Shadows of Ivory by Bryce O'Connor & T. L. Greylock

Author:Bryce O'Connor & T. L. Greylock [O'Connor, Bryce & Greylock, T. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy
Publisher: Wraithmarked Creative, LLC
Published: 2020-08-04T04:00:00+00:00

“I don’t recall there being skill involved.”

Eska coughed.

Her lungs burned. Water spewed from her mouth. Another cough. More water dribbling down her cheek.

Her eyes flew open but she could see nothing other than bright light. Another cough wracked her chest.

A voice. Faint. Disembodied.

A hand on her back, keeping her on her side, another hand on her waist.

At last her eyes processed the shape of a head leaning over her. Warm eyes. Dark hair. Silver ink curling up his neck. Eden.

She became aware of something digging into her hip and tried to shift away. Eden helped her sit up, his hands seeming to hold her ribcage together as a fit of coughing surged through her chest.

“Breathe. Just breathe,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re safe.” Using his foot, he shoved away the diving helmet and the metal buckles on which Eska had been lying. The rowboat rocked gently. As her coughing subsided, Eska assessed her body. The diving silks were nearly in tatters, stingers protruded from her skin, and here and there blood oozed from her many tiny wounds.

“Is it dead?” she heard herself ask.

Eden let out a hoarse, strained bark of laughter. “Quite dead. Somehow I’m not surprised you know how to use a knife.”

“I don’t recall there being skill involved.” Eska tried to laugh, but the sound her throat emitted sounded rather more like a sob. Eden’s arms wrapped around her and for the first time Eska was aware of the warm sunlight shining down from a clear sky. She also became aware of the third person in the rowboat.

Bastien was staring at the water, tear marks visible on his pale cheeks, hands clenched in his lap as he knelt in the bottom of the boat.

“My lady,” he said, fresh tears spilling from his eyes. “Forgive me. Forgive me.”

Eska stirred from Eden’s embrace, reaching out weakly towards the younger man. Their fingers met and tangled together. “Bastien, you are not to blame.” His hand trembled in hers and he didn’t meet her gaze. “Look at me,” she said. After a moment, he did as she asked. “There was nothing you could have done.” Eska tried a smile. “And don’t even think of saying you should have been the one to make the dive. That would be nonsense and you know it.”

He nodded and wiped at his tears, but then his gaze dropped once more, this time landing on the diving helmets.

The glass masks stared up at Eska. The leather of her suit was studded with spiny needles and rent through in multiple places.

“We seem to have ruined your invention,” Eska said, glancing over her shoulder. The Regatta Master sat on the rowboat’s stern, his gaze fixed somewhere over Eska’s head. He drew in a long breath, but rather than speak, he dropped backward over the edge.

“No!” Eska shouted—or tried, but it came out as a weak gasp. She made to scramble across the rowboat, but dropped to the bottom, her lungs burning, hands grasping her chest. “No, no,” she repeated.

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