Page 54 of The Trials of Ophelia

“I don’t care?—”

“You can’t help him if you’re dead.”

She fell still at that.

Agonizingly, we waited until he was close enough we could risk the short swim, and then dove in. Sharp teeth nipped at my legs, but they couldn’t break through my boots.

The harsh, stormy current slammed against my cheeks. I kicked pygmites without remorse. One shot out of the waves, arcing over my head. Treading water, I ripped my dagger from my thigh and jammed the creature through the gullet as it aimed for Ezalia’s shoulder.

She had one vision right now: Seron. And I protected her back.

He was muttering something as she reached him. He was alive.

But the red in the water was darkening every second. I didn’t know how much longer he’d stay that way.

Ezalia pulled something from Seron’s grasp. A rope. She looped it around him and tugged to tighten it. Then, with a wide-eyed nod at me, we began the short swim back to shore. We’d only gone about twenty feet out—but it felt so much further with the weight of Seron’s life weighing us down.

My throat and the pygmite bites burned from salt water, limbs straining and body water-logged. Tolek was on the beach as we trudged from the waves.

He pulled me up, hissing at the marks covering my skin. They weren’t severe, though, already sealing over.

“Seron,” I breathed.

Tolek pulled Seron from the water, and?—

Spirits.

His legs were shredded.

From right above the knee, they were nothing more than strips of flesh and scraped bones. Whether it was from the blast, the pygmites, or both, I didn’t know.

Ezalia ripped two vials from her wrist strap, pulled the corks free with her teeth, and dumped blue liquids over what was left of her partner’s legs. He writhed beneath the sizzling tonics, smoke curling up from the injuries. Ezalia only bent over him, pressing her lips to his head, and muttered, “I’m sorry,” repeatedly.

When the steam cleared, the blood had staunched. It didn’t have to be said—Seron wouldn’t walk again.

He was breathing, though. Clammy skin sweat-soaked and pale, eyes fogged over. But alive.

Lifting a limp hand, Seron tugged on the rope he’d been dragging.

It was only then that I realized where it had come from.

Andrenas. The rope they’d had on their belt when we left.

They’d thrown it out to him when the island went down, so they could remain together. I didn’t know what happened to Chorid, but these two had at least tried to stay intact. And now…

I followed the rope to the tide.

Found a ragged lump of flesh at its end, victim to the beasts in the water after the explosion.

They didn’t even look like a person anymore. Didn’t resemble anything that had once lived.

I fell to my knees in the waves and silently screamed a violent prayer. I didn’t know who it was to—certainly not the Angels—but I asked someone for the revenge these warriors deserved for taking on a battle that shouldn’t have been their own. For Chorid and Andrenas and all those who had died too soon to be given their peace.

And I swore I’d see to it.

I curled my hands in the sand for one last grounding moment, then shot to my feet and raced back up the beach.

“Ophelia.” Tolek grabbed my elbow and swung me around to face him. I had my mask sealed up tighter than ever, though. Wouldn’t even let him in.

---