The Deepest Blue(112)

Elorna hesitated. “What do I tell people?”

“Tell them it’s a miracle. Or tell them you were unjustly imprisoned. Or tell them the truth. Or tell them a different truth every day they ask. The ones who love you won’t care. They’ll just care you’re alive and home.” Mayara held out her hand.

Elorna took her hand and climbed out of the boat. It rocked gently behind her in the waves of the harbor.

In front of them was their village. It looked better than the city. Granted, it hadn’t started out as grand, so perhaps it looked good to Mayara only because it hadn’t had that far to fall. Or maybe it’s beautiful because it’s home.

She pulled Elorna along the dock, stepping gingerly over broken boards and hopping over holes, and then they were on the sand. The clamdiggers were out, bent over the shore, baskets on their backs, trowels in their hands. On the rock jetties, the grandmothers were perched like waiting cormorants, except with fishing poles.

One of them was Grandmama. She saw them first—her sharp eyes missed nothing. “Could it be true? Have our lost girls come home?”

“Yes, Grandmama,” Mayara said, running across the sand to hug her. “We’re here.”

Elorna lagged behind, as if suddenly shy, but after embracing Mayara, Grandmama reached past her to squeeze Elorna’s hand. “Makes me feel twenty years younger to see you girls. Or else question whether I’m still alive. Nah, back hurts too much to be dead. Give me a hug.” She pulled Elorna in for a hug too.

Mayara saw tears brightening her sister’s eyes.

All the clamdiggers and fisherwomen clustered around them, touching Elorna’s gray robes, clucking over Mayara as if she were a chick that had wandered off from the henhouse. She didn’t tell them about the monsters in her head, and they didn’t ask how Elorna was still alive. Seeing the gray robes, they’d probably guessed. Or maybe it was enough for them that the sisters were home.

After they’d greeted all the elders, they walked hand in hand toward their parents’ house. It was in the heart of the village, and all around them people came out of their houses to stare, hug them, cry, tell them the latest news, offer them food, and welcome them home. By the time they reached their parents’ door—which was battered but still standing and, Mayara noticed, decorated with Kelo’s charms—they had a small train of people following them.

“I’m scared,” Elorna said softly.

“Think of it like a dive,” Mayara said. “Deep breath. You’ll feel strange at first, and then you’ll belong.”

And then you’ll drown, the snake said in her head.

Shut up.

Mayara opened the door. “Mother? Papa?”

From within, she heard, “Mayara? It’s Mayara!” Papa’s voice.

She guided Elorna inside and saw her parents had guests: Queen Asana’s parents. She recognized them from the rescue at Neran Stronghold. Kelo made it safely! If they were here, he must be too! She wanted to see him so badly that for an instant she couldn’t think. But then she remembered where she was and pushed Elorna forward.

“Papa?” Elorna said. “Mother? I’m home.”

Mother gave a cry like a wounded gull. Papa staggered, steadying himself on the back of a chair, but Mother flew to her without hesitation. She touched Elorna’s cheeks, her hair, shook her shoulders, squeezed her tight, pushed her back, and then began to cry.

This is what joy looks like, Mayara thought.

Humans, the snake said. So excitable.

You woke up grumpy and decided to destroy a city, remember?

She thought she felt the snake laughing but then thought that must be impossible.

A hand squeezed hers—the queen’s father, sitting in one of her parents’ chairs. “Our granddaughter, Roe. Is she . . . ?” He couldn’t complete the sentence.

“She’s fine,” Mayara said. “She’s the queen, and she’s fine.” Or should that be “she’s the queen, but she’s fine”? There was a difficult road ahead for her, shouldering as much responsibility as she was. “When she’s certain it’s safe, I think she’ll send for you.”

“We’d heard rumors, but . . . thank you.”

She stayed longer, letting her parents fuss over them. And then she excused herself. Waving to people as she passed, Mayara ran the rest of the way up to Kelo’s studio.

The path along the cliff was in the process of being cleared. Mayara could see the indents where boulders had fallen and then been pushed aside, and there were recent saw marks on fallen trees, cut away so that it was easier to walk. She had to climb over a boat that was impaled in the cliffside.

The shells on the last bit of the walkway had been washed away by the rain, and the studio itself looked like a patchwork quilt: fresh wood hammered over the damaged logs. But there was something beautiful about it: new patching the old, pale green against the knotted, weathered gray.

She stopped at the doorway, listening to Kelo puttering around inside. He was whistling a sailor’s song, and she heard the sound of wood being sanded. He’s making art. She wondered what kind of charm it was and whom it was for. And then she wondered why she was delaying.

She just wanted to drink this moment in and make it last.

It won’t last, the dragon told her. Your lives are so fleeting.