The Deepest Blue(16)

Leading the way, she set out in strong strokes. Out of sight of the village, they swam on the surface of the sea. In some ways this was easier, because they had oxygen. But in other ways, she missed the smooth unbroken evenness of underwater—the feel of gliding like a fish instead of fighting with the waves.

“Mayara?” Kelo called.

“Don’t use my name.” She didn’t think any spirits were listening to them, but it was better to be careful. Quieting her own thoughts, she tried to hear any nearby spirits. It was tricky, given how many worries were swirling through her mind, but she pretended she was preparing for a dive.

She felt the spirits like unnatural ripples in the stillness of her mind.

There was one not far away, a water spirit swimming with a pod of dolphins, and another—this one an air spirit—gliding like an albatross on a current of wind. A half dozen tiny spirits made of seafoam were on the sand.

“Follow me,” Mayara said to Kelo.

She aimed for a cave, one that was visible only in low tide. They could rest there. With no trail, the Silent Ones wouldn’t be able to track them. The Silent Ones would be forced to rely on chance encounters with spirits, and Mayara didn’t intend to encounter any.

The cave will do, she thought.

She led Kelo through the water toward a cliff.

“If we climb, we’ll be visible,” Kelo warned.

“Not up,” she said. “Down.” And then she led the way, taking his hand and again swimming beneath the surface. She knew the shape of the rocks that marked the entrance, and she spotted them nearly instantly.

She swam unerringly into the cave and then up, bursting out of the water into complete darkness. Kelo gasped in air beside her.

“Where are we?” he asked, his voice echoing.

“Safe. For now.”

She picked a direction and swam until her fingers brushed rock, and then she climbed out of the water and collapsed onto the stony shore. “At low tide, the cave will be exposed,” Mayara told him. “We’ll need to be gone by then. Once the Silent Ones know the cave is here, they’ll send spirits to search it. But until then . . .”

Kelo flopped out of the water beside her. She heard him panting in the darkness and the squish of his wet clothes on the rocks. “We can eat and rest—I’ve food and a canteen of fresh water,” he said. “Damn hard to swim with supplies.”

“But you did it,” she pointed out.

“We did it.” He squeezed her hand.

“Obviously I did. But you swam pretty well . . . for an artist.”

He laughed, as she hoped he would.

Reaching out her hand, she entwined her fingers through his. For a moment, they lay there, side by side in the darkness, as their pounding hearts began to settle and their breathing steadied.

“I used to dream about the day we’d finally be husband and wife,” Mayara said.

“You were the one who said ‘nothing would change because we’re already united in our hearts.’ Or was that just a ploy to get out of the fancy celebration?”

She smiled, though she knew he couldn’t see it. “Living under the same roof. Able to be alone whenever we wanted to be. Of course I dreamed about it. Besides, you know I wanted those shrimp.” I didn’t request the spirit storm, though, or all that followed.

“It was a nice ceremony.”

“It was,” she agreed. “Until it wasn’t.”

He lifted her hand, and she felt the brush of his lips on her knuckles. “Whatever else happens, we are married.”

“And we’re even alone under the same roof,” she pointed out.

Rolling onto her side, she moved to kiss him, her body pressed against his. Their noses crashed in the darkness, and they both jerked backward. Mayara began to laugh, and then Kelo was laughing too. Still laughing, they began to kiss once more.

All mirth fled as their hands roved over each other’s bodies. They kissed as if it were their first time. Or their last. Slowly, because their muscles still hurt from their escape. Slowly, because the darkness was so complete. Slowly, because they wanted to treasure this night, their true wedding night.

Clinging to her best friend and the love of her life, Mayara knew she’d made the right decision leaving everything and everyone behind but bringing her heart and soul with her.

FOR EIGHT DAYS, THEY EVADED THE SILENT ONES. THANKS TO Mayara’s knowledge of the coast and ability to sense spirits, they were able to hide in the nooks and crannies, swimming between them unobserved. With Kelo’s supplies, they were able to keep themselves dry and fed, at least sort of—he’d packed a fire starter, and during times they were hidden enough to try a fire and had access to enough bone-dry driftwood, they cooked crabs that Mayara caught. When they didn’t dare risk a fire, they ate seaweed and raw oysters. It wasn’t copious amounts of food, but it was enough. For water, they collected and drank the freshwater runoff from the cliffs, catching it in shells.

Such a clever boy, Mayara thought. He planned it all.

She watched him as he chipped the barnacles off a shell he’d selected from the remnants of their breakfast. He was humming softly as he worked. He’d told her he wanted to make her something beautiful and practical—a bowl, carved from an abalone shell, that she could use to drink water or soup.

This was the first morning that they weren’t already in the water. Mayara had found a secluded cove with no access from land (unless you wanted to scale a cliff) and with an overhang that kept them from being seen from the sky.