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“No,” I say, barely a whisper. I lie on top of his body, placing my head against his chest, a silent plea for it to start moving up and down, for his lungs to work, for his body to keep the life within.
This can’t be happening. Not after he rescued me. Not after he let himself get shot to help me. He can’t die now.
But there is water in his lungs. I can sense it beneath my cheek. And if I could just get it out…
I place my hands against his chest to make it look as though I’m using them to force the water from his lungs, but I know at this point they’re useless.
I sing, so softly that only Riden can hear, were he awake. I tell his mind to stay alert. I beg the organs to remain steady. I cannot heal his wounds. I cannot speed up or change anything. I can only reach his mind. I tell him not to give up. Not yet. He’s not allowed to die.
When I’ve expelled some of the song from me, I pull at the water beneath me, the water in Riden’s lungs. I cannot touch it, but I can sense it. And Idemandthat it come to me.
It does not move.
But I dig my fingers into Riden’s chest, and pull—both physically and mentally. I will him back to life with every essence of myself.
And finally, the water sways upward. It drifts out of the lungs, through his flesh, sweats out of his skin, and comes into me.
“Now breathe!” I say and sing at the same time. I blow air into his mouth once more. Demand that his lungs start working. Riden’s heart still beats, so if I can convince his lungs to pump on their own, he will be all right. Hehasto be all right.
Riden gasps, heaving in the loudest breath I have ever heard. It reminds me of a newborn babe taking its first breath. It is the sound of life.
I lean away from him and take a moment to breathe myself.
In seconds, they are upon me. Draxen must have regained his senses. A blade is shoved under my throat. Another presses against my stomach, digging in enough to scratch the skin. I can’t even muster up the strength to care. Riden is alive. That’s all that matters. His eyes are closed and his wounds still bleed. But he will survive.
“What would you like done with her, Captain?” one of the offending pirates asks.
“Take her back to the brig. I want five men down there watching her at all times. She’s not to be given food or water. And don’t talk to her.”
Like a caged bird, I’m locked up. Again.
I’m really starting to hate this.
Chapter 20
THEREISN’TAWORDfor how cold I feel in the brig. Now that I can afford to think about myself, I register the effect of wet clothes and the brisk morning air. Small gaps in the wood allow faint breezes to escape into the ship. They rake against my skin, sending me racking with shivers.
My extra changes of clothes are no longer in here. I’ve no idea what Riden’s done with them. Maybe the other pirates took them once my cell was unlocked. Fabric can be sold at a pretty price, and pirates are always looking to make a profit.
I sit on the floor, my arms wrapped around my legs. My toes have gone numb. I remove my boots and rub at them fiercely with my hands.
The men outside my cell do nothing. They hardly spare me a glance. Draxen was obviously responsible for this lot being chosen to watch me. They won’t respond to any of my comments.
“Is it Draxen’s intention for me to die or can I get a blanket?
“Oi, Ugly, I’m talking to you.”
One man looks. His face reddens, and then he goes back to staring at the walls.
“How’s it that Draxen managed to find a whole group of deaf men as my guards?
“Get me a blasted blanket, or I’ll have your heads!
“Don’t suppose one of you would like to toss me your shirt?” At this point I would take any foul-smelling garment, as long as it’s dry.
Eventually I try to force myself to dry. I run in circles, wave my arms about—anything to get my blood pumping. But each thing I do sends more air onto my raw skin. I wish I were back in the water.
I remove as much clothing as I dare in this company.
