Page 50 of Ballad of Sea and Sky

Oh. I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting or hoping for, but that answer wasn’t it.

Caspian must have read my emotions on my traitorous face because he smirked. “What were you hoping for, Princess?”

I scowled, and he laughed again, his wings shaking with the movement and causing him to hiss in pain. I took a little too much glee in that.

It served him right.

“In all seriousness, Marina,” Caspian continued, helping me sit back against the wall again, “I’m glad you’re alright. I think it will take both of us to find a way off this fucking island.”

“Why—”

“Tomorrow,” Caspian said, gently interrupting me as he met my eyes, his golden gaze seeming to pierce some inner part of me in a way I didn’t understand. “You sound terrible, and I probably look terrible. We need to rest.”

I shrugged, as if to agree that he did indeed look terrible.

He smirked, taking one of the now empty abalone shells and scooping it into the pot. I had meant to ask where he found the ancient metal thing, but I supposed that would have to wait until later too.

With a pang of guilt, I realized he had used all of the freshwater for me. He likely hadn’t had a drink in hours.

Caspian held out the abalone shell to me, the water clear, but flecked with bits of leaf. “Drink,” he commanded. “None of the herbs are poisonous to ingest.”

I drank, my wonder about this healer king increasing. His mother must be a very fine healer to have taught him so much, despite his other obligations.

When I had drained the shell, I focused on the threads of my magic and pulled water from the stone behind me. It wasn’t as clear as the fog water, and it would probably taste like rock, but it would suffice. I held it out to him.

“Thank you,” he said, ignoring his own earlier comment about not thanking me for every act of survival. He grimaced. “This tastes like death.”

I laughed, the croak of mirth turning almost immediately into another fit of coughing, each spasm feeling like glass and tar filling my lungs. Caspian soothed a hand over my back again, using his air magic to waft the steam closer.

“No laughing, Princess,” he scolded, face entirely serious. “You sound like a dying seal when you cough like that.”

I was too tired to glower at him for the insult when the fit finally abated, dropping my head back against the wall and trying to calm my breathing. Each breath felt too shallow to be doing me much good, and I was somehow exhausted again, even though I’d slept all afternoon.

“Do you think you can sleep?” Caspian asked, removing his hand from my back as he studied my labored breathing with something like disapproval.

I shrugged, unable to reply without risking another fit of coughing. I felt him shift back to join me against the wall, a hiss of pain escaping as he pressed his injured wings against the stone.

“Here,” he said, gently guiding me down to his shoulder. “Sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

I was too tired to argue that his wing was broken and that I shouldn’t be lying against him. I closed my eyes, and he began to hum the same tune he had sung on his ship and in the little tavern. I wondered if he was sad that his lyre had been lost to the sea, like my comb.

I felt surprisingly warm and safe against him as his arm and wing wrapped around me, and I didn’t realize until sleep had overwhelmed me that I hadn’t asked him what he was keeping watchfor.

Iwoketothesmell of raw fish mixed with herbs and fog.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Caspian drawled, crouching across the damp from me as he gutted fish. His eyes were on me, assessing but not as concerned as they were the night before. “Your breathing eased a few hours ago, so I felt like it was safe enough for you to lie down. Feeling any better?”

“Not sure,” I croaked, finding with relief that not every breath felt like I was being stabbed and strangled. “Where did you find the pot?”

Caspian laughed, and something like relief seemed to fill him. “Of all the questions I thought you’d ask me this morning, that was not first on my list.”

“I could ask a different one,” I suggested, voice still weak and raspy. I felt rather more fragile than I liked to feel, everything in my chest feeling tender and beaten, and I tried to keep my voice light so as not to trigger a cough.

“Lest you exhaust yourself, we can start with that one,” he replied, handing me an abalone shell in which he had piled strips of raw fish. “There’s what looks to be some kind of abandoned hunting lodge about a mile inland.”

“We must be on one of the southern isles, then,” I said through a mouthful of briny fish. “My people hunt here in the summer, but the season has long passed.”

Caspian nodded, this explanation corroborating his discovery. “I found the pot and several other useful items there, but it was too hard to transport them all with my wings so damaged,” he explained, looking a little apologetic. “We should probably relocate there. The tide came in and flooded the cave completely last night, which is probably why you feel slightly shipwrecked again. We need to find a way off this damned island.”