Page 28 of The Demons in the Deep: Extended Edition
“Once we’re indoors, you’ll be fine,” Mai said. “Put up the hood of the coat, to hide your ears—here.” She reached up and pulled the hood into place, tugging it low to shadow his features. Rake inhaled the scent of her fingers—savory with whatever food she’d eaten last, tinged with something chemical or herbal.
Mai hustled him through the quiet gloom of the inn’s common area and pushed him up the stairs.
“I’ll put you in my room,” she said. “Then I’ll go get Kestra and Flay. They’re in the pub next door, and they’ll be so thrilled you’re alive.I’mthrilled you’re alive. I thought I’d never see you again.” She opened a door at the end of the dark hallway, into a room cluttered with trunks and parcels.
Rake followed her inside, wincing a little as the flame of a lamp flared up, glowing through frosted glass.
“Don’t mind all this.” Mai’s cheeks flushed brighter, and she shoved some of the items aside with her foot. “I went shopping today. Bought things for science, for study—” She swayed on her feet, and Rake caught her, careful not to scratch her skin with his claws.
“You should sit down,” he said. “Rest. We can wait here until Kestra and Flay come back. There’s no hurry.”
“I do feel rather floppy.” Mai sank onto the edge of the bed. “This is why I don’t usually drink. It goes to my head, and then I can’t think clearly when exciting things happen.”
Rake seated himself on the bed opposite her, arranging his coat so it covered all the parts that humans seemed to find inappropriate. After a moment, Mai tilted over against the pillows, as if it was too much trouble to hold her head up any longer.
“You said you had something to tell me,” she murmured. “Something important?”
If he told her, she would struggle against the sleep she so obviously needed, so Rake said, “It can wait. One question before you sleep—what about Flay? Takajo told me he was anxious about this voyage, that he feared punishment for his late return.”
“It’s a mess,” Mai said drowsily. “He’s got to participate in this contest with the rest of his father’s captains. All of us have to participate.” She yawned. “I’m supposed to make weapons, design a boat, and I honestly don’t know… when I’ll have… the time.”
Her eyelids closed, her lashes fanning dark against her flushed skin. Her face was thinner than he remembered, and her cheeks had deeper hollows. The hand lying against the pillow was birdlike, delicate—almost skeletal. Rake wanted to scoop it up and hold it against his heart where it couldn’t be damaged.
Kestra was like the golden sun, rich curves and luscious fullness, hot with anger sometimes, but beautifully warm when she wanted to be. Mai was like an intrepid blue star, shining with impetuous ferocity, burning itself out with the sheer force of its desire toknowand tobe. They were both so lovable Rake thought his heart might burst with the joy of knowing them.
“Champion,” Mai muttered. “Flay needs a champion, someone to fight in the first round of the contest. Jazadri could do it, I guess. But from what Flay said, there are going to be some pretty unusual fighters in that ring. It’s all part of the show, you see…the spectacle…and people die…” Her voice trailed off.
Rake sat in the warm silence of the room, watching the lamplight bob and glimmer against the creamy plaster of the walls. A short time ago he’d been streaking through the cold darkness of the sea, covering the final distance between him and his destination, and now he was sitting in a room that smelled of lamp oil and herbs, on a soft mattress that did not shift or sway like the beds of seaweed he was used to.
The change from sea to land always jarred him. The sea was comfortable, nurturing, dreamlike—and dangerous. Even the rocky caves where he’d sheltered of late had curved sides, notches, grooves, and dimples—a continuous flowing shape. But on land, things were dry, sharp-cornered, and bright. The rooms were rigid boxes, six hard straight walls on every side.
The sea always shushed and gurgled and echoed in his ears, a never-ending song, but the air here was quiet, except for Mai’s slow breathing. She had fallen asleep.
Rake smiled, tossed his satchel onto the floor, and lay down on the other bed to watch her.It was a relief to be completely still.Even during its calmest moments, there was always movement in the sea, little eddies of current, subtle ripples from the faraway antics of some other living thing. Mai was rather like the ocean—perpetual vibrant energy. Even as she slept, her fingers twitched and her chest surged, and after a while she tossed herself over, limbs flailing askew.
Rake didn’t realize he had drifted into sleep himself until he heard a sound—sharp, like the hiss of wind over waves. But he was too deeply submerged to fully rouse; his eyelids were heavy, and it would have been such a chore to lift them. He began to drift away again, when he heard a low voice—a voice he recognized. The first human voice he’d heard on Kiken Island.
Kestra.
“Guess who is in my bed, Flay.”
“This is the least fun game we’ve ever played, Blossom,” came Flay’s voice. To anyone who didn’t know him, his tone was a careless drawl; but Rake could hear the exhaustion and strain in it. “I’ve no desire to guess whose luscious body has torn your heart from mine. Let me see.”
A door creaked, and Rake opened his eyes just as Kestra pushed the bedroom door wide and Flay stepped in.
His blue eyes locked onto Rake instantly, and for a moment the captain simply stood there, staring. He swallowed hard and whispered, “Goldfish.”
Rake didn’t protest the nickname. He stood up, heart pounding.
Flay swiped a hand across his eyes. “You, ah—you escaped the Entity. You—bilge and breakwater.” He sat heavily on the end of the bed.
While he was recovering, Rake risked a look at Kestra.
She wore a blousy shirt that bared her lovely shoulders, and her black hair spilled in abundant curls over her right breast. Her round cheeks were scarlet with surprise, and possibly with some of the drink that had put Mai to sleep.
Kestra’s dark eyes glinted. “I saw you die,” she whispered.
“The Horror saved me. Healed me. It took a long time.” The story got shorter every time Rake had to tell it. Though he’d learned the lengthy oral histories of his people and could spin an elaborate tale himself, this story was still too fresh. He didn’t want to talk about the pain of the healing process, or the disgusting sensations of the slimy sac in which he’d been encased. He didn’t want to share most of the visions he’d been given, or how he’d feared that the Horror would never release him. Nor was he ready to describe how he’d been squirted out of some orifice in the Entity, how he’d had to get his bearings and find his way back to Kiken Island, through a sea vastly different than the one he knew.
