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Or perhaps I should be praying for strength instead. I accepted the call of a prophet and set out to follow a vision, and now I must endure whatever comes of that.
And there’s no promise it will end happily. Foreboding sends a wave of cold through me as I recall the dire fates of the Dalzana prophets and judges who came before me. I’ve spent centuries begging the One to send me visions and let me serve Him as my brother and sisters did, yet I’ve never fully considered what that responsibility would entail. Now that it is finally happening, I feel as if the ground I stand on is crumbling around me.
Still pondering, I lift my gaze from the churning waves and focus on the eastern horizon. The sun is full in the sky now, pale and warm in its early morning glory. A gentle wind ruffles the long, damp strands of my hair. The air smells of sea salt and distant flowers, and it brims with the anticipation of spring. Of budding life and new beginnings. It calls to life a sense of expectation within me—and with it, a refrain of song. I begin to hum softly, intoning the refrain of one of the star-songs the priests of the Eternal often sing to greet the dawn.
A splash startles me into silence. I whirl around just in time to see Evya land lightly on the edge of the pavement. My fears ebb at the sight of her. Her stately features are fierce with resolve, and she looks ready to face whatever adventures this day brings.
As she walks toward me, I’m struck by the graceful power in her form, now fully on display without fine clothing and jewels to soften the effect. She wears a simple, shell-pink top that crisscrosses her torso and fastens at one shoulder, leaving her muscular arms bare. For the first time I notice a tattooed band of interlocking black swirls that encircles her right bicep. It doesn’t match any runework I know, and I wonder if it’s a tribal symbol rather than a magical one. Similar knotwork patterns are marked along her legs, left fully visible by the knee-length hem and high slit of her pink wrap skirt.
My gaze lingers on her lithe legs as she strides—then my face heats. I’m staring. I hurriedly return my focus to her face, silently chastising myself. Evya is not yet my bride, nor even technically my betrothed, and I won’t dishonor her by letting my imagination run ahead.
Besides, I know she doesn't mean to tempt me. I’m used to being surrounded by elves who clothe themselves in layered robes and hardly deign to show their ankles. Merroc have different ideas of propriety. Long, heavy garments would be an encumbrance in the water. Just one of the many things I will need to adapt to if I plan on living among the Atathari.
“Are you ready?” Evya’s voice draws me out of my thoughts. She motions toward the water.
I nod, then stride toward the edge of the pavement before I can second-guess what I’m about to do. Inhaling sharply, I jump into the waves. The cold water smites me with a violent blow, and the waves pile over me. A thread of panic laces through me as I remember my runes no longer work. I swim toward the sunlight with quick strokes and break through the surface, gasping for breath. Evya leaps in after me, a graceful streak of shining scales. She emerges beside me, eyes glinting with curiosity as if eager to see how I handle whatever comes next.
I force down my sputtering coughs as I tread water beside her. “Where are we going?”
“One of the outlying islands,” she says, coming alongside me and taking my hand in her firm grip. She flashes a sharp smile, which strikes me as a challenge. “Then we’ll find out how quickly you can learn.”
The world lurches as she pulls me forward. I barely have time to gasp in a lungful of air before we’ve under the water, speeding at a breakneck pace. My chest burns and spots swim in my vision. Just when I think I won’t be able to hold my breath a second longer, we shoot upward and breach the surface once more.
Evya rushes on, pulling me along faster than I could ever swim alone. I try to propel myself with strong kicks so as to make my weight less of a burden to her. Mostly, I just focus on breathing at the right times without being hit in the face by waves. The water is choppy, and I suspect Evya would rather swim below the surface if she didn’t have to keep me afloat. The thought galls me. If this is going to work, I need to do whatever it takes to be strong and capable in her world.
The journey passes in a blur of sea mist and sunlight. Evya steers us into a swift ocean current, and we leave the palace behind within minutes. Once the ruins of the dome are out of sight, there are only sea and sky for leagues. The motion of the waves and the events of the previous night conspire to lull me into an exhausted daze, but I force my eyes to stay open and my hand to keep a tight grip on Evya’s.
At last a low strand of white sandy beach spreads out before us, and we stumble ashore. Evya’s shoulders droop with weariness from the long journey. As soon as we’re clear of the water she sinks to the ground and lies down against the sand, resting her head on one arm.
“We should get to work ...” Her words trail off in a yawn, and her eyelids flutter shut.
I lower myself to the sun-warmed sand nearby, the same exhaustion washing over me. I realize I haven’t slept in over a day and night—and the next few days aren’t likely to hold much rest. I let sleep overtake me.
Iawaken to the smellof freshly caught fish.
I sit up quickly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as the events of last night rush back. The sun is high overhead, and the mists of morning have given way to a soft breeze that carries the first warmth of spring. The beach stretches out on either side, peaceful and empty. Beyond lies a field of tall, rustling grass.
Evya sits cross-legged on the ground nearby. A catch of slender, silver-scaled fish lies beside her, along with some long strands of bright green seaweed. I watch as she strips the scales from one of the fish with a small stone knife. Her expression is peaceful, as if all her worries from yesterday have been forgotten in the simple act of preparing breakfast. Her sun-bleached hair falls loose around her bare arms, tossed by the breeze that blows in from the sea. In the sunlight, I notice for the first time the faint pearlescent sheen of her skin.
The mere sight of her leaves me breathless. She’s beautiful, and in a few short days, she could be my bride. Against all odds, Evya wants me. She fought for me. That simple reality sends a thrill of wonder through me.
She looks up from her work. My heart flutters as she smiles at me. “I hope you like moonfin. They were all I could catch without swimming far from the shore.”
She picks up the largest of the fish and tosses it to me. It’s still wet with seawater and smells of the ocean. I barely manage to keep a hold on its slick scales.
“I’ve never had it, but food of any sort is appealing right now.” My stomach rumbles on cue. I haven’t eaten in nearly a day. The sooner we can get this fish cooked, the better. “I’ll start a fire,” I offer, glancing around for driftwood or fallen branches which might serve as fuel.
Evya arches her brows. “Why?”
“To roast the fish, of course.”
“There’s no need for that.” Her smile widens, carrying a hint of mischief. As I watch, she carves a thin strip of red flesh from her fish. Then she rolls it up with a frond of seaweed and pops it into her mouth, holding my gaze as she swallows it. “It’s better like this.”
“Are you certain?” Bile rises in my throat. Is she teasing me, or is this truly how the merroc eat?
Choking down a wave of revulsion, I pull my penknife from the pocket of my tunic and flay my own fish. Then I slice a strip of meat and twist seaweed around it, just as she showed me. I don’t wish to disrespect my future bride by refusing the first meal she offers me. I only hope this doesn’t make me ill. I fight the urge to cringe as I take a bite.
Smooth, salty flavor spreads over my tongue. The raw fish seems to melt like butter, complimented by the briny taste of the seaweed. I swallow the bite, then quickly carve off another piece of fish and repeat the process.
