Still, it would all be worth it once Rinka arrived. She had missed her friend dearly, and she could not wait to introduce Rinka to the aspects of country life she had come to love: the beauty of the landscape, the kindness and community she felt among the villagers, and the freedom from the burden of constantly worrying about having enough coin that enabled her to focus on her art and things that brought her joy. She did notknow if Rinka would have the same experience, but she hoped her friend would find her own place out here.
“I’m not angry or upset much these days, Willow,” said Alison. She gave the cat a scratch behind the ears as she knelt to carry the empty laundry basket back in. “I guess I’m just going to have to wait until we find the fairies. Can you keep a lookout for me when you’re out at night hunting?”
“Of course,” said Willow. “I’ve chased lights like the spriggan described into the woods before, but I always lose track of them. I suppose the trick has been to keep them in the corner of the eye all along.”
“Don’t chase them on your own,” said Alison. “Wake me if you find something.”
Willow stretched and scoffed. “I’ll lose them if I let them go. You know I’m perfectly capable of talking to them if I need to.”
Alison hadn’t meant her offense, but she wasn’t sure the cat would manage to resist “playing” with the fairies. There had been some tense encounters with Aras and his family when they flew too quickly within reach of the garden walls.
“I want to see them too,” said Alison, attempting to smooth things over. “I need their help if I’m ever to get control of this.”
“Fine,” said Willow. “I’ll come get you if I see them, and I’ll do my best not to murder them in the meantime.” She purred and rubbed up against Alison’s legs, mostly joking.
Mostly.
Chapter Seven
ROW, ROW, ROW
Rinka
The fall was over in moments. The impact with the waves below came as a surprise to Rinka, who hadn’t been willing to open her eyes to look.
The water was cold, far colder than she had expected considering what a warm day it had been. She thrashed her legs and thrust her bound hands out in front of her, pulling them back to her chest, a gesture she hoped would propel her towards the surface rather than deeper into the darkness.
She did not reach the air.
Panic began to set in as her lungs began to burn, the urge to take a breath where no breath was to be found overwhelming. She blinked her eyes open, feeling the sting of salt and struggling to orient herself in the blackened void around her.
She felt something reach for her before she saw it. A hand, pale and blue in the dim and distorted light under the surface, reaching for her shoulder and pulling her up, up, further up than seemed reasonable, until finally, she broke free.
She took a deep and gulping breath in, a glorious gasp of relief. She reached her bound hands for her eyes, trying to wipe the stinging salt away, but being thrust under by a wave before she could do so.
The hand reached for her again, and this time, it was joined by another. The hands pulled her up by the shoulders and into…something. A boat?
It was difficult to make out in the pale moonlight. Rinka could see nothing that distinguished the bottom from the waters she had been pulled from, but she could feel something substantial beneath her. She looked around, and what she saw frightened her even more than being thrown overboard.
It was a boat, that was for sure. Its build was identical to that of an ordinary two-seat rowboat, with curved sides and a pair of benches to sit on.
But it wasn’t made of wood, or even metal.
It was made of water.
“Whatisthis?” said Rinka. She was still bound, soaked to the bone, and she hadn’t even gotten a look at whoever had saved her, but all she could focus on was the impossible vessel.
“Have you never seen a boat before?” Drystan turned to face her. He was as drenched as Rinka, but he looked no worse for wear. He had slicked his wet hair back, and as she watched him, he removed his shirt and began to ring it out over the side.
Rinka blushed and turned away, although she could not help taking one small peek at his bare chest, which gleamed with tiny streams of water in the moonlight.
It was not an unpleasant sight.
But it did not distract her for long. There were still the matters of her near-drowning, their dire predicament, and, most of all, the impossible boat to consider.
“I have seen boats plenty of times in the River Eabrun, but none that were made of water. Water.” Where in the world was Drystan from that this was an ordinary thing? Rinka had never heard of anything like it, not in the picture shows or the papers or even the fairy stories and tall tales read to children.
“I’ll admit it isn’t ordinary, but there wasn’t much to work from here,” said Drystan. He had finished drying the shirt and was holding something even more impossible, a long narrow column of water that coalesced into something like an oar as Rinka watched.
