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I wasn’t fast enough to grab for shells, to figure out if any of the shells in Creon’s coat pockets had even survived the fall. Flailing in the water, I had no time to dodge either. Instead, in some last and thoughtless reflex, my left arm flew up, catching the force of what would have been a straight hit to the face.

Skin split open from wrist to elbow, and the salt of the sea sprayed undiluted agony into the wound.

I would have screamed if my mouth hadn't filled itself with ocean water the moment I parted my lips.

Fuck, fuck,fuck.

Above me, Iorgas was already preparing for another attack. I dove back below the surface, deciding in a split second that I preferred another moment of cold suffocation over a blast of red to the eye. The icy water at least dulled the sting of the wound as I fumbled for my pockets with my right hand, trying to find the sharp outlines of my shells with numb fingertips. I found perhaps three of them, the rest washed out by my fall and the force of the current.

Three was not enough.

Zera help me. I didn’t want to go back up into the world above, where Iorgas was waiting for me, ready to strike the moment I showed my face. But my lungs were bursting. My skin was slowly turning to ice. If I didn’t come up now, I might never come up again.

Pressing a shell into my left palm, I kicked myself back to the surface. The water broke around me, and I spat out a mouthful of brine, raising my hand to defend myself.

No red flash followed.

Instead, I was welcomed by the thundering of the waves and the screams of dying fae and the squeaking of … a bird?

It took me a moment to blink the salt from my eyes, wrestling to stay above the water. Iorgas still hovered over me with those crimson wings spread wide and the lower half of his face streaked with blood. But rather than diving at me, rather than showering me with red, he was entirely occupied slapping away a tiny white-grey ball of feathers that darted around his head, clawing at his eyes and ears, squeaking like a bag of mice at every flutter of its little wings.

Thatwasa bird.

Zera.

My breathless laugh was smothered by another wave, and I nearly went down again. Didn’t matter now. Iorgas was cursing in furious exasperation, and that didn’t matter, either. With renewed vigour, I began to swim, splashing closer to the ship. Creon had to be there, somewhere. That was all I had to worry about now – find him, draw his attention.

There.

From behind a mast tumbling over, his dark silhouette shot up from the fae ship like a lightning bolt called back into the heavens, a sweep of black against the stark blue. I tried to call out his name, but my voice had shrunken to a husky whisper, and I barely heard myself over the roar of the waves. Gods damn it, I hadn’t survived to this point to be defeated by some unwilling vocal chords, and ifIcouldn’t make the sound I needed …

I turned around. Iorgas was making clear attempts to follow me, but failing hopelessly with the small, fluffy bird still pecking at his face in unrelenting bloodlust.

Pressing my numb left hand to my dress, I swung a wild flash of red at him.

My shivering hands and the turbulent waves did make it harder to aim, and I hit him on the hip rather than the intended weak spot of his wings. But his roar of frustration came out no less loud for it, and the grey bird shot forward in that single moment of distraction, digging its little claws into Iorgas’s left eye.

This time the bastard’s howl was far louder, and hoarse with pain.

Creon changed course.

And then all I had to do was hold up my arm as he dove towards me, one hand stretched out as if he could drag me out of the water by the sheer force of his will. His strong fingers closed around my wrist the next moment. With one powerful motion, he pulled me up and into his arms – impossibly warm arms, wrapping around my soaked, shivering body like the safest of blankets, pressing me against his chest as if he’d never let me go.

Em, his lips said, and again,Em, and then a few words I couldn’t make out. I didn’t need to. The wild look in his eyes told me enough – that I was not the only one who had died seven deaths in the last minute alone.

‘I’m fine,’ I garbled, hooking my arms and legs around him, digging my nails into his shoulders in a desperate attempt to convince my body it was true. ‘Iorgas tried to kill me – alf steel – we need to—’

The little bird squeaked behind me, the sound shrill and urgent. I turned my head to find Iorgas chasing after it. Blood poured from his left eye, and red magic flashed wildly as he attempted to aim with only half of his vision.

In a reflex, I pressed a hand to my formerly velvet dress and let loose all the magic I could find, vaguely wondering if I could stop him moving completely.

Iorgas did not freeze. But he abruptly dropped both his arms, his body went limp mid-wingbeat, and when I caught a brief glimpse of his good eye, his gaze was oddly empty, like a sailor who’s been hit by the boom a few too many times. More than that one glance we didn’t get. With a jarring, almost serene grace, the Mother’s commander folded in his wings and slid from the sky like a leaf whirling down, dropping into the sea without another sound.

He didn’t even try to swim.

Only then did I realise that my dress was no longer velvet. After all the magic I’d already drawn from it, there was nothing soft about it left, nothing I might draw for movement. Soaked with seawater, though, the nameless cloth was strangely shiny, enough to mirror glimpses of blue from the sky overhead.

Smoothness for mind.