Beneath Cruel Fathoms (The Bitter Sea Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  “You enjoy them enough for the both of us.”

  “I so do,” she grinned, moving away as the first drops of rain splashed down. “Get some water in her. You’ll figure out the Nornish as you go.”

  With that, she disappeared beneath the surface with little more than a ripple marking her departure.

  Chapter Five

  Nothing about death was as Isaura expected. It felt warm, instead of cold. Buoyant, rather than heavy. Not that she’d complain about it. She’d had enough of cold, thank you, but the contradiction struck her as odd.

  “Wake up.”

  The incessant, nagging voice came as a surprise too. Death was supposed to be a slow descent into sleep, right? A quieting of the mortal senses in preparation for the afterlife.

  “Wake now. You must.”

  Not an increasingly frustrated command grating on her nerves like a rooster’s crow. It had grown brighter at least. That much she’d heard from patients who’d recovered from near-death illnesses. But they’d told her the light comforted, a soothing illumination. This was more blinding than anything else, piercing the throbbing pain of her skull.

  Pain. The thought trickled through her muddy thoughts. Pain was for the living. Maybe that meant—

  A sharp pinch at her arm catapulted her from the dazed reverie. Her eyes cracked opened. Scathing light rushed in and the ache at her temple turned monstrous. She was going to be sick. A startled gaze met hers a split second before she was flipped onto her front. Her panicked reflection on the shiny surface of the water stared back at her. She threw up on it—seawater mostly, surging up with the acid of her empty stomach and turning her throat to scorched earth. She clutched at the arm across her collarbone while her belly clenched and cramped, what little she’d expelled turning to dry heaves that left her gasping.

  Soft clicks came above the miserable sounds she made. A warm palm made small circles between her shoulder blades. Odin’s blessing. At least something didn’t hurt. She wanted to close her eyes again. She wanted to sleep, but the healer’s part of her mind told her that would be unwise. If she was alive—and the distress of her body certainly felt like life—then she’d have to fight the impulse to sink into hazy oblivion.

  Gods, but it was so bright. For the moment, her own head and downward view blocked much of it. Isaura concentrated on steadying her breath, gazing at the shadowy billow of her skirts below the surface of the water. And something else. The slow, undulating swish of—she choked—an enormous, black tailfin. As it shifted behind her legs, she let out a ragged hiccup of alarm and jerked backward. The back of her skull bashed into something, prompting an eruption of snaps and whistles that had the distinct ring of pained curses.

  The arm supporting her pivoted her around, bringing her face-to-face with…well, she didn’t know who. With one hand clamped over his nose, his head tilted backward and his eyes squeezed shut, most of his features weren’t visible. A man, anyway. She grimaced at the droplets of blood rolling down his chin from beneath his palm. Oh. That was probably her fault.

  “Safe,” he said in a muffled and almost unintelligible Nornish. “You are safe with me. Understand? No hunters here.”

  Obviously, there were no hunters here. They were in the middle of the sea—

  It all came spiraling back then: Raindrops falling on her skin. A palm at her lips, feeding glorious water into her parched mouth.

  And a face, vivid with trails of indigo on his skin.

  That tailfin was his. She had a flash of the painting in the captain’s cabin, the iridescent scales of a fish beneath a human face and form.

  “You,” she rasped. “You’re a…”

  Fairytale. Fantasy. She must have gone mad out here.

  He lowered his hand, swiping at the underside of his nose. “Of the merfolk,” he muttered and glowered at the blood dripping between his fingers.

  “They’re extinct.”

  He gave her a look of supreme irritation. “One left.”

  In the daylight he hardly looked the same. Without the ethereal patterns on his face, he appeared human. Short, dark hair plastered his head with low cheekbones underlining dark eyes. Shards of aquamarine flecked the black irises like chips of ice. The contrast gave him an otherworldly gaze, though human enough when they didn’t glow. He wore no clothing and she had an eyeful of sleek, sun-gold skin, broad shoulders, and lean musculature.

