Her hand, tugging at the belt near his neck, stilled.
He tilted his head toward her over his shoulder. “That will not make this raid any less yours.” He spoke low. “You can neither swim nor climb. But you can still plan and direct and think.”
Her head tapped against his as she nodded.
“I told you I will carry out your wishes, and I meant it,” Ian continued. “We will not fail you.” His words were true, and he meant them. He tried not to think about the Iseldan soldiers who would die in a few hours. But he had done his best to save them. This was all he could do.
Robin’s hand slowly moved again. She brushed it across his shoulder and then brought it back to his neck, resting her palm flat on his back.
“Thank you,” she said.
Ian waited, not moving, as he sensed she had something more to say. And he was enjoying the warmth of her hands seeping through the thick cloth of the water clothing.
“Iseldis needs you,” Robin finally said. She squeezed his shoulder with her hand, then removed her touch altogether.
Ian nodded. “Thank you.” He wished she had said “I” instead of “Iseldis,” but he accepted her words all the same.
“Are you ready?” Aizel called out from a few steps further down the sandy shore. She, too, was wearing the specially crafted water clothing, but she moved in it quite comfortably as it was of Majis design.
Standing behind her, Sol, Lane, and Nele were also wearing the water clothing. They twisted around themselves, making final adjustments and checking the various weapons and tools they each had strapped to their legs, back, and waist.
Aizel held out a small vial, crafted from a pearl-like substance that glimmered even in the starlight. Morning was close, but no light yet streaked the sky.
“I am ready,” Ian said. He took the vial, applying some of the fragrant oil inside it to the area around his nostrils. This mixture was another common Majis tool used by the divers in Istroya, allowing them to breathe underwater.
Sol, Lane, and Nele stepped into the freezing ocean water, where Ulli and Jette sat waiting in two small rowboats.
Sending a final look to Robin, Ian followed Aizel into the waves. His muscles tensed as he stepped into the water, anticipating an icy cold stab that never hit his skin. The water clothing was already working—until water splashed up against his bare hands, surprising him. But his hands would go numb soon.
Pushing Jette’s boat further out into the water, Ian and Aizel jumped into it while they still had sandy ground below their feet to jump off from. Jette would row them out as close as they could get to the approaching Majis ships without attracting attention.
Once in the boat, Jette handed them each a small piece of dried meat. “Eat,” she instructed as she grabbed the oars.
Ian accepted the meat but could not bring it to his mouth.
“It is too early to eat,” Aizel said.
“It may be hours before you get another chance,” Jette responded.
Ian thought about the plate of fruit and bread that his father put out for the councilors every morning. Perhaps if he had learned how to eat early then, his stomach would not be rebelling at the thought now. The thought of a warm cup of tea,however...He would never sit at that table again, he realized. And only in part because the table itself had been destroyed in the attack on the castle.
For a moment, Ian noticed that the thought did not distress him as much as he felt like it should. He wanted to sit across from his father at a table someday, drinking tea together. But he did not miss sitting through the long meetings with the councilors, reading through the never-ending correspondence from across the kingdom, and talking through every possible option and outcome for decision-making.
If he somehow survived this and took back his kingdom, he would be thankful to spend every morning for the rest of his life sitting around that council table. Or, rather, at the new one they would build.
But that was a dream world. A fantasy. Restoring that world was no longer a viable possibility. So here he was, offering his skills to negate as much damage as possible from Gareth’s chaos.
When they were far enough from land that they could no longer see the shore, the rowers stopped.
Ian adjusted his water clothing one final time, pulling at the tight collar around his neck and checking the stability of the short swords at his back.
Aizel slipped over the edge of the boat. A practiced swimmer, she barely made a splash as her body disappeared below the dark surface of the water.
Before she could resurface—and not wanting to be outdone—Ian jumped into the water. This time, he fully submerged. The icy water surrounded his unprotected head, shocking him into stillness for several seconds. Forgetting that he had applied the oil to breathe underwater, he held his breath, waiting for his muscles to catch up to his mind.
Then, his body finally started to respond and he kicked his legs. Tilting his head toward the surface, he brought his mouth above water and gasped for air.
Aizel and Sol swam next to him, breathing heavily in the cold. They nodded at each other in the darkness, then wordlessly slipped back below the surface, Aizel leading the way. Nele and Lane followed.
