But, of course, it wasn’t Destonne who dealt with it. No, he was off doing whatever he pleased. Maybe he’d taken a few Scarlets to his bed and retired for the evening. The thought made her clench her teeth until her jaw ached.
She didn’t need Destonne. Sure he’d helped her, but she could take it from here. Maybe there was truth to the King’s jokes and the sink-or-swim method was the best way to learn. There was only one way to find out.
The remaining threads of sunlight faded, the air chilled, and night swept shadows into the water, stealing its serenity. At least she’d be warm once she got into the hot spring.
Emmery tugged her tiny shirt down and summoned her strength.
She refused to be afraid anymore. She could do it on her own.
“We don’t need him, right Aera?” Emmery glanced at the fox at her side.
Aera gave her a toothy grin but eyed the water wearily as if saying,You’re out of your mind, woman. Sit down before you hurt yourself.
But all this waiting plagued her and she wanted her damn memories back more than anything.
So she leapt.
As she fell, a moment of gravityless freedom seized her, then the water opened to swallow her like a ravenous carnivore. The weight of her body pulled her under and she sank. With each kick and swipe of her hands she reached for the surface, eyes burning, plants grazing her ankles, and hair clinging to her face like dampened spider webs.
Her head breached the water and she gulped air like life itself.
But her tread faltered and her head dipped under. A hearty inhale of water flooded her mouth, lungs, nose, and her throat burned as she sputtered. She managed another bob to the surface, but the same happened again. Distantly, Aera yipped, but there was nothing the fox could do.
She squeezed her eyes shut as the water claimed her once more and images bled back. She pleaded,no, no, no—but they scratched at her closed lids until her memories clawed open like an old wound.
The water was everywhere and Maela was nowhere to be seen. The chill seeped inside her and she didn’t know which way was up. The river tossed her. She tumbled like a stone. The brackish water stung and she wasn’t sure where she began and it ended. She couldn’t get to Maela. Couldn’t save her sister and—
Sharp pain ripped her from her terror, as her hand struck something and needles bit into her palm. Bubbles streamed from her mouth, clouding her vision, and the surface seemed too far away. Her limbs wouldn’t move, perilously frozen in this relentless fear, and she couldn’t see an end or a lifeline or anything bright as she sank to the bottom. Her lungs, now full of water expanded and shrivelled, as seconds ticked on, and herbody grew distant, like her soul tore away. A reptile shedding its skin.
She recognized this feeling: her greyed vision, frayed edges, and numbness settling into her burning chest.
Dying. She wasdying.
She’d been a fool to think she could do this.
As Emmery sobbed into the water, her tears blended with the pond, unseen, spent, uselessly shed. Her vision darkened, and a shadow loomed over like Death had come for her, as he had before. Would she reach back this time?
No. She had too much to fight for, a future to see to, the sunny heat on her cheek when she turned toward it, and if she leaned into that light, it tasted like hope.
So, she kicked and flailed and spent every last drop of energy fighting until she couldn’t move any longer, but she still couldn’t reach the surface and her hand lingered, extended and empty.
Until fingers wrapped around her forearm.
It was a familiar hold, hands she knew, like they’d been here before, in a similar place with similar fear and borrowed strength. They yanked her up, launched her out of the water as a strong grip braced her waist and held her slumping body above the surface.
She dragged sweet breath into her lungs, choking and sputtering as water trickled down the sides of her mouth. Her limbs trembled as she stretched for her rescuer, desperate to hold onto something solid, some tether to this world so she wouldn’t float away.
Her arms bound a neck, legs circled a waist, their shirt soaked through and moulded to a hard, muscular chest. There was a sharp intake of breath, maybe from her or him, as she folded herself around him and her face burrowed into the smooth skin of his neck. Her saviour held her, but his loose arms barely kepther in place and her limbs strained as she clung to him like he was composed of existence itself.
“I have you,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s alright, I have you.”
Her stomach sank as the deep, smooth accent struck recognition, and his familiar scent of cool mint melded with the earthy pond water.
Miraculously, Destonne swam them both to shore. After they emerged from the water, her legs wouldn’t release from around his waist, still plastered to him like some fucked up art project. Her body warred between numbness and unending fire and … gods, ithurt. But she couldn't source the pain.
With one broad hand Destonne cradled the back of her head, his fingers threaded into her unravelled braid, and his other hand splayed the small of her back as he carried her. Water streamed off their sodden clothes and his touch seared, his anger palpable.
“You have to let go, angel,” he said into the top of her head, his words strained as if he fought to keep his rage leashed. He’d never raised his voice at her and always spoken to her with unnerving politeness, but maybe this would be a first and she might truly taste his wrath.