  Well. If this were fantasy, at least it was a pleasant one. He felt real enough to her touch. Excluding her obvious concussion, the bloody nose she’d given her rescuer, and the expression on his face that said he questioned whether she was worth all the trouble, this was still a better situation than she’d found herself in the previous day. Tenuous hope filled her chest. She didn’t even feel cold anymore. Curious that. The sea didn’t have hot spots, did it?

  His mouth was moving. He’d been speaking, she realized. Something about the storm. Waves and wind?

  “What?” she asked.

  He paused with a flicker of frustration. “Direction,” he said, pronouncing it carefully. “Where do—did—they came from?”

  “The storm?”

  “Also. From what side?”

  “Everywhere. The night was calm and then…” Chaos. Screams. “…Then it wasn’t.”

  “The moon. Where was it in the sky before this storm?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Try remembering.”

  She did, but her thoughts could not locate the memory over the throbbing of her head.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Try,” he pressed, terse with it. “It is important.”

  “I can’t—It was too dark.”

  She wished it were dark now. The sunlight was an assault.

  She closed her eyes. “What does it matter? It was a storm. A sudden and deadly storm.”

  “This was a different storm. Unnatural.”

  Gunnar had said that too, just before…

  Without fully meaning to she pressed her brow to his shoulder. He held her perpendicular in the water with one arm hooked beneath her shoulders. The sway of his tailfin moved them forward and back, a dizzying dance.

  “I can’t remember now. My head feels like it’s about to split open.” And the fatigue was dangerous, especially how difficult it grew to resist.

  “Sleep is bad,” he said after a moment, his voice resigned if not gentle.

  “I know. I’m a healer.”

  “What is this word?”

  “It means someone who helps the injured and sick.”

  “Can you heal the self?”

  She smiled slightly. “Not without medicine.”

  She’d been wearing her satchel when the storm came, but it was gone now. Torn off when she went overboard most likely.

  “Medicine,” he repeated with more of his careful articulation. “What is this?”

  “It’s made from plants and other things. Arnica would be most helpful right now.”

  “That is unknown to me, Healer.”

  “Since it’s a flower found in the mountains of Dinark, I’m not surprised.” She paused. “And healer is a title. My name’s Isaura.”

  He didn’t answer or offer his own name. She sensed his tightly checked desire to ask more questions about the storm. The inquiries for her health had the air of clinical assessment more than heartfelt concern. Impatience clung to him like a scent. So much for the romantic legends of the merfolk.

  His strange eyes scanned the sea as if he waited for something. She followed his gaze but saw nothing but the Failock’s endless horizon. He held her close, treading water to keep their heads above the surprisingly mild ripple of waves.

  “So, what happens now?” she asked.

  “You will stay awake. I will take you to a ship.”

  Her heart soared for a brief second. Then she frowned. “Shouldn’t we get moving in that case?”

  “We are waiting.”

  “For what?”

  “Dolphins.”

  She stared at him in growing irritation. “Is there any way you could elaborate or must I truly ask what you’re talking about?”

  Without looking at her, he sighed as if she strained his tolerance. “Dolphins will find a ship, then we follow. It is foolish to swim without a direction.”

  “So, you don’t know where we are?”

  Now he met her gaze, brimming with affront. “The Fathoms is my sea.”

  “Fathoms? You mean the Failock?”

  “What is the Failock?”

  “The sea of course! Just—Nevermind. Where are we in relation to Eisland?”

  “What is Eisland?”

  This conversation was impossible. “It’s my home. It’s where I was going when…” Her voice choked up and she pinched her mouth closed, horrified she might burst into tears. Her head throbbed and begged for rest. She took a deep, steadying breath and pushed the impulse away.

  “Your shore. It is possible we have another name for it,” he said, gently enough that she risked a glance at him. His hard expression had softened a degree. “Closest land is Black Pebble Coast. Home is there?”

