Wren laughed. “We might, indeed!”
Shrike’s smile broadened into a grin.
With Shrike’s assistance, Wren shed his garments. The air within the cavern had already begun to feel a touch too warm with all his layers. Even laid bare, he hardly felt a hint of chill. It seemed the spring had banished winter. The loss of the bracing bandage gave his stomach the same lurch as it always did, though less so now that Everilda’s exercises had restored some of his strength.
And, if all went according to plan, a swim might restore him so he didn’t need it at all.
Again with Shrike’s aid, Wren lowered himself down to sit on the smooth stone edge and dipped into the water up to his calves. It felt as warm as his baths in the hollow stump at Blackthorn. Peering down, he saw the bottom of the pool did not drop away all at once—at least, not from where he sat—but rather the water or perhaps some fae influence of the hidden folk had carved the stone away by degrees to create a series of steps down into the deep. Further on, it did fall away into a depth Wren thought would close over his head if he ever dared venture so far.
And it was toward this depth that Shrike dove over Wren’s head to plunge into the water with a tremendous splash.
Wren flinched with a gasp half-astonishment and half-delight. Shrike had oft performed such feats when they’d swum together over the past summer—particularly at a splendid waterfall which Wren hoped they might return to when the weather warmed again.
And now, like then, Shrike breached from the waves as if he himself were a geyser, throwing his head back to fling a thunderstorm’s worth of water from his hair.
Wren had to admit he quite liked the sight.
Shrike gave his head another shake, not unlike a hound, or a wolf for that matter. Then he caught Wren’s eye with a grin andswam to rejoin him in long swift strokes. He folded his arms up against the rim of the pool beside him. A gleaming glance from his dark eyes said as well as words,Join me?
Leaping and diving had never been Wren’s specialty. Even a simple jump and plunge felt rather beyond his powers at the moment. Still, he dared to inch forward and slide down a single step into the pool. Warm water lapped against the tops of his thighs. He slid another step. The water swirled around his waist.
And there he halted.
His breath ceased. His heart climbed into his throat. He knew not why at first, even as his hands gripped the rim of the step with white knuckles. But as the scarred tooth-marks torn into his side perceived just a touch more heat than the rest of his skin, so too did he realise this felt all-too-much like the last time he’d plunged beneath the waves.
Within that instant, Shrike shoved off from the pool’s edge and swam to twine his arm ‘round him.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Has something torn?”
“No,” Wren said honestly, biting back the bitterness that threatened to seep into his words. It was nothing wrong with his body. Certainly nothing wrong with Shrike. Only his own cowardice come back to haunt him with visions of a sleek hunter darting from the darkness to drag him down.
A soft touch smoothed back the lock of hair that’d fallen across his forehead. Shrike, as always, soothing him with undemanding but no less constant affection. Wren forced himself to breath steadily in time with the waves lapping against the rim. This was a pool of perpetual warmth, he told himself, not a lake of eternal ice. As far as his eye could perceive, from one shore to the other, there were no shadows for beasts to hide in. He could see for himself there were no monsters here.
And besides, he had his Shrike beside him.
“If you would take my arm,” Wren said at last with forced calm. “I think I might take another step down.”
No sooner had he spoken than Shrike’s far hand twined with his own. The other slipped around his waist to rest on his hip.
Wren took a deep breath and stepped in up to his breast-bone. From here the water supported most of his weight. It eased a great deal of the strain on his stomach that even the simple task of standing demanded. A sigh of relief escaped him despite his anxieties.
Shrike’s thumb caressed his hip. “Perhaps I might hold you up if you float on your back…?”
The thought of turning his back on the water sent a bolt of fear through Wren’s veins. The thought of Shrike holding him, however, alleviated his fear almost as soon as it struck, until it became a dull throb at the edge of his mind rather than burning throughout his brain. He nodded.
Another step brought him in up to his throat.
Just when Wren thought his courage must fail him, the arm around his waist shifted, and Shrike released his hand, resettling his grip with one arm across Wren’s shoulders and the other against the backs of his thighs. Wren drew in a deep breath and allowed himself to fall backward. It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen into Shrike’s embrace. The descent was easier than ever, a fraction of a moment passing before the water buoyed him up and saw him drifting gently down into Shrike’s arms.
And then he had Shrike smiling down at him, which was always a pleasant sight.
Wren reminded himself to breathe. He was warm and safe. Shrike had him. Even if there were a beast lurking in the water, Shrike would slay it before it ever approached him.
Still, he found he didn’t like not seeing it for himself. He rolled over—a far easier feat in the water than in his sickbed—and endeavoured to swim. Shrike kept his arms under hischest and thighs at first. Then, when it became apparent Wren wouldn’t sink, he let him slip from his grasp.
Wren struck out for the rim. It took him far more strokes than it ought, for he’d never been a strong swimmer even before his injury. Yet he made it all the same. He intended to catch his breath there and then set out again to swim back to Shrike, from one safe hold to another.
Only to turn and find Shrike already beside him.
