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We’ll make it. We had to make it.

“Should the skiff fail us, I will take us to the Ever,” Tait had whispered before the dawn.

“You can’t swim such a distance with me in tow.”

“Don’t doubt the distance Sea Folk can swim.”

“I’ll be devoured by merfolk right off your back.”

Tait kissed me then and whispered, “Then I will swim to their underwater grottos and steal you back.”

No, I did not revel in the idea of swimming for great lengths in the tides. Tait, perhaps, could tolerate being submerged in the sea for great lengths of time, but for me, it would feel as though I were drowning until I actually fell to the depths.

Still, the notion of clinging to Tait’s back while he swam deeper into the Far Seas was the only consolation I could hold on to as the wave towered over us.

“Dammit!” Tait scrambled to reach for something.

No. His tiny golden clock fell from his trouser pocket, tumbled over the surface of the raft, then fell into the sea.

The clock was not merely a bespelled accessory to learn of danger; it was a relief. It gave him control over threats to his cousin, his only family left.

Tait’s face went hard, but he shook his head and faced me. “Brace, Mira!”

I closed my eyes, clenched my teeth, and gripped the rigging we’d used to fasten the oars.

The skiff rose up. I screamed. It tilted more.

I felt myself slide forward. Water surrounded us. I could not draw clean air without swallowing seawater.

Our boat fell. My stomach lurched into my throat. The front of the skiff slammed onto the surface of the water, clear of the mammoth wave.

I blinked. Hair stuck to my brow. Half of our supplies had fallen off, and a crack bent the mast, but we were free of the violent waves.

We were free of the isle.

Slowly, I looked to my side. Tait ran his hands through his hair and swiped wet locks out of his eyes.

He peered at me.

For a long moment, it seemed we did not know what words to say.

Then, all at once, we simply laughed.

29

The Heartwalker

Mira’s feet dangled over the edge of the skiff into the water. Red welts encircled her ankles in strange markings. I had the same on my shins. Left behind by the cursed sand.

For a moment, I feared we’d absorbed some curse from the isle, but the marks kept fading, nothing more than irritated flesh from the harsh bindings.

I glanced down at the shadow cast over the wooden board I’d crafted early on the isle, a sailor’s guide. On the end of a strand of one moss rope, I secured a dark stone, dropped it over the rail of the skiff, and allowed it to drag through the currents for a time.

“How goes the journey, ye bleeding swab?” Mira smirked over her shoulder.

“Is that an impression of my voice?”

“No, I was honoring Boneseer.” She tilted her head back, and the sun painted her features in gilded light. “Still heading toward the Ever?”