Page 74 of Spar of Hearts

Panic pounded in Roderick’s chest as he watched Anya fight against the waves. She wasn’t making an inch of progress toward the rope, and after using all her strength climbing the rigging and manning the helm, her energy could fade in a flash.

While the Lupus Star had sailed through many a gale without either of them, sailor’s code demanded that he stay with the ship and see it through the danger.

But his knightly code was burning hot within him, along with something much stronger than it ought to be. At his core, he was a knight, a servant of the Crown.

It was time to act like one.

He turned back to Octavio. “Octavio, you’re in charge. Lady Rowan, once the storm passes, keep us on course as close to the coast as possible.”

Octavio took a step forward. “Roderick, what are you—”

Roderick ignored Octavio, kicked off his boots, tossed his rapier to the deck, and dove over the stern. His skin felt like glass shattering on stone as he dove into the waves, but he kept cutting through the water. Mere days ago, such waters called his name, welcoming him into the inky blackness. Now, he was fighting them with all he had.

Smaller splashes unlike the colliding waves drew his eye. As the swell brought him up, he saw Anya fighting to stay above the surface.

“Anya!” he gasped. “Hold on!”

He doubled his efforts, heaving air between strokes. Anya’s panicked breaths became shorter, sharper—then stopped.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins as she disappeared into the depths. He gulped a breath and dove for her, throwing his arms out in back-breaking chops through the erratic current.

His fingers met claws as he reached through the stream of bubbles billowing from her mouth, then locked his fingers with hers. She was limp and heavy, but alive. She had to be. He broke through the surface and held her close. She coughed and sputtered water from her lungs in convulsing hacks.

“I’ve got you. You’re all right.”

She fell against him, her weight forcing him deeper into the water. He had to get back to the rope. It couldn’t be more than a few hundred feet. But with Anya so weak from the lack of air, it would take twice as long to swim with her in tow.

“Roderick,” she said hoarsely, nuzzling deeper into his neck. His cheeks flushed. Could drowning mimic drunkenness? There was no way she was saying his name the way he thought she was. And if she was, for someone so diplomatic, she picked the most inopportune times to express affection.

“We’re going back to the ship. Can you hold on to me?”

“The stars,” she murmured. “You’ll watch with me, won’t you?”

Again, not the right moment. But the sparks those words ignited in his chest kept the frigid Aquillan waters from gaining a foothold.

“Of course.” He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. She wouldn’t remember any of this anyway. She would be back to righteous anger at him in no time. “Just as soon as we get back to the ship, all right? So hold on tight.”

“All right…” She linked her claws around his waist. It was a weak hold, but it was better than nothing. They had to get moving before hypothermia set in, or the adrenaline rush from her affection faded.

Between the roiling waves and pounding sleet, the sea and sky were one and the same. He balanced riding the swells toward the faint outline of the Lupus Star with cutting across the ones that dragged them away. There was no rhyme or reason to them. This was far from a natural storm. Octavio said it would fade. It had to fade. They just had to wait it out.

After what felt like ages of gaining and losing distance, the Lupus Star disappeared into the fog of rain and ice. Anya began to shiver against him, digging her claws into his wet shirt.

Waiting it out wasn’t an option anymore. No amount of movement was staving off the bone-chilling cold for himself anymore either. He kept on, eyes shut tight against the salty spray. He lengthened his strokes simply to move as much as possible—anywhere, any direction, until finally, finally, his hand dipped into sand. His eyes shot open.

Land.

Relief powered him through as he shifted Anya into his arms and pulled her onto the beach. He held her close in his lap, savoring the gentle push of her pulse against his fingers and the hint of bergamot that still clung to her skin.

She’s alive. She’s alive. He exhaled a shaky breath.

The storm continued to roil around them, but it was nothing compared to the temper of the sea. They couldn’t get any wetter.

Anya’s shivering returned full force, teeth chattering and all. He’d rested long enough. He pulled her further onto the beach away from the tide line and rested her head gently onto the sand.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to make a fire. You’ll be warm in no time.”

Survival was nothing new to him. There were plenty of times during his service as a squire that required such labor. Their supplies would sometimes run out, get flooded in the night, or even on one occasion, burnt to a crisp by a frightened wyvern. He never thought there would be a day where he’d pray for a wyvern to appear.