Panic.
Bubbles pour from my mouth, released with a squeal muffled by water that feels too thick. Too hot. Punching above the surface, I gulp sweet breath, heart hammering as I wade in place, frantically scanning my surroundings.
Not Puddles. It’s not Puddles.
The edges are too high. Too smooth and polished and blue.
It doesn’t smell the same.
Not Puddles.
“Is everything alright?”
My gaze catches on Elder Creed looking down on me from the edge of The Bowl.
“Perfectly fine,” I sputter, choosing a target to focus on—the glass aquariums looking like crowning spires from down here in the center of it all. Eyes fixed on the slithering eels, I kick like mad, propelling myself forward and up, flinging my arm skyward, fingers stretched toward The Bowl’s rim.
I slam against the buffed side, clawing, feet scrambling for purchase.
I slide, swallowing water as I dunk below the surface.
Kicking hard, I rise back up, choking and spluttering, spearing my gaze on those eels again.
Growling through gritted teeth, I wade further back, giving myself a decent runup before I rock my body forward, dig my head into the water, and swim like I’ve never swum before—frantically kicking my legs and churning my arms. I propel up the wall, flick my arm up, slap it against the smooth side, and slide straight back into the warm pit of failure.
Over and over I lunge and fall, lunge and fall, until I’m gasping, head thrown back, treading water that feels like it’s boiling me alive. Picturing the Gods dangling those ships above my head, watching me leap and leap andleap—
Laughing at me.
* * *
The waning light from above barely illuminates the pool’s lip anymore—so, so far away.
Unreachable.
I look at the bell dangling on the end of the rope, a sob bubbling up as I wade toward it, heave my arm up, and bat it with my hand, then stop kicking altogether and just ...
Sink.
Entomb myself in the still like that little sunken sprite.
It’s almost peaceful.
I’m pulled from my stupor by a splashing disturbance above, and I use my remaining scrap of energy to kick up and snatch the rope ladder floating on the surface—the pads of my fingers withered like dried flower buds.
The bell continues to sway back and forth, tolling my defeat.
Another sob, and I lug my heavy body through the water, reaching the side of the pool before climbing the ladder with quaking hands and legs that barely hold my leaden weight. Pulling myself over the rim, I crawl forward, drop my head, and vomit across the stone.
Boots thud into my line of view, pausing just before my swelling puddle of spew.
Lips trembling, I look up the line of gray pants to a broad figure I recognize, gaze shifting to Cainon’s outstretched hand.
“You gave it your best shot,” he says, and there’s a softness to his words. “Nobody’s ever gotten it on their first try. Time to eat and rest. You can practice more tomorrow.”
I take his hand, but don’t look into his eyes. I’m too afraid I’ll see a nod to the thoughts plaguing my own mind …
Not worthy.