  Black Pebble Coast. The name made her smile, for indeed the shores of Eisland were covered in lava rocks. She remembered the first time she laid eyes on it as a girl not long after her mother’s death. The voyage from Sparna to her father’s northern homeland had seemed endless. Then she’d seen it. As if by magic, that wide swath of onyx beach seemed to shimmer even beneath the cloudy skies. For a while, living on the family farm with Auntie Erla and Jurek where she spent the remainder of her childhood, Eisland became home to her as much as Sparna had been. Then she’d found another home with Jan in Dinark. Just a small apartment, but they’d had plans to move somewhere bigger once they had children. Then the children never came.

  A soft click from the merman brought her thoughts back to the present. He watched her with a questioning look. Realizing she hadn’t answered him, she said, “Black Pebble Coast, yes, that must be Eisland.”

  He examined her a moment more before nodding. “That is good. This place is closest and afterward—”

  His head snapped to the side and he broke off with a sharp trill of surprise.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Hunters come. They are—What is your word? They have fin on top.” He made a sharp whistle and jutted his fingers upward and toward his back.

  “Sharks?” she squeaked. “Is that what you mean?”

  “Yes, those.”

  “But you’re stronger than they are, right? You can kill them if they get too close?”

  “Kill them?” His eyes narrowed. “It is their nature to hunt.”

  “Is that supposed to matter? They want to eat us.”

  “They do no wrong. They come because of you. This bleeding.”

  “Oh, well, many apologies. How inconsiderate of me to be injured in a shipwreck.”

  He made a snort of disdain. “Your kind should not even travel the water. It is not your world and you disturb ours with your crossing.”

  “And if the great continents weren’t underwater from the Gods’ War millennia ago, we wouldn’t need to, but here we are. Can we resume discussing our shark problem?”

  “They break no laws. I will not harm them for a dirtwalker who should not be here in the first place.”

  “So, I’m to be fish food? I don’t believe this. You are the worst rescuer in history.”

  His brow thunderous, he hissed out a breath followed by an orchestra of clicks low in his throat. The sounds held a suspicious lack of courtesy.

  “That better not be directed at me or I’ll pan-fry your tailfin in butter and garlic.”

  He didn’t reply beyond a cursory glower, turning his gaze toward the sea behind them. Isaura saw nothing, no tell-tale dorsal fin slicing the water toward them, but Leonel’s expression became troubled. Maybe he didn’t need to see them to know they were there. The thought scoured away her irritation with him, her heart thudding rapidly. Really, it was stupid to insult the only person who could save her from dying out here. He had a point after all. The sharks didn’t deserve to die for behaving as they naturally would. She just preferred not to be the prey in this equation.

  He turned back. “Can you swim?”

  “I—Usually.”

  “What is this answer? Yes or no?”

  “When I’m not injured, sick, or dehydrated, yes, I can swim. Right now, I’m not sure.”

  He acknowledged this fact reluctantly. “I cannot lead the hunters away while holding you.”

  She considered. “I think I could float for a while without help.” Her skirts pulled heavily on her legs though. The weight would surely throw off her balance. “Wait a moment.”

  Ignoring his curious gaze, Isaura tugged on the laces at the back and extricated her arms from the sleeves of her overdress, letting the garment slip down and sink into the depths. She shifted to lay on her back and Leonel followed her lead, adjusting his grasp to guide her there. She inclined her head slightly to keep her ears above water.

  Exposed to the chilly air, the thin underdress clung to her like a second skin. She ignored the sudden burst of embarrassment. He wasn’t human, after all, and clearly didn’t wear clothing himself. For him, nakedness was normalcy. Right? She risked a glance at his face. Ah. Maybe not.

  She cleared her throat loudly. His gaze snapped to hers and she lifted a brow at him.

  He blinked a few times before his startled expression settled into a neutral one. “You are ready? We try?”

  She spread her arms out. “Yes.”

