Page 57 of For the Love of the Quest

“You stole us a trash boat, didn’t you?”

Thomasin paused her exercise in futility to level a look at Edith. “It appears so.”

“You’re a professional criminal, and you stole a rotted boat!” Edith shouted as she frantically joined the water-scooping effort.

“I gave up my life of crime!”

With a mix of exasperation and laughter, Edith said, “You only gave it up a week ago!”

The floor of the boat splintered with a wet crunch, then gave way completely. Edith and Thomasin were dropped unceremoniously into the water.

Pieces of moldy wood caught in Edith’s skirt as her legs flailed against the current. Her satchel, and the staff that was strapped to it, dipped in the water, weighing her down. She spared only a single second of worry for the ashes in her pack, hoping the wax seal on her grandmother’s urn would hold. The frigid sea was nothing like the ponds she had splashed in as a child. Not even the still, murky pool at Dinas Emrys compared to this. That, Edith had been able to handle. This, the roaring chaos, overpowered Edith’s meager swimming skills.

She scrambled to catch hold of the frame of the boat, which was really all that was left. With her and Thomasin both trying to put their weight on it, the rim of the compromised boat splintered, sending Edith face-first into the freezing water.

She sputtered as she bobbed uselessly in the waves, arms flapping wildly. Saltwater stung her eyes, and she felt Thomasin shove her away from the boat.

“Swim!” Thomasin ordered.

Edith tried. She kicked, but her skirt tangled around her ankles. Her arms slapped against the water. The waves tossed her, and she never moved in the direction she wanted. When she opened her mouth to breathe, saltwater invaded her nostrils and flooded down her throat. The sting of it had her eyes watering, and she couldn’t see past the choppy gray waves that pummeled her. Edith shouted for Thomasin, but the sea seemed to be pulling her down, and it was shocking how quickly her arms and legs tired. There was hardly any strength left in them as Edith fought to keep her mouth above the water. She tilted her chin to the sky, gulping desperately for air. In a moment of blind panic, the current overwhelmed her, finally dragging her head beneath the sea.

But then there was an arm wrapping around her waist, and her head crashed through the surface. Edith gulped in as much air as she could. Thomasin dragged Edith along, one arm holding her tight, the other gliding through the water.

“Swim,” Thomasin shouted again, pointing at the foggy silhouette of Bardsey Island.

Edith obeyed blindly, swimming as best she could, arms slapping the water, legs fighting with her skirt to keep moving. The satchel and Merlin’s staff weighed her down. Thomasin grabbed the leather strap and yanked it over Edith’s head. Edith opened her mouth to protest, to tell Thomasin they could not leave it behind, but she needn’t have worried. Thomasin slipped the strap over herown head, taking all the weight herself. With Thomasin’s help, Edith managed to keep her head above water, and without the extra weight, her strokes were smoother, more effective.

They washed up on the shore, wrung out like old rags. After trudging through the frothing surf, they collapsed onto the gray sand. Lying on her back, gasping for breath, Edith let her head fall to the side. The coarse grains of sand were warm under her cheek.

She locked eyes with Thomasin, who was lying in the exact same position, parallel to her. Wet curls stuck to her forehead, and there was sand stuck in her hair and all over her skin. The cold had turned her cheeks bright pink. Her chest heaved up and down in a rapid rhythm. A breathless smile broke out across her face, and with the golden sun shining down on her, sharpening the lines of her face, casting a glow in her dark hair, Edith thought Thomasin just might be an angel.

When Thomasin sat up, then tilted her head to the side to shrug off the satchel, Edith sobered abruptly. The staff was undamaged, but her satchel was completely soaked through. Thomasin held the pack out to her, and Edith sat up too, reaching for it with a limp, clumsy hand. She almost didn’t want to open it, terrified that the last remnants of her grandmother would be gone forever. But Edith didn’t like suspense. She needed to know. With shaking hands, she flung open the flap.

She fell back against the sand in pure relief. Her books, her extra clothes, they were all waterlogged and destroyed. But the urn was absolutely, completely fine. The ceramic was wet, but the lid was in place and the wax seal intact. Thomasin had saved it.

Overwhelmed with gratitude, Edith suddenly remembered the necklace in her pocket. She just hoped it hadn’t been lost in the wreckage. Not daring to look away from Thomasin, Edith fished around in her pocket until she felt her finger prick against the glass. “I have a gift for you,” she said.

Thomasin leaned back on an elbow, torso twisting slightly so that she was looking down at Edith more directly. “You don’t,” she said, her lips curving into a disbelieving smile.

Edith knew exactly how those lips tasted. How they felt trailing kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, just beneath the hemline of her blouse.

God, how she didn’t want to mess this up, didn’t want to lose her.

Edith lifted her hand and let the cord unspool so that the pendant hung between them. “For you,” she said, feeling shy all of a sudden.

Thomasin reached for it, eyes wide. She let the pendant rest gently in her palm.

“I know it’s just sea glass,” Edith said quickly, “but I thought it was beautiful, and it reminded me of you. So I thought you might like—”

Thomasin slanted her lips against Edith’s in a hard kiss. “I fucking love the hell out of you.”

Edith felt her lips break into a wide smile. She lifted her head from the sand, chasing Thomasin’s lips.

She got brave, straying from Thomasin’s mouth. Edith pressed kisses along the curve of her jaw, her exploration growing more bold as she passed the shell of her ear and ventured down the column of her throat. Edith felt Thomasin’s hummingbird pulse beneath her tongue.

Thomasin’s skin tasted like seawater and smelled of apples and smoke. She knew then that she would chase this feeling—chase Thomasin—forever.

Thomasin dragged Edith’s mouth back to her own. Her palms were rough with callouses and sand against Edith’s cheeks.