieks as it drops from the curl of foam, something that drags Lorcan’s great body down. The serpent smashes against the deck of the galleon, impaling itself on the stump of a mast.
I gasp as blood spurts from his wound and sprays upward.
When I feel it sprinkle my cheeks and lids, I know we’re too low. The sky darkens, and still Lorcan beats his wings.
Even though fear lances up my spine and my heart feels as though it’s dissolved into smoke, I whisper to myself, “You know how to swim. You’ll be fine.”
Lorcan huffs.If you land on that broken mast, you will not be fine. Nor will you be fine if you smash into that rock wall. You’re not fucking immortal yet, Fallon!
Such a killjoy, Lore.
The whorl closes in on us.
The shackles of Lore’s talons vanish, and I think he’s been ripped from me until what feels like arms curl around my waist and something soft presses against the length of my back.
Roll yourself into a ball,I hear him murmur.
I tuck my chin and hoist my knees into my chest, and I swear the pressure around my body increases as though, somehow, a shell has formed around me. Soft yet firm. Ethereal yet pulsating with life.
Deep breath, Behach Éan.
I gulp in air that tastes like brine and wind. Like the ocean and the wind. Like my world and Lore’s.
I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for the brutal slap that’s about to swallow me whole.
This isn’t the end.
This cannot be how it ends.
The wave collapses over us, a mountain of water that feels like an avalanche of snow and a landslide of rock, like Marco Regio brought down the entire mountain on top of us.
Seventy-Six
Ispin and spin, get sucked in one direction, shoved in the other. The pressure around my abdomen falls away as the side of my head bangs into something hard before I’m hurtled and wrung anew.
I keep my arms locked around my knees and my lips pressed as tight as my eyes.
I’m rolled again and again, jostled and smacked. Sand whips my cheeks and forehead, tangles in my wild hair as the water yanks at my roots like a giant hand. Over and over, I somersault until I don’t think I’ll ever know the difference between up and down. The pressure against my eardrums grows. I don’t want to unpin my arms and risk a limb snagging or breaking, so I thread my wrists through my knees and plug my nose. The pop is instant but the ensuing relief, fleeting.
The ocean is still towing and tossing me. Soon, the depth presses against my eardrums again. I squeeze my nose, waiting for the pop, but the only pop I get is that of my back banging against something jagged.
Another lurching undercurrent flows against me, pushing, pushing, but I don’t roll this time. Whatever I hit must’ve snagged my pants. Thank Gods.
The ocean roils and rages around me. Debris flies. Something sharp jabs my cheek. I feel my skin split, burn, and the pain . . . it almost blackens my mind. But I hold on because passing out will be the death of me.
My lungs squeeze like balled fists as my heart spins, tossing heartbeats like handfuls of sand against my ribs and spine. Mareluce squeals and clanks, bangs and ticks. It feels like forever before the din quiets, before the cacophony is replaced by slower keens and gentler groans.
Only then do I dare part my lids and look at where I’ve landed. All around me, sunlight dances off floating sand and paints the splintered, ragged edges of wood and corals in color.
I press my palms into the hard surface beneath my back, feeling the smoothness of metal. I push, and something tears. I think it’s only fabric, until I catch the crimson bloom of blood. I turn to look at what I hit, and find the statue of a black bird.
A giant black crow. Hundreds lay scattered around me. Lore’s silent, hibernating army.
Whatever part of my body I impaled on the crow’s beak mustn’t have been too vital because my mind remains sharp. Still, I press my palm into my side. My fingers slip past torn fabric and land against torn skin. I trace the seam of the wound. It’s as short as my knuckle, but possibly as deep.
My lungs spasm, shifting my worries. I crouch to push off the ocean floor when a shadow slithers over me. I freeze, barely daring to crane my neck. My lashes rise and I glimpse yellow scales.
The serpent’s body brushes across my forehead, my cheeks, against the curved shells of my ears. My lungs begin to cramp. I need to shoot up to the surface. I wait until it swims past me, but the creature’s so large and long, it takes him forever to glide out of my path.
