61
Nori
Nori rode the surface of the sea. The wind tugged at the waves, raking foam across the top. It sent her red-wine hair flying, but she ignored it.
She watched an unknown Naiad woman clinging to driftwood as one of the island canoes neared, a young man reaching for her. He pulled her in, and she collapsed at his feet. Turning her over, he brushed her raven hair from her face. Then reached behind him in the canoe and drew his knife.
The foolish Naiad. Why would she come here, to the island of people who hated their kind?
Nori stiffened, waiting for the islander to stab the woman. But he didn’t.
Carefully, he cut the ties of her bodice. The woman gasped loudly, as if she’d been struggling to breathe under the constriction of the garment. Nori stifled a doubtful snort.
He gathered the unknown woman closer, his words soft and reassuring, though Nori couldn’t make them out over the water. The canoe turned toward shore. Nori followed it all the way tothe docks, where the islanders beached it and helped the woman on staggering feet.
The villagers came running from the market. They surrounded her, the unknown Naiad, and a few ran ahead to call the healer.
None of them yelled. None of them threatened. None of them attacked.
Eyes wide and disbelieving, Nori sank into the waves to report to her queen.
“She has not touched the water since arriving on the island,” Sidra said. The Queen knew such things. She’d once told Nori she could feel it, the way a rock feels different from a leaf. She sensed each Naiad in her water—and knew the strange young woman hadn’t returned to the waves.
“No,” Olinne confirmed.
“Continue to watch her.”
So, Nori did.
The woman had befriended the man who saved her. Nori could only catch short glimpses of them from the sea. Whoever the Naiad was, she knew Nori was there, keeping an eye on her. She was careful to avoid the beach, never visiting the shore alone, so there was never a chance to speak with her.
She walked through the palms like a phantom, her feet so soft and silent it was impossible to follow. The islanders hailed her from across the market. The island women pulled her into theirgroups, chatting as they wove their baskets. The men performed for her like birds in mating season, vying for her attention.
None of them seemed to shun her, as the islanders should.
Nori watched as the island man who had pulled the Naiad into his canoe married her on the beach at sunset.
A crown of lobelia flowers sat over her head, her islander husband handsome and young, dressed in his tattooed skin and grass skirts. He grinned at her after they kissed. As if she weighed nothing, he picked her up, stalking towards his little house at the top of the hill.
The island cheered. Nori sank into the depths.
The scent ofcorda-cruorhung heavy in the air. Fresh, young, vibrant. Like energy.
Like life.
Nori waited in the reeds of the sea.
The woman appeared, for once by herself. She carried a bucket to the water’s edge, only a few feet away, kneeling to fill it. Her eyes flicked to Nori’s, as if expecting to find her there.
“Who are you?” Nori asked without preamble.
The woman gazed back, unafraid. Her long black hair rippled with cool tones in the island sunlight, her blue eyes the brightest Nori had ever seen, like the glass bottles sailors sometimes threw into the sea.
She tapped her throat with her fingertips, her mouth parted gently, eyes patient as she waited for Nori to understand.
“You’re here against a blood oath. You can’t speak,” Nori said.
The woman gave her a solemn nod and stood. “Alana.”