  Watching her carefully, he let his hands fall away. After a minor wobble she found her equilibrium, letting the water tension and her body’s buoyancy keep her afloat. She didn’t enjoy the vulnerability of having her back toward anything swimming below but if a shark arrived, there was precious little she could do anyway.

  “This’ll work,” she told him, chagrined at the slight tremor in her voice.

  Leonel expression was dubious, though he seemed to silence any objections. “How long can you do this?”

  “Float? As long as I have to, I suppose.”

  “I will return soon as able. The water will grow cool after a time.”

  “I understand. Just, try to hurry.”

  As aggravating as he’d been, now that he was about to leave her, Isaura had to resist the impulse to ask him to stay. She’d been alone in the water after the ship went down. That clawing despair.

  He offered no word of reassurance. With a curt nod, he dipped below the surface, and was gone.

  For a while, she distracted herself by repeating lists of medicinal herbs in alphabetical order. Then by ailment. Then by location. The sun moved across the sky and she began to worry.

  “He’ll be back,” she told the terrified doubt nudging her thoughts. “He will.”

  But that wasn’t always true, was it? Even with those one trusted with all their heart.

  “Isaura, aren’t you tired of pretending?”

  If she could ask for one thing before she died out here, it would be to forget those words. They seemed to follow her everywhere, the memory chasing right behind it. She smelled again the delicate scent of lilies she’d brought home from the market that night. When she opened the door to find Jan sitting at their table, waiting for her, she’d known the moment she’d been dreading for the past year had come. The moment she’d known would come ever since the diagnosis.

  Don’t be a coward. Sit down and talk to him, Isaura told the memory of herself, knowing, as she always did, what happened next.

  Instead of facing the truth, she’d ignored it, breezing into the room and striking up a running monologue about the day, the things she’d learned from Hekla , the noisy streets, the stew she planned for dinner. Jan had said nothing from his seat, letting her ramble on until she ran out of words and banged around in the kitchen to make the stew she hadn’t actually been planning. When that was done, when she had nothing more to talk about, nothing more to do with her hands, Jan called her to sit beside him. She didn’t go, standing beside the fireplace with her gaze fixed on the pot above the grate.

  He sighed quietly. “Isaura, we can’t ignore this anymore.”

  That was when true fear had settled into her. She’d always been able to distract him from speaking the thoughts she saw churning behind his dark, blue eyes. With a glance she saw he wouldn’t be deterred this time. The candle flickered on the table, the shadows playing across Jan’s handsome face. The face she had loved from the moment they met, the one that had looked on her as if she made the sun rise. It didn’t look that way tonight, hadn’t looked that way for months. Now, his features were that of a stranger, resolute, clothed in regret.

  She returned her gaze to the fire, humiliated fury rising up like the bubbling stew.

  “Ignore what, Jan?” she said between clenched teeth. “Tell me what it is that we’ve been ignoring?”

  “Isaura—”

  “This isn’t the future I’d wanted either, but I still loved you. I still wanted to be your wife.”

  “That’s not what this is about. Love was never the trouble between us.”

  “Oh, I know what the trouble is, Jan. I know you’ve been looking for a way out since Hekla explained my situation.”

  He stood, a hint of anger threading the calm. “That isn’t so, and you know it.”

  “Do you think I’m not disappointed too?” Heartbroken. Sliced to ribbons by the shattered dream. “I can’t change what’s broken in me and give you the children we always wanted.”

  “I never expected that of you, but it changed things between us. What we had began to fade and we’ve both been trying to hold on. It’s only made us miserable.” He came a step closer. She prayed he wouldn’t touch her. She prayed he would, that he’d take back the words, that he’d say he loved her and she wasn’t broken, that she was all the family he needed. “Isaura, aren’t you tired of pretending?”

  Floating in water that chilled with each passing moment, Isaura stared up at the empty sky and breathed out a sob. The words were a drumbeat in her head as she watched time slip past. With it, the doubt grew as loud as her clacking teeth. It hardened into certainty while her body shivered, wretched with injury and abandonment.