Tide

by Lacy Sheridan

  When some of the soreness had eased away, I retrieved the soap left beside the tub and set to work scrubbing weeks’ worth of dirt and dried blood from my skin. I worked it through my hair, pulling out leaves and mud and knots until the strands ran silky between my fingers and the water was dark with grime. With a sigh, I hauled myself out.

  I jumped when the door swung open, whirling around though my view was blocked by the screen, but a soft, feminine laugh greeted me. “You scare easily, did you know that?”

  Ellesaeah. I sighed and grabbed the thin towel draped beside the tub. “Only when I’m with strange tidespeople,” I said.

  “Once word has spread that you’ve come with our Lord no one will risk trying to harm you. Can you tend to your injures yourself, or would you like help?”

  I thought through my hurts, pinpointing them. Most I could deal with, but my back needed attention, still scraped raw by the cage I’d escaped. “Most of them I can treat.” I watched the silhouette of her as she tossed a forest-green bunch of fabric across the top of the screen and then offered a small pack around it. I took it carefully.

  A jar containing a paste the color of the Realm’s strange grass, a cloth, bandages. I lifted the jar out first, turning it in my hands, and asked, “What is this?”

  “A salve. It will protect from infection.”

  I pulled the top off and took a cautious sniff. It smelled earthy, herby. Not unpleasant. “It’s safe?”

  Her scoff sounded genuine, as if she couldn’t simply lie and I’d never know. “I don’t like the idea of being skinned for hurting you, thank you.”

  I scooped up a small blob onto a finger and touched it to one of my many scrapes. It was cool, soothing, and I sat down on the floor to get to work. I was close to done before I worked up the words on my tongue. “Have you ever been skinned?” I asked her.

  A moment of silence, and I wondered if it was too personal a question. But then, “All selkies are, when we’re trained. To teach us how to handle it.”

  I couldn’t stop a wince. For the sake of training?

  It made sense, in a terrible, brutal kind of way, but pity ran through me. “I’m sorry.” Her silhouette shrugged. I secured the edge of a bandage. “He said he’d only ever been skinned once, and it wasn’t by any tidesperson.” I wasn’t sure why I said it. It was Aven’s business, and if he chose to keep it to himself, it was his choice.

  It shouldn’t have hurt a little, somewhere deep in me, that he hadn’t told me.

  “He can keep what secrets he chooses. It’s his right.”

  She was correct. I got to my feet, ensuring the towel covered my front, and asked, “Will you…help with my back?” She stepped around the screen, looking unbothered by the conversation or my state, and took the supplies from me. I swallowed hard and turned my back to her.

  The silence stretched on, and I wanted to ask a thousand things. What was this about Aven being a Lord in the first place? Had he trained in a place like this, put through the horrors I’d begun to see? Was Aven the only thing stopping her from putting one of those blades on her belt through my neck? Was she a potential ally, or did she despise me and her commander and her so-called Lord for putting her in charge of my well-being?

  Ellesaeah spoke before I could decide if I should voice any of them. “What did you do to yourself?” Her voice had an edge of more curiosity than anything she’d said to me so far, and no coldness.

  “I was put in a cage. I didn’t like it.”

  She stepped away, wiped her hands on the cloth, and tossed the dress she’d brought at me. A wry smirk twisted her lips. “A human with some fire to her. I’m pleasantly surprised.”

  “We don’t all cower at the thought of you.” I tugged the dress over my head, wincing as every movement pulled at my wounds. It was simple in design, its skirt reached the ground and its sleeves were longer, made for winter. I wasn’t going to complain, not as long as it was clean and dry.

  The selkie took her time replacing the supplies in the little pack. “Too many of you cower. Too many don’t. I don’t want you to cower, I’d be happy with never having to deal with your kind. You in your place and us in ours. Less death that way.”

  “So you don’t hate humans, then?”

  She met my eyes, hers the same shade of green as the dress and far less comfortable. “I don’t like humans. I don’t understand why he would want one with him. But I respect him and I trust him, so for that I’ll welcome you here. Unless you give me a reason not to.”

