Page 16 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea
She swam in a tight circle around him as the pain faded. He gave no further signs of awakening, and now that she could breathe again, she darted in to grab hold of him once more.
Wind pummeled them until she didn’t know whether she was above or below the waves. For what seemed like hours, she could do little more than hold him out of the water so he wouldn’t drown. Exhaustion clouded her vision, but every time she thought about letting him go, something warned her not to.
At last the crashing thunder faded away, and the lightning no longer blinded her. The waves were still agitated, but she could swim through them.
Ahead was a stretch of sandy shore, just behind the rocks. She flipped the man onto his back and grabbed hold of his collar. It took all her concentration, but she began to make headway against the waves. Rocks lurked along the shore, and despite her best efforts, she was tossed against them repeatedly.
Sand brushed against her fins as she kicked. She pushed the man in front of her and used her arms to propel them both forward onto the beach.
The tide followed them up the sand as though seeking to drag him back into the depths. Sorcha turned so she was sitting in the sand, the water over her waist. Every seventh wave sloshed over her head as she scooted backward. She settled into a rhythm of shuffling back, then hauling the man as far as she could.
Her arms trembled with exhaustion, and the temptation to return to the ocean grew. She panted, unable to catch her breath. The farther she went out of the water, the harder it was to breathe. But the water kept reaching for them, and she couldn’t leave the man until he was above the high water line.
His chest rose and fell so slightly she had to put her hand on him to feel it. She should sing for him again, but breathing was too difficult, and she doubted she had the strength to pull her healing magic into it.
Finally he was free, and she collapsed onto the sand beside him. The rain had stopped, and the wind no longer threatened to strangle her with her hair.
A fiery pain rippled through her fin and tail. She cried out. It washed over her like the traitorous tides. Whimpering in agony, she crawled back to the water, seeking its soothing touch.
Swimming back to the grotto was out of the question. She tucked into a corner of the rocks where she couldn’t be washed out to sea and laid down in the water. She tried to sing, her voice barely a whisper between the sobs, until at last she passed out.
Chapter five
Thecoldseepedthroughhim, and Arick turned to hide beneath the covers. He rolled over and the mattress beneath him shifted. His pillow scratched his face, and his blanket was gone. Every muscle ached, and his head felt dull and thick. He fought his way from the depths and forced one eye open.
A stretch of sandy beach greeted him, littered by rocks, driftwood, and other debris.
Why was he asleep on a beach?
He’d been at Thomas’s birthday party, but surely he hadn’t consumed that much wine to end up here. Not even at his graduation at the naval academy had he been so foolish as to drink enough to lose control of his sensibilities.
Memories of the storm came crashing down, and he sat up in a panic.
His stomach and head both protested the movement, and he retched up the saltwater he had swallowed. He flopped back on the sand when he was done.
Where was Thomas? Was everyone okay?
He forced himself upright again. Black spots danced at the edge of his vision. He moved slowly, trying to clear them. He had to get up, had to go find Thomas.
A flicker of light drew his attention to the lighthouse, standing a lonely sentinel on the far clifftop in the gray morning.
The storm had cast him onto the far side of the harbor, and he looked with despair at the city in the distance. Exhaustion settled on him, exacerbating how far he would have to walk.
The sea still showed signs of the turmoil of the night. Pieces of the ship were scattered across the beach and caught on the rocks. He shuddered, not from the cold but from the dread of how anyone could have survived.
No one else was on the beach near him. Only smaller pieces of debris were this far from the water.
How had the storm pushed him so high up on the sand?
It had come up so suddenly — from a near perfect day with a cloudless sky to a storm that had ripped the ship apart.
Only magic could do something like that. He swallowed hard, his throat as rough as the sand.
Magic belonged in old legends, the stories that were told over firelight. No magic users had been heard of in a hundred years. But how else could he explain the suddenness of the storm? The power and frequency of the tempests that had been plaguing the island of late could only have been caused by magic.
The thought made his head hurt. He let it fall to his hand, wincing as his fingers brushed a sore spot. Dry, crusted blood clung to his hair. Looking down, he could see a streak of it on his shirt. His jacket was gone, as were his boots.
He should care more, but he found he couldn’t summon the energy. Thomas needed him. That’s what he was supposed to do.
