Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
As if we’re not in real trouble right now.
My fingers bite into the wood of the bench. In the few seconds it’s taken me to process what the fuck is going on, the storm is closer. How can it possibly move so fast? Forget worrying about the mast; the first big wave will tip us, and that’s the end. Or the water will fill the boat faster than we can bucket it out, and we’ll sink. I can’t move. My mind is shrieking and my body is locked. “We’re going to die.”
Maeve glares. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Help me.”
But . . . I can’t. Fear is a live thing inside me, expanding to fill my skin to the brim. I thought I knew its shape before now—I cut my teeth on the sensation in the pit of my stomach and the way my mouth goes dry and my thoughts numb. This is different. That was a trickle of sensation. This is a tsunami.
Maybe it truly is a tsunami in the most literal sense.
Rain lashes my face. Too cold. Too strong. Too much. “I can’t,” I barely manage to say.
Maeve looks like she’s about to curse me, but then she really seems to see me. Her brows draw together, and she lets go of the rudder long enough to take the few short steps needed to crouch next to me. “Lizzie, look at me.”
“I am looking at you.”
“No, look at me.” She takes my face in her hands, her grip too tight with panic. “I need you. I understand that you’re afraid. I am, too. But I can’t do this alone. Please, Lizzie. Strap down our supplies.”
Her words barely beat my fear away long enough for me to draw a shuddering breath. Maeve needs me. She’s practically begging me. I’ve fought hundreds of enemies—thousands, even—without balking. What is this storm but another enemy?
The logic is flimsy enough to be laughable, but my muscles unlock enough for me to nod. “Okay. I’ll strap down the supplies.” Somehow.
It still takes me two tries to get moving. The boat felt small to begin with, but it’s pathetically tiny now that it’s rocking violently back and forth with rain pattering the floorboards. There’s some rope tucked away in the corner of the little enclosure, and I wrestle it over the crate and pack, doing my best to fasten them in place. We are only a day away from Khollu, maybe two, based on Maeve’s estimates. But she can’t last that long without fresh water, even if she theoretically could without food.
No, we are not losing a single damn supply. Not on my watch.
It takes forever and far too little time to finish my task. I turn to find that Maeve has rolled the sail down and lashed it in place. There’s an inch of water at our feet. We look at each other across the short distance, and for the first time, I see fear on her face. True fear.
Strange that this quells my own. That’s something to examine later—if we survive this nightmare.
She has to yell to be heard over the screaming wind. “If too much water comes aboard, we’ll sink.”
There is a single small bucket rattling around. I snatch it up before she has a chance to. If I stop moving, fear will take hold again. “I got it.”
“Lizzie—”
“I got it.”
She looks like she’s about to argue but finally nods. “We can’t lash ourselves to the ship. If it tips or breaks apart, we need to be able to swim and not be dragged down in the wreckage.”
I stare at her too long. “If it . . . breaks apart.” For some reason, that outcome had never occurred to me. Tipping, sure. Sinking, of course. But being ripped apart? I shudder and grip the bucket hard enough that I feel it creak in my hands.
“It probably won’t.” But she casts a worried look at the storm. It’s almost to us. The fact that it isn’t overhead and my stomach is still twisting itself in knots over how violent the waves are is . . . worrisome.
Yeah, worrisome. Not piss-your-pants terrifying. Not at all.
I bend over and scrape the bucket over the bottom of the boat, whisking up as much water as possible. The movement really does help. I learned a long time ago that putting one foot in front of the other, literally or not, is the only way to get through the most fucked-up experiences. And so I set my entire being into ensuring that this fucking teacup of a boat doesn’t sink.
Maeve is doing something to the rudder, but I can’t spare the energy to focus on her right now. If I falter, I’m going to freeze up, and that will be the end.
Time ceases to mean a single damn thing. My world narrows down to an endlessly repeating sequence: bend, scrape, straighten, toss. Over and over and over again.