  My throat felt too dry. “I won’t.”

  She closed the pack and gave me a smile. “Then all should be fine.”

  We didn’t speak as she led me out of the bathing shelter and across the camp again. Eyes lingered on me, though when I dared to meet them, they flicked away. Maybe word had already spread about who I’d arrived with.

  Which brought on a whole new wave of need to ask Aven what I’d missed.

  We stopped before another building as simply made but larger than the others. A step led to the front door, set at the end of a railed porch. Some semblance of privacy in a place designed for functionality above comfort. A window beside the door was curtained, blocking the view inside, but I saw the flickering shadows of a fire. Ellesaeah pulled the door open for me with a reluctant flourish, gesturing for me to go inside. “The finest we have. As promised.”

  The first thing I noticed was the smell—fresh bread, making thoughts of home and Edrick swirl through my mind and the backs of my eyes prickle as much as it made my mouth water.

  The second was the sun-and-dewdrop voice of Moray, “What do you mean you never told her?”

  “Can we please enjoy the impression of civilization we have and discuss this later?” Aven sounded not annoyed, but as if it wasn’t the first time Moray had asked the question.

  “Not in the gods’ names, Aven.”

  A sigh. “You know exactly why. When we met it would have sent her running. And now…” He paused and my heart tripped over itself. And now? I paused a step into the door, listening. “She doesn’t see a selkie. Adding a title might change that.”

  “A title—”

  The sprite cut off, and Aven spoke, all tired amusement. “Come eat, Hania, and don’t eavesdrop.”

  My face burned but I kept my chin high as I strode into the room. Damn their hearing. “I wasn’t eavesdropping,” I said as I slid into a chair across from Aven at a plain wooden table . He’d bathed as well: his skin was clear of the dirt and blood he’d gathered, which made the hints of sealskin more vivid in the firelight. His clothing was clean and fresh, more casual than the leathers I’d half-expected him to adopt. And his damp hair had been cut—long but less wild.

  He looked like a Lord lounging among those he didn’t need to play the part for, and I fought the urge to touch him.

  “Only because a lady doesn’t eavesdrop. And you’re staring again,” he said.

  I cut my gaze from him and to the food spread before us. Nothing luxurious, but far more than I’d seen since leaving home. I set to work filling my plate. “Never.”

  I didn’t look up but I heard the smile in his voice. “Never.”

  Moray made a sound between a laugh and a snort, hovering over a bowl of berries as it selected the best one. “You two are much less subtle than you think.”

  “I saved your life and I can take it away, sprite.”

  “You’d have to catch me first, little one.”

  I tore into a roll dotted with seeds and tossed a tiny piece at Moray. It swirled through the air to catch it. “Eat your food and shush.”

  “She’s sounding more and more like you every day, Aven.”

  Aven’s eyes glittered when I looked to him. “Like I said, good influence.”

  I studied my plate rather than let myself stare at him again. “So, what’s our plan now? When do we go to the Eyes?” Even if Ellesaeah’s treatment wasn’t quite seamless and some of the muffled sounds from outside sent chills through me, I knew the
Eyes would be worse. Much, much worse. I wanted to linger, but every time I thought about doing so, Tobin’s face came into my mind and my feet itched to move on.

  Aven’s answer came more business-like than before, the relaxation and humor gone. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning. That way we’ll have a chance to rest somewhere more comfortable. We should be in the Eyes by evening.”

  One more day of travel, and then we were there. I’d be so close to my brother, to getting everything I’d come here for.

  So far from it, too.

  I nodded. “Alright.”

  A heavier kind of quiet fell while we ate. Aven caught me glancing at him and then elsewhere, trying to piece my questions together without voicing them. He pushed his plate away, folded his hands on the tabletop, and fixed me with a long, steady look. “You can ask, Hania.”

  I could ask, but did I want to?

