The Drowned Woods (56)
“I knew there would be something in these caverns,” he said. “I expected traps, puzzles, mazes. I did not think monsters lived beneath the city.”
“Only within it,” murmured Gryf, as if to himself.
“Well, perhaps you should have hired someone who knew better than to carry half a library with him,” said Ifanna.
“Can we not speak ill of the man who was just trampled alive?” said Mer sharply. She had taken refuge on the ground, her back to the cavern wall.
Ifanna scowled at her. “I thought you all knew what was down here.”
“And I thought you knew the risks,” said Mer. “This isn’t a pleasure walk, Ifanna.”
Deep-seated anger flickered through Ifanna’s eyes. She was afraid, Fane realized. Ifanna’s fear was the kind that manifested as fury, because it was something she could control.
“You were the one running toward those creatures,” said Ifanna, her voice low and hard. “If I hadn’t grabbed you—”
“Don’t pretend that was for my benefit,” said Mer with a bitter little laugh. “You were protecting your reputation. If I die, then who will find the Well? And if we can’t find the Well, then there goes your giant pile of gold and treasures. You’ll have to slink back to the guild empty-handed.”
“You think I grabbed you because I want gold?” said Ifanna, incredulous.
“It’s why you sold me out the first time, isn’t it?” Mer spoke the words through a clenched jaw. “Lives mean little to you—I knew that. But to laugh at a man who just perished and to pretend that you need me for anything other than your own gain… don’t, Ifanna. Just don’t.”
Ifanna’s lips pulled back in a snarl. “I wasn’t laughing at Emrick,” she said. “He was a fool and an arse—which is why he never should have been brought on this job. It’s a crew leader’s responsibility to know who should be out in the field, and who shouldn’t be.” She nodded in Renfrew’s direction. “He should’ve known that, if he’s leading you all.” She took a deep breath, but Fane heard a slight shake on the inhale. “And if you think I’m here merely for gold, then you never knew me at all.” She strode away and Mer watched her go.
Fane didn’t know how to offer comfort to her—so he kept his silence instead. Trefor whined softly and pawed at Fane’s leg. He knelt beside the dog and petted him.
Mer blinked several times, and then said, “Is he hungry?” She sounded as though she needed something else to focus on, and Fane could understand that.
“Thirsty, I think,” he said. “Mind cupping your hands?”
She nodded, leaning forward and forming both hands into a small bowl. He poured a little water into them and Trefor lapped it up greedily. Fane poured a little more. When the dog had finished, he began licking Mer’s wrist and arm.
Mer gave him a wavering smile, patting Trefor’s side. “Good boy,” she murmured. She lifted her eyes to Fane. “How are you?”
“I feel as though I should be asking you that question,” he said.
Her mouth pinched at the corners. “Ask me again in a few days. For now—I don’t know.”
“If there’s anything I can do,” he said, and let his offer end there.
She pushed herself to her feet, rubbing at her backside with a small grimace. Those rocks did look rather sharp. “Thank you,” she said quietly. She took a breath, and he watched as she seemed to detach herself from the fear and grief—her shoulders squaring, her eyes distant. “But unless you can stop the tides, we should keep moving.”
CHAPTER 17
THE OCEAN WAS coming in.
The lantern was beginning to wane and flicker, and Ifanna replaced the candle, striking another to life. She hung back, never quite meeting Mer’s eyes. Not that Mer was trying to catch her gaze. Mer paused only to drain the last water from her flask. Trefor was beginning to weary, his tail drooping as he walked. Fane picked him up, putting the dog on his shoulder. Gryf was as calm as ever, his broad shoulders taking up too much space in the narrow cavern. And Renfrew was quiet and watchful.
They could not run. But they did move as quickly as possible.
The tunnel narrowed further, until Mer had to crawl. She moved on hands and knees, fingers seeking in the dark, hoping every moment that she wouldn’t get stuck. Her heart pounded hard; she could not imagine a worse fate than being trapped, just waiting for the water to rise.
The tunnel began to wind upward, and Mer found herself half crawling, half walking up a steep incline. At least the rough stone provided natural handholds and she had yet to accidentally grab a dead fish or clump of seaweed. She was just beginning to relax, to think that their journey was almost over, when a surge of water hit her squarely in the face.
She sputtered, spat out the taste of salt, and blinked several times. The water was breath-stealingly cold. A shudder ran through her and she held on tighter, for fear of losing her balance. Someone behind her coughed raggedly—Gryf, by the sound of things.
“Mer?” That would be Renfrew. He didn’t sound quite alarmed—but there was a question in his voice.
She closed her eyes, reaching out with her magic. The weight of the ocean pressed down on her, and it felt like standing in the shadow of a mountain—aware of how small and powerless she felt in comparison.