Bitterblue wanted some fresh air. Just a little fresh air, so that when they pulled into the port of Ledra later today, she’d be less likely to vomit on someone’s shoes.
She touched Hava’s sleeping shoulder, once. Hava made a small, contented noise in response, but didn’t wake. Bitterblue found her boots, then the knife holsters she always wore under her sleeves.
Leaning on walls and doors, she made her way down the long corridor, then upstairs to the deck. Immediately, cold sliced through her clothing and the wind whipped her hair out of one of its braids. Wind this cold was shocking, especially given that it was only the first of October.
Giddon’s laugh rang out somewhere nearby. She looked for his tall, solid form, wanting to tuck herself into his body for warmth, for protection from the wind. Giddon would be with her for the entire trip, making her laugh, helping her care for Hava, giving her his honest opinions when she asked. She hadn’t believed that the Council would let Giddon go. She’d written beautiful thank-yous to Raffin, Bann, Po, and Katsa. Bitterblue felt greedy, like she’d stolen him.
He was in the bow, talking to the captain and one of Bitterblue’s guards, the ship’s cat winding around his feet. A rose glow from the eastern horizon touched his face. She heard snatches of his voice, thrown back to her by the wind.
She wouldn’t interrupt. Clinging to whatever she could grab as the floor bucked, she edged onto the afterdeck and looked out over the water behind them. This very same water was touching the water that touched the water that lapped up against the docks and cliffs and hills of her very own nation, her home. Somewhere in the world, back the way they’d come, was a place where the ground was solid beneath her feet, where she knew what she was doing. More than that: Monsea needed her. She was the keeper of its people, no matter where they roamed. She would find out what had happened to Mikka and Brek, her two men.
She saw a wave rolling toward the ship, bigger than the others. Much bigger, she realized with a blip of surprise, just before the ship ducked to meet it. The deck surged up, then fell, the sailors in the bow shouting their amusement, everyone unhurt, everything in its proper place, as always; except that Bitterblue was gone.
* * *
—
In the water behind the ship, Bitterblue shouted and screamed. But the wind bore the ship and her words away, and nobody heard her.
It seemed impossible. “Giddon,” she shouted, thrashing and flailing, absolutely incredulous that they didn’t realize they were leaving her behind. “Giddon!”
She swam after them. They’ll see I’m missing, she thought. They’ll turn around. But the waves lifted her regularly as she swam, giving her a view of the vanishing ship, and nothing changed, except that she got colder, and more flabbergasted.
“What do I do?” she cried. “Giddon!”
Still in a state of disbelief, she kept swimming.
* * *
—
Bitterblue shook with cold. She was still swimming, more or less. Trying to stay above water, trying to continue on a straight path, feeling like she’d swallowed half the ocean, icy pain throbbing in her ears. Had they noticed yet that she was missing? Didn’t anyone ever check on the queen? How could they be so careless?
I’ll swim all the way to Ledra, she thought, allowing no other thought into her head, no other possible ending to this story. I’ll fire every one of them when I get there, for leaving me behind. It was harder and harder to move her shoulders, slap the water with arms and legs she could no longer feel.
They’re all fired, she thought. As soon as I get there.
* * *
—
She was having a sort of dream, about the time her friend Katsa had saved her from her father, after her father had killed her mother. Katsa was a Graceling and had carried her to sanctuary across an impassable, frozen mountain, running on snowshoes, yelling, keeping her warm and alive.
Don’t you give up, she heard Katsa yelling. Keep swimming. Keep swimming! Which was a strange thing for Katsa to yell, if they were crossing a mountain, but Bitterblue was used to Katsa’s teacher voice during training sessions, so she did what she was told. She kept swimming. And swimming, and crying. Her arms wouldn’t move. She couldn’t do it anymore. She breathed water. She sank.
Something bumped against her, hard. Bitterblue came awake, choking, thrashing. Katsa?
Something bumped against her again, from below. Keep swimming, it said. Then a purplish mountain formed beneath her, lifting her up to the surface, soft, slippery, and warm. It had a head and flippers and was swimming strongly forward. Bitterblue didn’t understand what was happening.
Too cold, someone said. We must hurry.
In the water around Bitterblue, she saw the faces of what looked like seals, but bigger, and deep purple, pearlescent, almost blue. They were staring at her with dark, placid eyes as they swam beside her. Don’t give up, one of them said.
Something about the way they talked made Bitterblue feel like the top of her head was coming off. “I never give up,” she said. “Everyone’s fired.”
Keep moving, another of them said. You must keep warm. But Bitterblue couldn’t move, she could only lie prostrate on the purple creature below her, letting her arms and legs trail into the water and closing her eyes.
Open your eyes! someone yelled, and her eyes popped open.
Swimming beside Bitterblue, one of the creatures stared at her hard, its whiskers long and droopy. Its whiskers reminded her of her adviser Froggatt, who was probably still asleep in his bed on the ship, and who was fired.
Don’t fall asleep, the long-whiskered creature said to her. You mustn’t fall asleep.
“I’m so tired,” she said.
If you fall asleep now, the creature said, you won’t wake up.
“But I’m so cold,” Bitterblue said, then noticed snowflakes falling on the creature’s head, melting into its fur. She reached a hand toward its head, then cried out in a ragged, broken voice as one of her rings, her most important ring and dearest treasure, slid from her finger, bounced on the purple mountain she was riding, and slipped into the water.
“Mama!” Bitterblue cried, because it was her dead mother’s ring, gold, with inset gray stones to match the color of Bitterblue’s eyes. It was the only piece of her mother she’d brought on this journey. “Mama!” she moaned as she tried to slide from her mountain and dive after the ring, stopped by the long-whiskered creature who surged up beside her.
Numbly, Bitterblue rested her cheek, watching the snow form a small mound on the head of her long-whiskered friend. She supposed snow was forming soft mounds on her own body as well. She couldn’t feel her body. She heard lapping water as the creatures around her moved, felt the gentle care of the creature who balanced her on its back. Stay awake, Long Whiskers said, over and over, regularly, like the low beat at the base of a song. Idly, it occurred to her that she was hearing all of their voices inside her own head, not really in words, but in pictures, pictures of herself swimming, strong, warm, awake. She remembered then that she knew about these creatures: Keepish silbercows, who were telepaths. Their oil, after they died, made an exquisite golden light. Bitterblue had imported some for her court. Saf had swum with them too.