  He’d told me about this Court. The things they believed and did. If he was a Lord of it, what did that mean for him? What had he done for the sake of his position and title?

  I drew a deep breath and let the question flow out with it. “Are you really a Lord?”

  He nodded once. “I’m a Lord of the Dragon Court. It’s why I knew I could bring you here and you’d be safe. Nobody would dare hurt anybody who came in my company, not if they wanted to stay in one piece.”

  “But you said…” I couldn’t find the words.

  “Everything I said to you was true. I swear on the gods. My father was a Lord, yes, but he was a warrior and he did die for the barrier to be created. I can sense it because of the piece of his magic within it. I did train to be a warrior as well, and in a camp like this one, and I have fought for my Court.”

  My voice shook. “A Court that hates humans. That kills them. And you aren’t just a little piece of it, you’re noble.”

  “None of us choose how we’re born.”

  That was true. I knew that. And I knew it wasn’t fair to blame the person with the position for every wrongdoing and misjudgment of the entire Court. But I couldn’t stop the thought, and I couldn’t stop myself from rising out of my chair and pacing across the room. A fire burned in the stone fireplace, warm and bright and homey, and I stared into it. “What’s the worst thing you’ve done, as a Lord?”

  No, no, I didn’t want to hear that. I’d heard some of the things he’d done already and I didn’t want to know more.

  I needed to. My heart raced when he looked at me and his touch made the world sink from beneath my feet, and if I was going to decide what to do about it I needed to hear the worst he had to offer. Not just looking for adventure in the wrong places.

  “Hania—”

  “Please,” I cut him off, turning. He’d moved silently again, standing behind me. “Tell me, please. What does being a Lord mean?”

  “It means a lot of official nonsense, and meetings about matters you wouldn’t be interested in, and hearing complaints to solve. I don’t kill enemies of the Court or torture enslaved humans or anything I’m sure you’re imagining. I swear, Hania. It’s only a title.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You heard the reason. You would have run and never come back to that village. And it didn’t matter then. It still doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change who I am or who you are or what we’ve done.”

  I searched his face, looking for the lie. Looking for the secrets. I found none. My last question came out quieter, tense with fear. “Can you do anything for my brother?”

  I saw the answer before he spoke it. “I plan to try, but I doubt it. I’m sorry.”

  The prickling in my eyes turned to a burning and then my vision blurred, and my throat closed. I swallowed, and it felt like swallowing a rock, but it didn’t help. I hadn’t cried once since meeting Aven. I’d been threatened, lost, attacked, captured, beaten. I’d faced losing everything. And it was those two little words that broke me.

  I’m sorry.

  His hands were warm as he wiped my tears away, calloused from hunting and fighting and surviving and yet softer than anything else I knew. I wrapped my arms around him, tucking my head into the hollow between his shoulder and neck. His voice was the wind and tide when he spoke raw, whispered promises only for my ears.

  “I will do everything I can to help him, even if all I can do is keep him alive another hour. Whatever gives him a chance. If it’s too late, I promise you I’ll deal with whoever did it myself. He doesn’t deserve anything they’ll put him through there, and you don’t deserve to be hurt anymore.”

  I felt Moray alight on my shoulder. “Names and titles are just words,” it said quietly. “They don’t change anything. We’re exactly who we were yesterday, and you’re one of us.”

  The words came out of me shaking, strangled by tears, but I managed them. “You said I had your favor.”

  A cool brush of a kiss on my cheek. “You’ve earned it, little one.”

  We stood there, none of us moving, as my shaky tears turned to silence. We were a little knot in the center of the cabin. I would never have thought to call a selkie and a sprite my friends when I’d left home, but I’d never had friends like them.

  Would Isla or Edrick hold me like this if I hit my limit and broke down in front of them? I wasn’t sure. Isla would laugh and joke, trying to cheer me up, and Edrick would analyze what was wrong and what I could do about it, but I wasn’t sure either would stand in silence so I wouldn’t be crying alone.

  I loved them for what they would do. I always would. But I loved Aven and Moray, too, with an intensity that shook me to the core .

