“Hold on!” Iestyn shouted, his heart hammering in his chest. A wal of water reared on the horizon, gray and terrible as a ghost army, spears of debris held aloft by dirty crests.
Foam spewed and flew as far as the eye could reach.
He tightened his grip on the ship’s wheel, his palms burning. Sweating.
“We have to Change.” Roth thrust the sealskin bundled in his arms at Iestyn. “Now.”
The heavy pelt thumped to the deck. Iestyn’s pelt. Every F o r g o t t e n s e a 219
instinct he possessed screamed at him to grab it and go, flee, dive. Abandon ship.
Madagh barked, barked, barked, the deep, frantic sound echoing Iestyn’s own terror.
He swal owed the greasy panic in his stomach, prayed he wouldn’t disgrace himself. “You go. The prince trusted me to see the boat to safety.”
“Prince Conn would not ask you to die for his boat.”
“His boat, no. Maybe his dog.”
Kera stumbled over the rope Iestyn had used to tie himself to the mast. “Don’t be stupid,” she snapped. Her eyes glittered. With tears? But selkies did not cry.
Roth growled. “Not stupid. It wasn’t his idea to turn around.”
“He agreed. We al agreed. I thought we could help.”
Kera was a talented weather worker. But her magic could not turn the demon tide. The wal of water thundered toward them under the sun-washed November sky.
The bow hit the first deep trough and pitched. Spray shot up on both sides. Madagh’s claws scrabbled furiously for purchase on the wooden deck. Kera lunged for the rail as the ropes binding Iestyn dragged and held.
Chafed and burned.
The wrinkle on the horizon swel ed. Another wave.
No, land. Another island rising from the slate blue sea.
Iestyn drew a shuddering breath, struggling to get his bearings.
Lara stirred in his arms, her slight weight anchoring him to the present. “World’s End.”
Journey’s end.
He could not speak. His heart stil pounded. His throat burned.
Iestyn’s arms around her were ridged like ropes. His breath rasped. Lara turned, her own heart quickening in sympathy, a drawn-out, distant roaring in her head like the approaching tide. “Another flashback?”
She should have expected it. Last night had triggered one, too. Iestyn’s past was crashing in on him, his future rushing in on him like the wave in his dreams, inexorable, inescapable.
“Are you al right?” she asked.
He nodded, his pupils wide and unfocused.
“It’s natural for you to be upset,” she said gently. “You must feel like you’re losing your cohort al over again.”
His gaze narrowed on her face. “What?”
“Your friends.” The sturdy boy, the sulky-mouthed girl in his dream. Lara kept talking, saying anything, real y, determined to banish that black, blank look from his eyes.
“I know when Bria left, I. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Real y? Because you look terrible.” Sweat beaded his upper lip. Beneath his tan, his face was gray. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“I’l be fine,” he insisted, irritation roughening his voice.
She slid her arm around his waist. He resisted leaning his weight on her. But when she nudged him to the seat on deck, he lowered himself heavily onto the bench.
The cable repairman shifted over to make room.
“What’s the matter with him?”
Iestyn ignored him, closing his eyes, al his golden vitality drained away. His head dropped back, exposing the long, strong column of his throat. Just above the neckline of his shirt, his skin was red and inflamed.
She frowned. Redder than before?
Gently, she inserted two fingers under the edge of the fabric. Iestyn jerked from her touch, baring his teeth like an animal in pain.
Her heart wobbled. Shifting to block the cable guy’s vision, she slowly, careful y peeled back the col ar of Iestyn’s Tshirt.
Her stomach lurched. Her vision blurred. She blinked to clear it. The skin around the heth puffed, fresh blisters bubbling on already raw flesh.
“I think he’s had too much sun,” she said to the cable guy.
She moistened her lips. “Would you mind. Could you get us some water?”
“I don’t need anything,” Iestyn said.
“Water? Sure.” The man pushed to his feet, leaving his bucket under the bench. His boots clanged on the metal stairs as he descended to the lower deck.
“How long has it been like this?” she asked Iestyn.
“Started. When the island came in sight.”
Men. “Why didn’t you tel me?”
He raised his lashes and looked at her. “Because I’m okay.
I’m breathing, aren’t I?”
Worry made her sharp. “Barely.”
Incredibly, his dry lips twitched in a shadow of his customary smile. “Beats the alternative.”
Yes, it did. But she didn’t know what to do for him now.
Forcing air into his lungs wouldn’t relieve his pain.
“We need to take it off. The heth.”
His lips tightened. “Not now. Your friend with the bucket wil be back any minute.”
be back any minute.”
She stared at him helplessly. She had to do something to relieve his pain. What would Miriam do? Or Simon?
Burns were common at Rockhaven. The factory workers cal ed the process of blowing, pressing, and casting glass
“taming fire.” Jacob was always complaining of firstdegree burns from pausing too long at the furnace or gloryhole, second-degree burns from handling hot glass. The first, best treatment was to plunge the burn in water.
Which she didn’t have. She glanced at the ocean tumbling out of reach before she stooped and blew gently on Iestyn’s inflamed skin.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to help.”
“I’m not a steak dinner, babe. You’re not going to cool my meat by blowing on it.”
She ignored his innuendo, focusing instead on the angry red swel ing below his col arbone. “Do you have a better idea?”
“Yeah. Ignore it,” he said.
“And it’l go away?”
Their eyes met, the memory of last night vibrating in the air between them, the feel of him in her hand, hot satin over stone.
“Eventual y,” he muttered.
But an idea had sparked. “There’s a sign for water.”
His brows drew together. “A sign.”
She nodded. “A rune. Mem.”
Like the letter M with an extra uptick at the beginning.
She traced it in her mind, sort of a wave shape. Inside her, power squiggled, rising and fal ing with each line, a surge of possibility, a downstroke of intent.
What should be.
She touched a single fingertip to his throat. The contact kindled a quiver low in her bel y, a tingle in her fingers and her toes. Down and up and.
His hand, warm and strong, covered hers. She jumped.
“No spel s,” he said flatly. “No magic. I don’t want the demons tracing us here.”
Her heartbeat quickened. “Then we shouldn’t have had sex.”
Their gazes locked. Held.
A corner of his mouth curled. “That was worth it.”
Warmth flooded her face. “So is this,” she insisted. “So are you.”
He looked unconvinced.
“Anyway, we’re in the middle of the ocean,” she said.
“What are they going to do? Swim after us?”
Al those years, the sea had protected him. Until she found him and brought the demons down on them both.
“At least let me try,” she said.
Slowly, his grip on her hand relaxed. She breathed a sigh of relief.