Page 28 of The Crown's Awakening
“Shut up.”
This time it comes lower, closer, the words pressed between us as the water surges again. The ship looms ahead, the dark hull cutting through the water as the distance narrows.
That is when I feel it. It is small, so small I am not sure if I imagined it. A flicker of life. I search for it again, but it’s gone. Or I can’t reach it. I don’t know which. The sensation leaves something behind anyway, a memory rising through the cold before I can stop it.
Colsar. The last time I felt like this, he was there. At the edge of that cave. Another wave pulls behind us as the bodies press forward again, the surface breaking over and over as they come.
If he is alive, he will find me.
The child may still live.
My thoughts are broken by Teorin swearing under his breath, harsher this time, something in it giving way. Then the water lifts. The force pulls upward, carrying us with it as he drives us out of the current, over the edge, and onto the deck.
The impact runs through me, but I barely register it before he’s pulling me upright, his grip still locked around me as water runs from both of us, pooling beneath our feet.
His breathing is uneven now, no longer contained.
I push against him, slower than I want, the effort heavier than it should be. “You shouldn’t have come after me.”
The lie sits wrong in my mouth.
He doesn’t answer.
CHAPTER 10
Remember This
The cold doesn’t leave when we’re back on deck. It stays under my skin, dulling everything into something slower, heavier, harder to hold. The wind moves between us, carrying the salt of the sea and the faint, distant pull of the water below. I keep my eyes on it, letting it hold my attention a moment longer, because turning back to him means stepping into everything I have already decided I cannot bear.
“Asharin.” His voice is low and careful.
I don’t answer.
The silence stretches, the ship rising and falling beneath us in a slow, uneven rhythm. When I finally turn, it is with care, my body still heavier than it should be, my hand leaving the rail only when I’m certain I won’t lose my footing.
“When we reach Alarna,” I say, “you will not come with me.”
He watches me for a long moment. There is something measured in it, something held back, as though he is deciding which part of himself to respond with. “You don’t understand the risk.”
“I understand it well enough.”
“It will be worse without me.”
I smile bitterly. “That isn't possible."
He doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, his attention shifts, as if something else has surfaced that he cannot ignore.
“The child,” he says after a moment. “Let me check.”
“No.” The answer comes immediately. It is not just that I don't want him touching me. The truth is I do not want to know the answer.
He exhales, and something passes across his face that I have not seen before, something that doesn’t fit with the rest of him, too unguarded to belong there for long. “Alarna is dangerous,” he says. “Me not being there makes it worse.”
“I don’t care.” The words come easily.
“I can’t stand to see you like this.”
