Sunlight pierced the water, making Vasily’s hair shine like gold as it swayed with the motion of the waves, strands floating over his face while his body drifted lower.
Mother’s eyes stung with more than the salt of the ocean, and he surged forward and grabbed desperately at Vasily’s shirt. Relief and panic fought for space in his chest as he dragged Vasily close, wrapped an arm around his limp body from behind, and used his remaining breath to fight his way back to the surface.
Vasily was a solid weight in his arms, and it took everything in Mother’s power to drag him upward. His lungs burned with the need for air, but he ignored it, concentrating on hauling the body through the water. He struggled against the pull of the waves with every fibre of his being as the sea tried to steal Vasily back.
He kept one arm locked around Vasily’s chest and pulled himself upward with the other, praying that his efforts weren’t in vain. When he finally broke the surface, he wanted to sob with relief, but he was too busy gasping in great lungfuls of air.
Vasily lay still and quiet in his arms, and for one endless, awful moment, Mother worried that he was too late. But then Vasily dragged in a loud, rasping breath, coughing and sputtering and thrashing instinctively against Mother’s hold. Mother tightened his grip, and after a few more seconds of useless struggling, Vasily went limp in his arms. Now, though, the rise and fall of his chest reassured Mother that at least he wasn’t carrying adeadweight.
Something like a sob clawed its way out of his throat, an ugly, desperate sound, before Mother pushed the swell of emotion down. They weren’t out of danger yet. He could fall apart later, once Vasily was safe—but for now, he needed to bloody wellswim.
He didn’t waste time, flipping to his back with a grunt and kicking with as much vigour as he could muster. He concentrated on steering them away from the wall and out towards the end of the rock groyne that separated the harbour from the bay, with its safer, shallower waters and the sandy stretch of beach where Vasily liked to walk.
Mother’s chest burned and his arms ached, and for every foot he swam, the waves seemed to drag him back two, but with grim determination he kept going, Vasily clutched against his chest.
Mother could see red oozing from Vasily’s temple and staining the strands of his hair pink, in stark relief against his too-pale skin.
He thought of his brother, of the pain of losing him, and kicked harder.
He couldn’t go through that twice.
It was as he approached the end of the groyne, chest heaving, that there was the clatter of oars and a shout of, “Oi! Over here!”
Mother turned his head, sputtering at the mouthful of salt water the movement earned him, and saw a rowboat approaching. A young man was at the oars, and Magnus, one of his father’s fishing friends, was crouched near the side of the boat with his arms outstretched, ready to haul them aboard.
Mother had never been so happy to see anyone in his life.
He kicked just enough to keep them in one spot, waiting until the rower had positioned the boat as close as they could get without clocking him with the oars. Then he swam them closer, and between Mother pushing and Magnus pulling Vasily by his arms, they got him into the boat, where he landed in a messy sprawl.
Mother hauled himself on board and, heart in his throat, he whispered desperately in Vasily’s ear. “Vas? You’re safe, love. Come on, wake up.”
Vasily lay motionless for a second, and Mother felt a cold prickle of fear creep up his spine. “Come on,” he muttered under his breath. He rolled Vasily onto his side and thumped his back before tilting his head. Vasily remained still for a moment longer before his eyes snapped open and, gasping and choking, he lurched upright, clutched at the side of the boat, and promptly vomited over the edge. As he heaved and retched, Mother couldn’t fight the relieved grin on his face.
Vasily losing his breakfast was agoodsign.
“There’s a lad!” Magnus said. “Get it out!”
Vasily heaved again, then took several short, rattling breaths.
Mother wrapped an arm around Vasily’s shoulders and felt a shiver run through him. “Blankets?” Mother barked, ignoring the way his own soaked trousers clung to his skin like a cold, unwelcome hand running up his thigh, pulling away with a wet, sucking sound every time he moved.
Magnus passed over a grey wool blanket that smelled of fish, and Mother drew it around Vasily’s shoulders and pulled him onto the long plank that served as a seat next to him. Vasily gave a miserable burp and spat out another mouthful of bile before he slumped against Mother, his eyes closed.
His breathing was still ragged, but hewasbreathing, and that was the main thing.
Mother wrapped an arm around Vasily’s shoulders and wondered if he could have that breakdown now.
He knew better, though. His own breathing was laboured, his muscles burned, and he was still shaking from his rescue efforts, but he wasn’t done yet. He had to get Vasily to land and then to the castle and the infirmary, to make sure he really was fine. Mother knew better than most the risks of a near drowning.
A sob caught in his throat.
Vasily had almostdied.
A hand clapped him on the shoulder, and he looked up to find Magnus perched on the opposite seat, giving him a knowing look. “Love?” he said quietly.
Mother let out a damp laugh. “That obvious, is it?”
Magnus smiled. “No, Mother. Youcalledhim love.”
