I stare down at the swirling foam and the charcoal gray sea.Every roll of the waves is trying to call me in, begging that I could leave this world behind, but I know the sea is not my friend.
Malkin is going to have to walk back here and help.
My fellow exile is paused, some fifty feet away, crouched down and looking at something. In her bright green dress, she’s the only spot of color on the beach.
The sky is heavy gray. The rocks are extremely dark gray. The sea is medium-gray, with soft-gray foam. A cluster of birds flying overhead?
They're speckled gray.
But Malkin always has colorful clothes. When she was exiled to the Bluff six months ago for refusing some asshole High Duke's flirtations, she brought three whole trunks of outfits with her. Even lace-strips for her shiny brown hair, since proper young noblewomen don’t wear valor-ribbons. Right now the lace—a green that matches her dress—flutters behind her like flags in the wind. Or like leaves.
The last time I saw a tree was two years ago, in Barivum for my trial, when they decided to exile me. If I were anyone else’s daughter, it would have been an execution. Malkin and I have that in common.
I put my fingers in my mouth, metal and flesh, and whistle a piercing note. Malkin’s head jerks up and I wave for her to come back. She holds an arm up in the sailor’s motion that I taught her for “wait.”
She’s found something, too. I stare at her, and then my eyes flick back to the piece of wood thunking between the two rocks, slipping forward as the waves rush in and dragging tight between the stones again when they go out. For comfort my fingers wrap around my necklace pendant, a small leather tube I fashioned to hold the War-Father’s letter, like it can grant me the same protection my enchanted necklace used to.
This, my life on the Bluff, isn’t forever. The War-Father is going to bring me home, so I can't afford to get soft out here. If I everwant the chance to hunt down the King of Witches and make him pay, I can’t get in the habit of letting fear control me.
My knife barely cut him. But did it cut him deep enough to scar, to draw a line across his chest like I'd marked him my target?
I firm my jaw. If I’m careful, there has to be a way to get the last piece of wood without stepping into the water. I grab one of the planks I’ve gathered. Using it as a crutch, I lean across the distance between the rocks, towards the jammed wood.
I inch down. Just as my right foot starts to slip I manage to graze the edge of the net wound about the plank. I fix my right foot, angling the sole of my boot against the slick stone it's braced on, and lean further over.
My left foot betrays me out of nowhere and shoots out from under me. Off balance, I topple forward.
My knees crash between the stones, into the cold rush of the hateful sea. Salt flecks my lips as my whole body spasms in disgust.
Little knight? Is this where you've gone?
I scramble back out of the water, the bottom of my gray canvas dress sopping wet. The voice in the water was just my imagination.
My heart won’t calm down, even though I know I’m safe. I grab the piece of wood I’d used as a crutch and retreat to the safety of the tide line.
With ashush-shush-shush, a large wave washes over the plank and net I left behind. For a moment it's hidden from view. Then the foamy water crawls back to reveal it again.
“Caiteven!” Malkin yells. She grins as she jogs towards me, cradling a canvas sack in both arms. “I foundapples!”
“What?” For a moment I forget the sour feeling in my mind, the sickness the ocean always brings. Malkin closes the distance between us and crouches to undo the bag’s drawstrings. Inside there are five apples with gold and red freckled skins. A small, shriveled leaf clings to one of their stems. The bag must have been on the boat that washed up.
My mouth waters. I don’t even remember what apples taste like.
“They’re only a little bruised,” Malkin whispers.
“We haven’t found much else,” I remind her, gesturing at the small pile next to me. “He won’t punish us if we bring fruit.”
Malkin chews her lower lip. Her hands are tight on the bag. There’s a distant look in her eye as the excitement of her find turns to an ache of disappointment. If we don’t bring back enough, we might find ourselves taking a full inventory of everything in the castle, down to each individual fishing hook, and then taking it twice more to see if the numbers changed. Or using our hands to separate every strand of three pounds of blister kelp, until the fingers of my left hand pulse with pain and Malkin’s delicate skin is bloody.
Still. I’m used to long campaigns on the Wild Seas, but Malkin never had to go without produce until she came here. Maybe for her, the punishment is worth it. I sigh.
“Three’s not so different from five,” I admit. Her face immediately softens.
“It isn’t, is it?” she says, and draws one from the bag to offer me.
I ought to refuse, because I was told to follow the Governor’s demands. But if we both participate, neither of us can tell on the other.
I take a bite for Malkin’s sake, so she can enjoy hers without worrying if I'll tattle. The sea has left its mark, and the apple’s shiny skin is unpleasantly salty. I nearly gag. But beneath that layer is soft flesh, tart and honey-sweet all at once. With a moan, I sink down to the stones and sit, cradling the apple with both hands. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever tasted. Who cares that my dress is wet or that the sea is pounding right next to me, begging me to come in like a cliff begs for you to fall?