  We avoided the topic of the Eyes and Tobin that night, burying the worry for the moment. We exchanged the little things that made us—Moray recited lilting, magical poems passed down among the sprites, and I told them stories of playing in woods blanketed in snow and raising the lost animals that wandered onto our farm. Aven listened, quiet and content, and, only when we prodded him, gave us tales of the dazzling city he’d grown up in, where the streets glowed and anything one could ever want to buy could be found.

  I slept the deep, undisturbed sleep of exhaustion, but when I woke the sunrise looked brighter than usual. A portion of the camp watched us set off, Ellesaeah granting me a parting nod, and though Aven looked every bit the warrior marching into battle, clad in dark leathers with a spear across his back, my fear was distant.

  The most dangerous part of my journey was a day away, but that was alright. I had my selkie and my sprite, and we’d get through it.

  The lands of the Court were beautiful. Rolling forests and fields and hills like we’d travelled through before but livelier, as if the animals here were so used to people that they didn’t mind us. Maybe it had to do with the mounts the warriors had given us—a pair of strange animals like horses, dappled and gray with creeping midnight-blue scales across their legs and flanks and thick names and tails like blue-green moss—or maybe they really didn’t object to our presence. I didn’t ask, and I didn’t care. I just watched.

  Four-legged birds with brilliant purple and green feathers and long, hooked beaks soared above us in pairs. Several striped, long-tailed rodents with flat faces and wide, curious eyes scurried along branches to watch us before they vanished. For a time, a pack of something that reminded me of wolves—slender and powerful, with dusky-violet pelts to blend with the grass—ran beside us in the distance, but at some silent signal they veered off and left us to travel on our own again.

  We took a break when the sun was high above us to eat; the warriors had given us enough food to last two days, in case we didn’t reach the Eyes as quick as we planned. I reclined against a tree, the pressure on my back stinging far less than it had the day before, and watched Aven circle the area as I dug out my food. The sunlight slanting through the feathery leaves caught on him—dark leather against fair skin against dark sealskin—and the wind lifted his hair from his face. He maneuvered his mount expertly, effortless and comfortable as he urged the animal on. The painti
ngs at home never captured tidespeople like this. They were beautiful and fearsome, yes, but their grace and power and presence weren’t there.

  He swung down, leaving his mount to graze, and smiled as he took a seat beside me. Two gems flashed at his throat: midnight purple and sapphire blue. Ellesaeah had worn blue, as well.

  “You look different, dressed like that,” I said.

  “In a good way, I’d hope. I prefer it.”

  “Because you prefer to be ready for anything? Any fight?”

  “You know me so well, Hania.” Something in my belly warmed at the comment, like the butterflies that liked to take up residence in there had lit a fire.

  I focused on my food, but murmured, “In a good way.”

  I followed Aven’s glance to Moray—with minimal need for food the sprite had wandered off to antagonize a trio of birds while it waited for us to continue—and then back to him. His smile widened as his voice lowered to a whisper. “I think I’d like to kiss you again.”

  I lowered mine to match. “Are you asking my permission?”

  “I’m a gentleman, remember? And now that you know I’m a Lord, I have even more of a reputation to uphold.”

  I closed the distance between us, partially to get him to stop talking, and the butterflies’ fire spread through every inch of me. Even though I shouldn’t have done it. Even though there were many other things more important to address. I wanted to pretend, at least for one more day, as long as he wanted to pretend, too. I was grinning when I pulled away, and brought one hand up to trace the gems at his throat. He closed his eyes as a finger brushed along his skin. “What do the colors mean?”

  “Loyalty to my Court and loyalty to the selkies.”

  “Selkies are blue?” He nodded. “So they are the races. I was right. The clear ones are merrows. Calistar wore one.”

  His lips curled into another smile. “Clever little human.”

  “I thought I was the brave and stupid little human.”

  “Brave, stupid, clever, strong, beautiful—there are plenty of words I could come up with to describe you.”