Page 75 of Minor Works of Meda

“Yes, well,” I said, and brushed a strand of hair off his face as his eye slid shut again. Despite the cold I'd brought on I felt relief that he'd managed an answer. Kalcedon didn’t look as pale as he had earlier, though stains of soldier’s blood on his clothing, hands, and face made for a gruesome appearance.

I turned to Oraik to check on him. The prince was already awake, staring up at the sky. “Are you alright?” I asked.

“It hurts,” he muttered. There was a tightness around his lips he didn’t usually carry.

“Stop complaining. You’ll be fine,” Kalcedon muttered without opening his eyes.

“But—” Oraik said.

“I only had enough for a slow healing. You’re welcome, by the way.” Neither man was looking at the other as they bickered.

“I’m sure you’ll feel better soon,” I told Oraik quietly. “Do you need anything?”

“Water. And something to eat.”

The wolf was too small for a cabin, but there was a bench which doubled as a chest. The hinged seat lifted up to reveal storage. Inside that I found two ceramic jugs of fresh water. I took a gulp, and then couldn’t help but take another before I handed it around. Oraik needed help to sit. He winced and groaned at every movement, earning him dirty looks from Kalcedon. I propped him up against the mast.

“We don’t have food,” I announced. Neither of them bothered to answer, and silently I took stock of what we did have.

Our lives, chiefly, which was the best news of it.

The wolf, whose narrow, long shape was built for speed, not comfort. In addition to the water, the boat’s chest held a compass, a small knife, and sailing supplies such as a storm sail and spare ropes.

The bag I still carried, with such paltry items as changes of clothes, tooth-cleaning paste, and the awkward, lopsided little wooden bird Kalcedon had carved for Eudoria. My clothes wouldn’t fit Oraik, so for the second time in as many days, the prince would have to content himself with wearing bloodstained, ripped clothing. Kalcedon’s shirt wasn’t quite so bloody. And I could change into clean clothes. There was blood on my bag, but it hadn’t soaked through.

“Don’t turn around,” I heard Kalcedon say to Oraik. “I’m washing up.”

“Sounds nice,” Oraik answered, his voice flatter than normal. “Wish I didn’t feel like my chest was on fire.”

I stared at the darkening tree line and tried not to feel sorry for myself. It was going to be an uncomfortable night, that much was clear, but we’d live through it.

There was a small splash.

“Done,” I heard Kalcedon say. I turned and realized that by washing up he’d meant clean himself in the ocean. His clothes were an unfolded pile by the boat’s edge, and his head was visible above the shadowy sea. Suddenly a dip seemed like just the thing.

“Can I join you?” I asked, unsure if he’d want the company after what he’d done. “I can keep to the other side.”

“I don’t care.”

“Meda,” Oraik hissed softly. I crouched beside him. The prince’s eyes flicked towards the water, where Kalcedon bathed.

“What?”

“Let’s leave him.”

“What? No.”

“I heard what he said about me.”

“He burned himself cold to save you.”

“No. To save you.”

“Well,” I said, with a sharp exhale. “Kalcedon… he’s complicated.”

“All the more reason—”

“Enough, Oraik. I’m going to wash up.”

---