Page 34 of The Flame and the Forsaken

A Seduction of Ropes and Rigging

The water sent a stinging pain from her toes to her head when her boots pierced through, but Mariel had no time to think, because the force of her entry had sent her plunging deep under the waves. She flailed in alarm but quickly remembered what her father had taught her about the dangers of panicking, so she shifted her conscious effort toward relaxing her limbs, flipping her feet, and angling her arms down to return to the surface.

She gulped in a screeching breath of air, the desperate sound engulfed by the great roaring sea. Her chest was full to bursting. A cool wave swiped her, dragging her under again, but she let her buoyancy lift her back to safety.

The lifting and pulling continued until she got the hang of the pattern. Her bearings slowly returned.

From the sea, the rise of land looked considerably higher than it had before she’d dementedly jumped to what could have just as easily been her death if the water had been any shallower. If she’d hesitated at all, though, she would be in custody.

Or dead.

Of all the things she had ever done as an outlaw, nothing had ever felt so dangerous.

Or so wickedly invigorating.

The sharp rays of the sun blinded her, but with a squint, she could just make out the form of a man, waving his arms from the top of the cliff. He was too broad to be Erran, but she saw no sign of her meddling husband. There wasn’t time to wonder why. Whatever else happened, she’d never be able to return to her marriage.

The guard was unlikely reckless enough to jump in after her, but if she didn’t hurry, he’d make it to town and procure a vessel that would reach theMistwitchlong before her tired body would. Even if she did get there, there was still so much work to do to ready her for sail, and it would take far too long with just one person doing it all.

That was a problem for the future. She had but one job in the now.

Mariel was a lake swimmer, not a sea swimmer, but analyzing the differences was a luxury unavailable to her as she bobbed in the sea, one foul wind from drowning. The White Sea was infamous for its treacherous waves in open water and untenable sailing conditions, but the coastal currents were calm and easily navigable. She could make it.

She would make it.

Mariel turned until she’d fixed theMistwitchin her sights. She closed her eyes and pumped her arms and legs, looking up every few strokes to gauge her ship’s distance. Gentle waves carried her backward, slowing her momentum, but she pushed on, counting her strokes and turning her thoughts off.

A hard ache settled into her legs. Her lungs seized in response. She thought she heard someone calling her name, but the sea was so loud, consuming and blending her senses into a morass of disorder. It would consume her, too, if she gave into it.

Water is water. I can do this.

Mariel pushed on, each stroke in direct defiance to her fright, her demand for hesitation and reflection.One, two, three, four, five, six,she counted, starting over when she’d lost her place.One, two, three, four.She allowed herself another glance up and saw theMistwitchwas only a few yards ahead, glittering in the midday sun—anchored and waiting for her mistress.

She dipped under the water and didn’t emerge until her hand struck wood.

Sputtering, she crested, swallowing as much air as her lungs allowed. She used the divots in the hull’s wooden cage to guide herself to the stern of the ship, where a ladder was fastened. Her heart hammered as she made her way to the back, but it lodged in her throat when she saw someone was already halfway up, stretching a hand down to her.

Erran.

She lifted her elbow onto a thin ledge to steady herself and took his hand. With a grunt, he hoisted her effortlessly up and out of the water, locking her fingers over a rung, but it left her spread between the outer hull and the ladder.

“I have you,” he said breathlessly. His soaked hair was matted against his flushed face, seawater dripping down his eyes to his chin. His aquamarine eyes glistened, like how the sea looked when the sun reflected off its surface. “You can let go. Trust me.”

I don’t trust you a whit,she wanted to say. A wave thrashed her feet and her hold slipped, causing a few of her nails to bend back. She grimaced through the sharp pain. “What are you... doing... here, Erran?”

“Is now the time you want to have this conversation?” His jawline tensed and constricted as he worked to keep hold of her and the ladder. “They’re coming, aye? So we can argue about it, or you can accept my help and we can get the bloody feck out here.”

“I can...” Mariel couldn’t get enough breath to speak. She took a pause. Her bleeding fingertips strained on the wet wood. “Do it myself.”

“I could barely reach it from the water, Mariel, and I have half a foot on you. It’s meant for going down, not up.” His muscles on the arm gripping the ladder strained under his translucent white shirt. “Let go, and swing my way.”

It wasn’t the time to argue, and she shouldn’t have needed the princeling to tell her so. She inched her hand closer, more nails bending along the damp wood as she struggled to stay gripped.

“Mariel, let go already!”

Mariel yelped through her teeth as she released the hull and threw as much momentum as she could toward him and the ladder. His arm scooped her waist, catching her right as her grip on the rung slipped. He snapped her against him with a low grunt, but instead of pushing her up and ahead of him, he climbed up with her tacked to his waist like an adornment and pulled them both up until the gunwale was in reaching distance. She grabbed for it and wormed her way over the side, then crashed onto the deck with a rolling thud.

Erran landed on his feet behind her. This time when he offered a hand, she didn’t take it. She needed her wits about her, because the only trouble as bad as the guards pursuing her—after she’d boldly, stupidly outed herself as the Flame to save her friends—was a Rutland discovering her criminal activity.

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