Page 29 of Minor Works of Meda

We boarded and rowed back to shore. The boat had sails, but I was just sober enough to know better than to use them in my state. It wasn’t far to the hills, but halfway there my hands were already blistering and my shoulders ached from pulling. Oraik was utterly terrible at it, and I kept having to back paddle to keep the boat straight.

When we were nearly there, a wave hit us wrong and flipped us over. I never would have let it happen if I hadn’t been drunk. Though if it had to happen at all, it was good I was stewed when it did, or else I’d probably have strangled Oraik for letting the boat go sideways again. I choked on a lungful of sea water, came up gasping, and dragged myself out with all the dignity of a drowned cat. Oraik floundered until he realized the sea was only up to his knees. We pulled the Dancer ashore and sat there panting. My bag, thankfully, was around my shoulders instead of loose in the boat when it happened; I lost nothing.

I was too drunk to realize I’d dunked my precious, hard-labored journal full of notes in the Etegen just yet.

“Maybe we should take a little rest,” Oraik said. A yawn cracked his face. I nodded and collapsed. I didn’t mean to close my eyes for more than a few minutes, and I don’t think Oraik did either, but we were both drunk and exhausted and soaked in salt water.

We fell asleep curled up together on the rocks, and that was where, just after dawn, Kalcedon finally found me.

Chapter 15

“Meda,” a familiar voice said. “Meda, wake up. Curse it, Meda.”

I opened my eyes. The sun was hot and far too bright. Slowly I pushed myself up. My back hurt. The ground was hard. Stone. Was I sleeping outside? But my head had been resting on something softer. A man’s arm.

It came back to me far too fast, lashing through a throbbing, dizzying headache. Meeting Oraik. Drinking on the barges until I couldn’t walk straight. Rowing to shore. Falling asleep outside, on the rocks, instead of walking back to the city.

But it wasn’t Oraik talking to me. It was Kalcedon. When had he gotten there? I blinked up at him. Blue-gray, his face haunted, his eyes ringed from sleepless nights. Beautiful even at his worst.

There was a feather stuck to his shirt. As if he’d been flying again.

I inched away from Oraik and cleared my throat. The Wave Dancer was still beside us, pulled just out of reach of the tide. My clothes were mostly dry but crusted with salt and sand.

“Do you have any water?” I croaked hopefully.

Kalcedon didn’t respond right away. His chest swelled as he drew in a deep breath. I could see a storm brewing across his features.

Oraik blinked awake beside me. He looked calm for all of three seconds. Then his eyes widened into circles. He shrieked and grabbed my arm.

“Faerie!”

“It’s… oh, calm down.” A wave of nausea crashed over me, then subsided. I pulled my knees up to my chest and hiccupped.

Kalcedon gave Oraik a scowl, then turned the full force of his dark gaze on me. He opened his mouth. And then, he exploded.

“Ever loving mysteries, what in the Veiled God’s name are you doing out here, you abominable idiot?” His voice cracked with fury.

“Please stop yelling at me.”

“You know him?” Oraik asked, still panicked. “How? He must have—he came through, when the Ward…”

“You,” Kalcedon said. He stepped towards Oraik. The feather drifted off him in a puff of smoke.

“Me?” Oraik squeaked.

Now I was fully awake. Magic crackled off Kalcedon as he paced closer to Oraik. Closer to both of us, technically, but it was clear which one of us was his prey.

“You,” he repeated. “I don’t know who you are, or what you’re doing with Meda, but I swear to the unseen, if you’ve—”

“Calm down, Kalcedon. He’s a friend. We got stuck outside the chain. At night. Don’t blame him.”

“That’s your Kalcedon? Him?” Oraik demanded.

“Oh, I do blame him. I’m going to skin him alive.”

“Meda? He’s a faerie.” Oraik stumbled to his feet, gold-ringed hands wheeling for balance. Upright, he towered over the gray-skinned witch in both height and brawn.

Kalcedon twisted his hands. I saw the sigil-backings Eldrezar and Pleizan before I realized he was about to slam Oraik twenty feet back with a wall of air. I batted my hand through the spell, grabbing at the magic. Kalcedon must not have really wanted a fight. He let me do it.

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