Splashes and drips sounded as the boat approached, its oars dipping and rising in sync. Amaranthe waited until the thieves were twenty feet away. When she was about to submerge to swim underwater to the boat’s hull, that cursed owl hooted again. It flew overhead, a dark winged form gliding beneath the stars. It had to be warning the Nurians.
Amaranthe took a breath and submerged anyway, hoping the thieves could not understand the bird’s alert.
Darkness reigned below the surface, and she couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face. Only sounds guided her, the splash of the oars and scrapes as they bumped against the hull.
She swam toward the noises, hands outstretched. She needed to find the hull without bumping into the oars-that would give everything away too soon.
More seaweed grasped at her ankles. Amaranthe struggled for calm and tried to shake herself loose. When that failed, she used the dagger to cut herself free. The stuff was definitely trying to snare her. She had to keep moving. An image flashed through her mind, slimy tentacles wrapping about her whole body and pulling her to the bottom of the lake, never to let go…
Her hand brushed something. Wood. Yes, there was the hull.
Amaranthe found a grove and hung on as the thieves rowed, with luck unaware that they carried extra cargo now. Kicking softly, so they wouldn’t feel her weight dragging at the boat, she placed the tip of Sicarius’s dagger against the hull beneath the cargo. She pushed upward and wiggled the blade, trying to poke a hole without making noise.
Though the dagger cut through the wood easily, the going was slow and Amaranthe’s lungs were starting to burn. She might have to risk swimming away, catching her breath, and coming back to finish.
More seaweed curled about her ankle, and she jerked her leg free. Her knee bumped the bottom of the boat. The oars paused.
Amaranthe grew still and curled her legs beneath her to make sure they would not stick out to the sides of the boat. She doubted the thieves could see anything under the dark water, but…
One of the oars started probing about. It brushed her sleeve. Cursed ancestors.
Amaranthe jabbed the dagger into the bottom of the boat. No more time for stealth and finesse. The black blade bit through the wood as if it were soft cheese. She sawed a fist-size hole.
An oar angled in again, this time clipping her in the ribs. Her air escaped in a parade of bubbles. Another oar from the other side of the boat hammered against her shoulder. They weren’t probing any more but attacking.
Her hole would have to do. Using her feet, she pushed off the bottom of the boat. Her trajectory took her more downward than she would have liked, and tendrils of seaweed snaked about her from all sides. One piece clamped about her ankle, and another her wrist.
Fighting against panic, Amaranthe slashed with the dagger, keeping her cuts calm and precise. It was hard when her lungs were crying out for air and more seaweed clawed at her on all sides. She could see nothing in the dark water either, so everything was by touch. She cut the tendril restraining her wrist and twisted, lunging for the one at her ankle. A cold strand of seaweed slid beneath her shirt. She bucked away from the slimy intrusion.
A loud crack sounded overhead. A gunshot being fired.
They might not be able to see her, but they must be able to see evidence of her thrashing with the seaweed.
Amaranthe finally cut herself free and stroked away without any elegance. If she’d had any breath left, she would have gone dozens of meters before breaking the surface, but she had to come up long before then.
The squabble with the seaweed left her disoriented, and Amaranthe didn’t know where she was in relation to the boat and the island. As soon as she lifted a hand to dash water out of her eyes, something slammed into her from above.
The weight forced her several feet under, and she fumbled Sicarius’s knife, almost losing it. An arm snaked around her torso, a strong muscled arm. The male thief. He was in the water with her, on top of her.
Metal scraped against her cheek. He had a knife too.
Amaranthe ducked her head to protect her neck and slashed her blade into the arm restraining her. A yelp of pain sounded, the noise distorted by the water.
She twisted so she faced the man and stabbed again, trying to find his torso in the darkness.
Something brushed her foot. The cursed seaweed again. It probably wanted to hold her down so he could stick her like a pincushion.
Amaranthe yanked her foot free, and kicked hard with both legs, angling around the thief-or where she thought he would be-thinking to take him by surprise. He might think she’d flee and be chasing after her.
A current breezed past; the thief swimming by her?
Amaranthe took a chance and lashed out with Sicarius’s dagger. It slipped into flesh and muscle, far more easily than a normal blade would have. The man screamed, but he managed to grab her wrist as she was retracting the blade.
Knowing he had his own knife, Amaranthe pulled both legs up to her chest and kicked out. Her heels hammered into the man’s abdomen, and he released her with a grunt.
She ought to close and finish him, but she needed air. She clawed her way to the surface, though she tried to break the water carefully, so the woman would not hear if she were nearby. Maybe the thief would be busy with her sinking ship.
As soon as Amaranthe broke the surface, she inhaled a great gulp of air. A rifle cracked, and water splashed inches from her head.
Amaranthe ducked back below the surface and swam. She had not had a chance to get her bearings, and had no idea which way she was going, only that she needed to put a lot of meters between herself and the woman with the gun.
She stroked until her lungs burned for air, and then stroked farther. Only when her fingers scraped algae-slick rock did she come up. She had run out of room to run. In her heart, she hoped she had swum toward the mainland instead of the island, but her brain knew that was unlikely-she hadn’t traveled far enough for that.
When she broke the surface, she let only a couple inches of her face come out, just enough to breathe in several deep breaths. When a few seconds passed with no one shooting at her, she lifted her head farther.
She was indeed back on the island, kneeling in the shallows. The woman’s voice floated to her from twenty meters away. Her boat was sinking-only an inch or two remained above the water-and she had pulled the man to its side. She was repeating something over and over. His name? He floated in the water on his back, unmoving.
Amaranthe closed her eyes, grimly realizing that she’d killed the man. The poison. Even in the water, some of it must have remained on Sicarius’s knife.
When Amaranthe opened her eyes, the woman was looking in her direction. The darkness hid the thief’s features, but there was no mistaking the long gaze toward the beach. The woman grabbed a rifle and slid into the water, leaving the man and her sinking cargo behind. She stroked toward the beach.
Without turning her back on the woman, Amaranthe eased out of the water herself. She backed to the foliage and ducked behind a tree. She still had Sicarius’s knife, and she judged the distance to the beach where the woman would be wading out. The thief would be most vulnerable then, slogging out of hip-level water. Amaranthe flipped the blade and mentally steeled herself to make a throw. If she didn’t take her adversary out, the thief would blast those fancy new bullets into Amaranthe’s chest.
When she raised the blade to throw, a calloused hand grabbed her wrist.
She jumped to the side, trying to twist her arm and pull it free, but the steel grip held her firm. “Sicarius?” she whispered, not certain whether to hope it was him or not.