The Deepest Blue(17)

Kelo spoke as he worked. “Once we’re certain the Silent Ones have lost our trail, we’ll go to the next town and buy passage to one of the other islands. Start a new home in another village, or even a city. We could even go to Yena and live right under the queen’s nose if we want. No one will recognize us, and so long as you don’t use your power, the Silent Ones won’t have any way to find us.”

“I won’t use my power again,” Mayara promised.

He worked quickly and with a steady hand, the knife flicking over the shell. “I can set up shop anywhere—there’s always a market for charmwork—and your diving skills are useful anywhere in Belene. And then once Queen Asana and the Silent Ones have forgotten all about us, we’ll come home. Might not be able to stay, but we’ll be able to see our families.”

It was a beautiful plan. She loved how certain he was. He could paint a future in her mind that felt as real as any memory. “How will we know when it’s safe to return?”

“I left flags with my father, disguised as charms. He’ll fly one whenever the village is free of Silent Ones—that way, we’ll know whether we can visit.”

“And if we can’t ever return?”

Putting down his knife, he glanced at her. “So long as we’re together, we can conquer anything.” He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

Maybe he’s right. We’ve come this far. Leaning back against the cliff wall, she watched him walk to the shore. Still in the shadow of the overhang, he knelt. When a wave kissed the shore, he rinsed the shell.

Without warning, the wave lurched, and a creature launched itself out of the seafoam. It looked like a sea turtle, but its jaws were narrow and studded with teeth. A water spirit! “Kelo!” She hadn’t opened her mind for spirits. She’d thought they were safe here. “Kelo, get back!”

Lunging for Kelo’s knife, she grabbed it as the spirit latched onto Kelo’s leg. Screaming, he fell forward, catching himself on his hands. She heard a snap that sounded like bone breaking.

“No!” she cried. Screaming, she stabbed at the turtlelike spirit’s neck.

The spirit released him, and Kelo clutched at his leg—it was coated in blood, and she saw his calf had been savaged. She struck at the spirit again, but it evaded her.

The spirit lunged for him again, this time landing hard on his chest.

“Kelo!”

She couldn’t let it kill him. She’d promised . . . but there was no choice.

“Mayara, don’t!” Kelo shouted.

Go! she commanded the spirit. Leave us alone!

The spirit scuttled back. It retreated over the sand, snapping its jaws at the air, and then into the water, where it submerged. Then she released her focus and ran to Kelo.

“You shouldn’t have—” he began.

“I’m not losing you,” she said fiercely. “I told you: I’d do anything for you.”

“It will tell the others. A Silent One will read its memories. You shouldn’t have— Ow!” He contorted in pain. Blood speckled the rocky shore.

Please, she prayed. Don’t die. Please, please . . . Mayara dug into the nearest pack for a healing kit—he’d packed bandages and salves, plenty of them. Oh, my clever boy. Cracking open a jar of salve, she dipped her fingers into it.

He caught her wrist. “Wash the wound first.”

“It’ll sting,” she warned. “We only have saltwater.”

“It’ll cleanse. Do it.”

She scooped seawater into the abalone shell he’d been carving and poured it over his leg. He hissed as it stung. She noticed he was cradling his wrist against his chest. Broken? His palms were scraped raw. She poured more water over his hands.

“How bad?” he asked.

She didn’t answer.

“Mayara?”

“I’ll stitch it up.”

“You can’t sew worth a damn. Give me the needle—it’s a sterile one, this is what it’s for. There’s sinew thread in the kit too.”

“You aren’t going to sew your own leg,” Mayara argued. “Do you know how much that will hurt?” But he was the one who always fixed her. He knew how to do this. Her hands were shaking as she handed him the kit.

“Just help me sit up, please.”

She braced his back as he leaned forward and saw his leg. Oh, Great Mother. It had been torn open. She watched him try to thread the needle, his hands trembling. He dropped his arm down. “Let me,” she said, and taking it from him, threaded it.

He then took it back from her, ignoring her protests, and plunged the needle into his skin. He let out a howl that made her heart feel as though it were being squeezed. “Driftwood,” he panted. “For me to bite.”

She hurried to the shore and returned with a chunk of wood, which she placed in his mouth. He bit into it hard as he sewed his own flesh closed. He spat it out when he finished, gasping, and she eased him backward.

His eyes fluttered closed.

“Kelo?” Her heart pounded so hard that she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She pressed her fingers to his neck. Still a pulse. He just fainted. Anyone would have fainted.

She fetched more seawater and began rinsing off more of his wounds. He’ll be okay. He has to be.

A few moments later, he opened his eyes. “Mayara?”