Page 49 of Saint
As if the same thought had just occurred to him, Saint pulled the knife from his belt, reaching for the line of the storm sail I’d just tied. He didn’t even try to free it. It was no use. Instead, he took the rope in one hand and started sawing.
As soon as Clove saw what Saint was doing, he crouched down, turning the ends of the lever below the wheel to check the lock. The helm was still holding.
“Wait… what are we…?” Nash pulled himself along the railing, panicked now.
“We’re going to lie a-hull,” Saint answered.
Nash’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
Lying a-hull was a last resort in a storm like this. A whispered prayer. In another ship, maybe we’d be able to manage with the storm sails, but there was no way to know which direction the next squall would come from. TheRivenwas barely holding together as it was. It wouldn’t be able to take the resistance of the water’s push and pull.
“Get that anchor freed!” Saint shouted, still sawing through the last threads of rope.
Ahead, Nash hadn’t moved, his white-knuckled hands curled around the railing. Rain dripped from his chin in a steady stream.
Water burned in my throat, my eyes, as I turned in a circle, trying to keep my bearings. It still felt like the sky was beneath my feet. TheRivenswayed again, the masts tipping before it righted, and I crouched down when I began to slide, letting gravity take me toward the anchor crank.
I slammed into it hard, knocking the wind from my lungs, and I wheezed as I reached for the lever. My wet, cold hands slipped from the metal and I jammed it forward, trying to get it to budge. But there was no slack. No tension either.
I hauled myself up and peered over the side. “Shit.” I exhaled. The loop of line that reached the hinges was missing.
The slide of the wet ropes sounded overhead and I glanced up to see Clove and Saint heaving the weight of the sails up between gusts to tie them down. But if we didn’t have the anchor, there was nothing keeping the next wave from rolling us.
I climbed over, fitting an arm around the railing so that I could lower myself down.
“What are you doing?” Saint’s voice was faraway, pulled out to sea by the wind.
Below, the surface of the black water looked like the jagged cut of the onyx or obsidian that covered my mother’s jeweled fingers. Like the moment I touched it, it would cut me open.
I didn’t think. When I was within reach, I swung my leg, kicking at the latch with the heel of my boot.
Lightning flashed again and there were a few seconds of blood-chilling quiet before the sound exploded in my ears. The high-pitched ring that followed washed out the storm around me. All I could see was the anchor. My boot desperately reaching for it.
I swung my leg again and again, each time draining the dwindling strength in my arms. It took six tries, but it freed with a screech, and the anchor flew out into the air, nearly hitting me. I clung desperately to the railing, trying to lift myself back up, but every muscle was jumping under my skin. I couldn’t feel my hands anymore.
I grunted, my teeth bared as I fought against my own weight, and then I was suddenly being pulled. Saint’s face appeared over the side of the ship, his ice-blue eyes finding me. But they were missing the calm that usually lived there.
I took hold of his forearm and he grabbed hold of mine, and then Clove was reaching over, yanking me up by the belt. Together, they lifted me back over the railing until my boots were hitting the deck beside theirs. As soon as I felt the ship beneath me, the sick feeling inside of me was climbing up my throat.
I swallowed it down, letting myself slip from Saint’s graspbefore I sank low to the crank. This time, the handle gave under my weight with the sound of scraping metal. The rope rippled as it raced through the feed, and the anchor lowered, splashing into the water below. A few seconds later, theRivensteadied just slightly.
Clove glanced over his shoulder, eyes studying the clouds. “We can’t stay out here.”
“Go.” Saint lowered to his haunches, locking the crank, and Clove pulled me along to the passageway.
We ducked inside the helmsman’s quarters, taking a river of water with us. Nash had already wedged himself into a corner, his arms crossed over his chest. He was trembling all over.
The sea dripped from my clothes, my hands, my hair, and I curled my fingers into my palms tightly, trying to make the warmth come back into them. Like it was the only thing that would convince me I was still breathing.
As soon as Saint was inside, the door was closed and he walked straight toward the desk. He pushed the parchment out of the way, sliding one of the maps free. I watched as he rolled it up with steady fingers, taking great care not to get it wet. When he was finished, he snatched the leather cylinder case from the hook on the wall and slipped it inside, securing the lid.
An unsettling silence fell over the cabin as he dropped it over one shoulder, letting the strap stretch across his chest. Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to let it go down with the ship.
Almost in unison, Saint and Clove stepped on the heels of their boots, pulling their feet free.
Of course, I thought, the feeling of sickness coiling in my belly again. In case we had to swim.
“Take them off,” Saint said, looking at my own boots.
