Page 46 of Ballad of Sea and Sky

“There’s no more,” I rasped, pulling the sharp abalone from my waist and hissing at the mess of cuts it had left behind. I managed to force myself back up to dip a corner of my skirt in the salt water inlet, washing off the cuts as best as I could. I hoped the salt would be enough to ward off infection while I healed, which would no doubt be a slower process than normal with my magic so drained.

“Thank you,” Caspian breathed, the sound more of an exhale than actual words. With a groan, he lifted a wing, a silent invitation to share warmth in the cold night. I slid beneath the feathers, which were more cloth sail and driftwood than soft down, but they were warmer than the rest of his skin, which was still cool to the touch.

“What about you?” I asked, shivering a little as I adjusted to the warmth of the feathers. Caspian had nothing to protect his back from the cold, and I worried he would sicken in his already weakened condition.

“I’m fine,” he rumbled, his head turning to the side so he was facing me, his eyes a dim gold in the darkness and his lips still crusted with salt and sand and cracked skin.

He looked oddly tragic and beautiful like this, and I resisted the urge to reach out and touch his lips, the memory of his instinctive kiss of relief making my own tingle.

“You’re anything but fine,” I said, tapping a wing gently and making him grimace.

He closed his eyes, face a tight mask of pain and exhaustion. “Iwill befine,“ he corrected, his exhale telling me he was quickly drifting back into sleep. “I have you.”

Isleptuneasily,wakingoften to check that Caspian was still breathing. His final words to me, before sleep claimed him, must have been a byproduct of everything we had been through. I was the worst person to rely on when stranded on a deserted beach. I was also more than a little concerned that he was too exhausted to poke fun at me.

I should have known it wouldn’t last.

I woke up cold and stiff, fog clouding the cave opening and the sea crashing wildly down the beach. Caspian was gone, and I sat up in a panic, my lungs screaming. He couldn’t have gotten far with two broken wings, but he could have done something reckless.

Hypocrite, I told myself, brushing the sand off me as I called water into my palms from the fog. It came in a rush, my magic clearly having revived some with a night of sleep. I was the last person who should be accusing anyone of recklessness, and I tried to calm my breathing as I sipped the cool water slowly.

My lungs were still tight and painful, but at least noteverybreath felt like a blazing knife to my ribs.

“Cas,” I rasped, my voice still ragged from dehydration. I pulled another cupful of water into my palms and drank, then tried again. “Caspian?”

“Here.” His voice came through the fog, a dry rasp similar to my own, and I squinted my eyes to try and see through the dense white.

He was crouching over one of the tide pools, one hand poised above the water as he concentrated on the rocks at his feet. His wings were still bound, but he must be in less pain if he was able to move around. There was a small pile of abalone shells next to him, and a fish flipped helplessly as if struggling for a final breath.

“What are you—”

With a splash, he answered my question, producing a writhing fish from the tide pool and adding it to the growing pile.

“Catching breakfast,” he replied, not looking up as he concentrated in the pool. “You can make yourself useful by gathering dry driftwood.”

I balked at the dismissal, feeling silly for my concern. Ihadbeen useful, but he now acted like he was solely responsible for our survival.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” I snapped, anger rising in response to pain and fear and insult. “Pretty sure I saved your life.”

“I believe I said thank you,” Caspian replied equitably, looking up at me with amber eyes, which I was unreasonably pleased to see looked bright instead of a dull gold. “But thank you again, in case that wasn’t clear.”

I pursed my lips, feeling a strange mixture of relief and irritation. Caspian was still in pain, I reminded myself, and probably panicking as much as I was about what happened next. I went in search of driftwood without another word, moving slowly so as not to irritate my lungs further. The fog made it even harder to breathe, and I felt like I was trying to breathe through soup as I shuffled and cursed my way over the rocky shore in search of wood.

When I had a pile I thought would be big enough for a fire, I gathered it up in my arms and stumbled back to the cave, depositing the load in front of Caspian with an irritable humph.

“We won’t be able to light a fire in this murk,” Caspian said, gesturing out at the fog as he worked on skinning the fish and shelling the abalone with my makeshift knife. “But hopefully it will burn off.”

“You’re welcome,” I said pointedly, dropping to the ground with a wheeze and leaning my head back against the wall of the cave.

Caspian looked up, his eyes narrowing on me. He put down the knife and wiped his hands on his trousers, which were looking significantly worse for wear.

“Two things, Princess,” he growled, his voice sounding almost normal now that he was rested and recovering. “I’m not going to thank you for every tiny task you undertake to ensure our survival.”

“What manners,” I scoffed, but I didn’t have the breath to argue further.

Caspian furrowed a brow at me. “Assume you have my thanks, and I’ll do the same. There’s no need to belabor the point. Second,” he continued, placing his hands gently to my throat. I jerked away from his touch, and he growled in frustration. “I’m checking your pulse, Urchin. No need to prickle at me.”

I stilled, letting him hold his fingers there for a moment longer than was probably necessary. His fingers were cold, and I shivered as he sat back on his heels. “You’re not well. You need to rest.”