Page 29 of Of Songs and Silence

My fingers fumble and slip, distracted as I am by the fray.

The lightning fast movements are impossible to track, but time and again I catch sight of Ari, attacking with expert precision whenever one of the Mayima tries to slip past him. For all that Madame has forced me to bear witness to her savagery in the past, it’s me who can’t look away now. Not when Ari makes protecting me a thing of art, even in its brutality.

The pink in the water turns to a darker red, and somewhere in the chaos, I lose sight of Ari entirely. Frantically, I search for his blue-green hair, his distinctive gold trident, anything to tell me where he is.

But he is lost among the moving bodies. And the unmoving ones.

Something inside of me flares to life. An unreasonable fury and fear that propels me into action. Instinctively, I slam my barriers into place, locking out any whisper of thought as I cement my plan.

I know that it makes no sense. I tell myself that, even as I will the marlin forward. I’m trapped between instinct and logic, unable to make myself stop, to think this through, to listen to reason even as I take myself through the litany of reasons that I should stay put.

I can’t fight. I have never trained. The Mayima are fierce, ruthless. Taking them on is the equivalent to challenging Mother herself.

Still, I prod my marlin toward the fray, pulled by an invisible tether. My panic ebbs incrementally with each bit of distance I cover between me and Ari. Leaning forward in my saddle, I apply pressure to the fish with my calves and heels, just like Ari taught me, urging him to go faster. To head straight into the battle.

I feel, more than see, Napo wrapping his tentacles around my waist, hanging on tightly as we slice through the water at a blinding speed.

Groans of pain and grunts of exertion sound all around me, the crimson in the sea clearing just long enough for more to replace it. I don’t even let myself consider that any of it might belong to Ari.

It can’t.

Two more bodies float upward. They’re both unfamiliar, but I’m not so naive as to be relieved yet.

We circle the fighting men until I finally spot him—the golden glint of his trident and teal hair standing in stark contrast to the other Mayima.

He’s incredible to watch. Each arc of his weapon, each blow he lands—it cements the feeling of safety inside of me. Safety, and something else I can’t quite name.

As he locks tridents with one Mayima, though, a female warrior goes for his back. I have seen enough of Ari’s prowess to know he will probably end this quickly and spin in time.

Probably.

But that irrational, panicked part of me is already propelling me into motion, unwilling to risk the chance that this is the time he falters. Spurring the marlin forward, I aim for the attacking warrior. I have no idea if this will work, and do my best to allow the fish to feel my intentions. He flies through the water, directly toward the fighter with the golden hair. Ari spins and catches sight of me, along with one of the others, but it’s too late.

Before anyone can react, we crash into our target, the marlin’s armored bill spearing clean through the female warrior. The coppery tang of blood fills my senses as we swim through the hazy red. Am I imagining the way it burns my eyes? The way it fills my nose and coats my throat?

It’s an effort not to lose the precious few contents of my stomach as the fish shakes her free. She’s badly injured, but not quite dead yet. I glance back over my shoulder just as Ari’s mount arrives, the gleaming silver of its armor piercing through the woman once again.

He pushes her back toward Ari, who raises his trident to finish the job.

With one smooth arc of his weapon, the woman’s head is no longer attached to her body. My hands shake. My stomach seizes. Ari’s voice is in my head, a distant melody that I can’t quite focus on but try to tether myself to, all the same.

The marlin turns around, either at his prodding or at mine.

My eyes have barely locked back onto him when I feel a white-hot pain lance through me. It steals my breath, and I double over in shock as my legs grip the saddle. My hand darts to my exposed skin, but where I expect warm blood to pool between my fingers, there is nothing but sea water.

There is no injury. No weapon protruding from my ribs, nothing but the smooth skin that was there before.

It doesn’t make any sense. The phantom pain lingers and my mind races. Some weapons are more discreet than others. I do a quick calculation of the things I’ve eaten, the things I’ve touched—wondering if I’ve been poisoned somewhere along the way.

I glance up just as Ari spears the final warrior with his trident. He stops moving, slumping forward as a gush of blood rushes out of him. Ari uses his trident to push the body away. Disgust or fury mar his perfect features as he moves closer. He calls for his marlin, struggling to secure his feet in the stirrups, hand clenching his side.

“Are you hurt?” I ask, momentarily forgetting about my own pain.

He doesn’t bother to answer, his teeth grinding together instead.

Movement pulls my attention upward. Sharks have already arrived, circling like vultures, ready and waiting for permission to consume the dead.

“We need to get out of here,” Ari says before slamming his walls up once again.

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