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Just ten minutes. She needed a small break before she hauled her carcass back to the island.

* * *

She wokeup with seawater in her mouth.

Wren sputtered and tried to reorient herself as she clung to her rock. The tide had risen considerably. How long had she slept? She clambered further up the rock with a groan and sat down, her feet still in the water. The nap was supposed to help, but if anything, she hurt more than before. Shivers worked through her body and Wren wrapped her arms around herself, tucking her fingertip into her armpits.

It was bloody cold, no—freezing.

The blanket of true night covered Lorne properly now, though since it was midsummer, that wasn’t saying a lot. The worst of the storm had abated, but dark and swirling clouds still covered the sky, obscuring the fact that at this time of year, the horizon never quite got dark.

She craned her neck and blinked slowly as she noticed the large black sand beach not far behind her. How had she missed that?

“Storms are debilitating, even for the most experienced sailors,”her father’s voice echoed in her mind.

She examined the waves and the tide. The tide was still coming in so at least she had that working for her. It would still be rough. The waves were choppy, dark, and angry. Perhaps a dragon was around?

Wren cupped her hands around her mouth and whistled.

No answering shriek.

She licked her lips and began humming as loud as she could. Perhaps that would help.

Still no reply.

Hanging her head, she stared at her toes. The dragons always answered.Always. They couldn’t all be gone?

Think, Wren. They’re afraid. They would not venture out from their nest so soon.

Her teeth chattered harder, and she swallowed stiffly. She needed to get back into the water or she’d die here. Wren waited until the next wave rushed toward the shore before she slipped into the water, riding the wave as far as she could. She kicked slowly, treading the water before the next one pushed her closer to the shore. Her feet finally touched the sandy bottom. Clumsily, she made her way forward, only to trip on a rock covered in coral.

She crashed to her hands and knees, spraying water everywhere. Gritting her teeth, Wren crawled through the shallows until she reached dry sand. She was lucky; in half an hour, she would have been rushed back out with the sea, and everything would have been lost. Which meant she’d been out for hours not minutes.

Catching her breath, Wren sat up to inspect her foot. The top was scraped, bloody, and crusted with black sand but not horrible. Even through the dull evening light, she could see that her skin was mottled with large purple and black bruises. Her leathers were torn and bloody but nothing needed stitches. That was something at least.

She abandoned her examination and blankly stared at the sea.

Keep moving. Keep your mind busy.

Where exactly was she?

Wren craned her neck and studied her surroundings, head pounding. A shaft of moonlight broke through the clouds and illuminated the cliff face. The distinctive three points above marked it as the small cove just north of the castle.Which meant that there was a secret underwater tunnel that fed back into the passageways beneath the castle.

She groaned, thinking about getting back into the water or climbing more stairs, but there wasn’t a choice. This beach was too exposed. She needed to get to safety and recoup.

Steeling herself for the bite of the water once more, along with the strain on her muscles, she staggered to her feet and stumbled down the beach to the south. Taking a deep breath, she walked against the tide, legs almost buckling against the pull of it. She clung to the cliff face and tried not to scream. Could nothing be easy?

Letting go would be easy.

“Stop it,” she growled out loud. “You’re no longer living for yourself.”

Britta needed her big sister.

And you need her. She’s your only family now.

Though Wren had always loved the water, it was terrifying now to dive into its murky depths and reach out, blind, until she felt the telltale curve of the underwater archway that signaled the beginning of the secret passageway—something nobody could possibly find unless they knew it to be there already.

She counted backward from thirty as she swam through the tunnel, grateful for the fact that the punishing current of the bay did not quite reach inside. When she got to number nine, which felt more like she’d been holding her breath for two minutes rather than twenty-one seconds, given her current state of duress, she stretched out a hand until it hit the edge of what could only be a stair hewn into the rock itself.