Page 43 of Saved By the Selkie

I look down at our sleeping pup, and all the anger drains out of me. I didn’t even realize I was angry, but as soon as it goes, I’m exhausted. I guess I’ve been carrying that around for weeks now, along with the fear that the pup might not be okay.

“If you’d just given me my pelt,” I say, but I can’t finish the sentence. None of this would have happened. We might still be sailing for Baws-tun or wherever he wanted to go. We wouldn’t have been stuck on the ice with Johan, wouldn’t have had to watch him die, wouldn’t have had to have Anna and Porthos rescue us.

“Lir …”

He doesn’t sayI’m sorry. Instead, he just kind of lets it hang there, silence dreadful between us, thick with guilt, and I hate it.

I want to forgive him. I also want to hate him. Instead, I shift the pup and wipe at my eyes.

Aramis turns away, cursing softly under his breath. I shut my eyes tight. “It doesn’t matter now,” I sniff. “All that matters is that the pup’s alive, you’re alive, and—”

Aramis grabs my free hand, clutching it fiercely between his own, crushing my fingers. “No,” he says sharply, “it’s not okay, Lir. I should have given you your pelt the first time you asked.”

I stare at him, willing the rest of the apology to come tumbling out.

We’re interrupted by Anna, who offers us two drinking bladders full of piping hot liquid. “Bone broth,” she says. “Good for both of you. You’ll get your strength back sooner.”

“Thank you,” Aramis says, turning to her, like he can abandon apologizing that easily. I want to snarl at him.

Instead, I turn meekly to Anna and accept the meal.

twenty-four

Aramis

I

know I’m being a dick. I’m stalling, because I can’t quite figure out how to apologize to Lir for what I did. What can I possibly say to him to make it up? Words are cheap, useless, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do to make it better.

What happened, happened. Johan’s dead; we spent a couple of harrowing days under his rule. Lir swam a ridiculous span of ocean in a few weeks while he was pregnant. Both he and the pup have suffered for it.

And it’s all my fault. If only I’d just told the crew from the start. If only I’d given Lir his pelt the first time—or even the last time—he asked.

If only I wasn’t such a selfish prick.

We pack up shortly after the meal, and we’re silent as the dogs mush on across the ice, Lir bundled up with our pup on one sled, Anna riding on the back of it. Porthos and I occupy the other.

I feel ridiculous, basically strapped down by the weight of the supplies and the blankets and furs on top of me, but I’m so weak and wasted from the ordeal in the boat with Johan, I don’t think I could stand like Porthos.

The short polar day ends; the sun barely peeped above the horizon, and now it dips back down, turning its back on the world. The constellations move sluggishly across the sky, which turns navy blue, then purple, and, finally, brilliant green under the aurora.

Anna calls another halt. She seems to have a sense of the time or at least how many hours have passed. That makes sense, I think; she grew up here, and her people have lived on this land since time immemorial. The land, the climate, the rhythm of the seasons is in her blood.

I’m grateful for her. I don’t think we’d survive another day on our own. Lir might be a selkie, but he’s never been this far away from Mythos.

Anna builds a fire and unhooks the dogs from their harnesses. She rubs them down and feeds them from our own supplies. Porthos gathers snow to melt and checks our supplies—I noted a gun and a spear in them. I think we’ll have to hunt sooner or later.

Anna points across the ice. “I’m going fishing,” she says.

“I’ll go,” Lir says, but she shakes her head.

“You have your baby,” she says, then strolls away.

That leaves Lir and I together, alone, for the first time since he stole his pelt back.

He won’t look at me. I don’t blame him.

The silence weighs on us, growing like a weed in the garden I used to tend for my mother, until it’s pressing down on me, suffocating. I feel like I’m drowning.