Page 71 of Minor Works of Meda

Chapter 31

It felt as though the Ward were pressing down on me, devouring me clean through, blurring every sense until the world was muffled and pale. Oraik’s screams came to me through a great depth of water, his words indecipherable. He fell towards me, shook me; rose and ran to the open porthole. A blur, moving slowly, his panic like a strange dance I watched over a great distance.

A bird squeezed through the porthole, falling open into Kalcedon’s shape.

And then the magic was in me, a burn so powerful it hurt, blazing through every inch of my body and calling each nerve back to painful life. I gasped; convulsed. Kalcedon was right there, over me, on all fours, his face inches from my own.

“Come back,” he begged hoarsely. The words were clear; the first clear sounds I’d heard since his cries on the buffeting wind. “Come back to me.”

“I’m here,” I whispered, peering up at him as the world focused. His dark hungry eyes bore into mine, desperation drawn in the sharp lines of his face; the way it softened as he searched me and found life. “You came,” I whispered.

Kalcedon panted a laugh and bent low over me.

“Of course I did, you imbecile.” He pressed his lips to mine, gentle with relief. The heat didn’t hurt anymore; instead I drank it in. At the touch of his mouth I leaned up, taking what I needed as my lips moved firmly against his. Kalcedon seemed to melt; his body pressed to mine as his lips parted. Magic poured into me; the heat of his breath, the press of his hips. My body sang with need. I wrapped my arms around his neck and ground up against him, desperate to burn out the last memory of the cold.

Oraik, standing in the corner, cleared his throat. Then he cleared his throat again, louder.

Kalcedon’s mouth pulled slowly from mine, the deep, hungry kiss softening to a graze of lips; then a breath between us, then a great distance. The witch sat up and pulled me with him. Still limp from my brush with death, I leaned slackly into his arms and drew a deep shuddering breath. I thought I could stay in the embrace of Kalcedon’s power forever.

“But she was dead,” Oraik mumbled.

“Not quite,” Kalcedon said fiercely. His hand curled around my back, holding me to him. Placing his lips next to my ear, he whispered: “don’t you ever do that again.”

His palm flattened against my skin. Then another jolt of heat rammed into me, more magic than my mostly-human body knew how to carry. Which meant it was a waste, but it certainly felt good. I shuddered delightedly at the burn of it.

“I don’t plan to,” I mumbled back, tucking my head against the frantic pounding of his heart. “Though if this is how you react, maybe I ought to.” My whole body sang.

“Never,” he whispered.

I felt something odd happening behind us, a snaking burn of magic on the other side of the door.

“Kalcedon,” I warned. “There’s a spell.” I didn’t know what it was, just that it wasn’t coming from either of us, which, likely as not, meant it was bad.

He stood, and the best of the heat went with him. Scowling, Kalcedon shot a barb of power to the wooden door. With an earsplitting, splintering crash, it burst apart. Oraik shrieked and jumped a foot in the other direction.

The unknown spell retreated as fast as a fishhook being hauled from the water. They’d been spying, perhaps; figuring out where all the new heat below deck had come from. I struggled to my feet, thinking fast.

The porthole was open, letting in a stiff ocean breeze that tossed the few fast-vanishing feathers into the air. We were barely safer than before. Yes, Kalcedon was here, blazing hot as the sun; but we were still trapped in the belly of a Colynes warship, with two faeries on deck that seemed to be working with Colynes—or at least with captain Ozeri.

“I’m going to tear this goddamn ship apart,” Kalcedon growled. A dark, brooding power coiled around him, blisteringly hot.

“While we’re on it?” Oraik squeaked.

“When we get above deck, make for the wolf-boats.” Kalcedon’s fingers flexed in preparation for spell work. He kept staring at the broken, splintered hole where the door had been, a furious look etched on his face. The feeling of raw power around him kept growing.

He was burning hotter than I’d ever felt, as if more and more magic poured from the deep well of his blood. I couldn’t tell if my dizziness was from my brush with death or from the scale of him.

“Oh. Smart thinking,” the prince said, sounding a little relieved.

“It’s called not having shit for brains. Meda, make a shield,” Kalcedon growled.

I stood frozen for a moment, my mind still catching up. We were going above deck—yes. Where Kalcedon was going to do—something. So we could escape. And I would make a shield to keep us safe. My eyes flickered to Oraik, who looked like he might faint.

I grabbed the iron knife out of the cupboard, wincing internally even though it was sheathed, and pushed it into Oraik’s hands. He gave me a bewildered look.

“I’m not stabbing anyone.” The prince took it, but held it away from his body like it was a rotten fish.

“You might have to, if it’s that or be stabbed,” I told him. There were more enchantments stringing to life above us. I looked up at the ceiling, nervous what might await us there.

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