My blood pumps sluggishly. A chill starts in my stomach and spreads through my limbs, an uncoiling terror.
Roiven thinks this fear is enchantment, not real. I take a step toward the sea, then another. If the witches can fly toward that blue explosion, surely I can let the sea wash over my feet. There won’t be reapers right where the waves break.
My limbs begin to shake. Ten feet away from the water, a wave of nausea hits me so strongly that I clamp a hand over my mouth and sit down. The world spins. I pant until the feeling passes.
It was never this bad before. But then, I’ve never tried to overcome it like this. I inch forward without standing, scooting a foot across the rocks. My feet seize up and refuse to move. I switch to my hands and make it a few inches further before my whole body begins to shake so violently I can’t do anything. With a cry I try to throw myself forward, but I just collapse. My heart is pounding so fast I think it might burst.
The moment I wonder whether I’m capable of making it, my brain decides that I amnot, and I must retreat, and I find myself crawling rapidly back up away from the sea. I don’t manage to stop myself until I’ve put another ten feet between me and the ocean.
I’m not going to let fear conquer me. I try again, and again. Hours pass. I sit, stand, pace. I even crawl toward the waves. But when the sand gets packed and waterlogged, the sensation of my fingers sliding into the sea-wet shore makes me retch and scramble backwards.
Dawn burns pink in the sky. I huddle against the rock wall of the cove, fifteen feet back from the lapping water, and stare grimly at it. I’ve been pushing my fear all night and now I’m so exhausted I barely register the sound of footsteps behind me.
“There you are,” Roiven says.
I swing my head to look at him. Before I can scramble to my feet the witch sits beside me, resting his elbows on his knees andstaring out at the water. His black hair is loose. The cove’s muted wind tangles with its ends.
“You’re back,” I say. He doesn’t nod or give any indication. He doesn’t even look at me, but I look athim, at the red rimming his eyes and the hard clench of his jaw. “Were there any…?”
“All gone,” Roiven says, his voice like a cleaver cutting bone. “So. You’re leaving.”
I blink at him, and then realize how it must look, finding me down here after my insistence that he give me a ship.
“Oh. No.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Trying…” I draw a ragged breath and look away from Roiven, worrying my bottom lip with my teeth. He turns to face me then; I can see it from the corner of my eyes. But most of my attention is focused on the sea, foamy and spiteful, reaching and reaching and reaching toward me.
“What?” he asks.
“I can’t.” My voice breaks.
“Can’t what?”
“Go in. I’m trying. But I can’t go in.”
“To the sea?”
I glance at him. Roiven is staring at me, but he still has that exhausted, hard look, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I want to know. So I reach for him, in my mind.
He doesn’t think I’m pathetic, like I do right now. All I feel from him is hope. And grief.
The witch rises to his feet and offers me a hand. Slowly, I reach up and take it. Roiven pulls me up. My whole body trembles.
Without letting go of me, he turns and walks toward the water. His hand clenches so tight around mine that it almost hurts, but I need that firmness. I need him to believe I can do this. And I’m with him for the first three steps.
Then my legs stop working and my heels dig into the sandy beach.
“Come on,” Roiven urges.
“I can’t.”
“What’s stopping you?”
Everything. But I can’t say that. His people are dying. I refuse to be weak, to let fear be the reason I do nothing. I’ve been trying all night, but maybe I just needed help. He takes another step, his hand pulling at mine. I close my eyes and force myself forward. My body shudders, fighting, but I focus on Roiven.
“Come on,” he says.