all your simpering courtiers put together.”
The man had the nerve to smile at her with feigned indulgence. “Aah, but you’re a Wilding, a freak of genetics that can’t be counted on to run true, like the original line of heredity.”
Mahri shook her head. What had happened? One minute they were on their way to oblivion, and the next…
“You take things entirely too seriously, Prince Korl.” And she made the word “prince” sound like a curse, and his handsome face fell into a frown. She paused a moment and thought, don’t be too hard on him, he’s only repeating what he’s been taught.
“It’s just that a prince can’t waste himself on—” he began.
This time she did curse, a vile word that made him blush clear up to his headband. “Don’t worry, oh-great-one, I barely sullied you!” she spat.
He froze, the arrogant mask dropped for a moment and Korl regarded her with lustfully curious speculation. “Really?”
Mahri choked, momentarily speechless, not knowing whether to laugh or scream. Then she stood utterly still, her mouth wide with horror. That he could make her forget all else…
“We’re not moving,” she cried, scrambling to her feet. “Why aren’t we moving?”
Mahri looked over the bow of her craft. The vines had spent most of their buds, only a few late-bloomers remained. And flowers now choked the channel, huge mounds of white petals that mired their boat and slowed the current to a crawl. She spun. Except for the depression where she and Korl had lain, the boat overflowed with the white mass, and she dropped to her knees, searching for her bone staff.
“This is all your fault,” she scolded.
“My fault?”
“Aya. Why couldn’t you’ve been old and ugly?”
Korl quit searching for the paddle and stared at her in astonishment. “But most apprentice’s are young.”
“But you didn’t have to be so handsome,” she exclaimed, turning an accusing look on him. They both balanced on hands and knees, almost nose-to-nose. He didn’t even have the good grace to look flattered, and Mahri could’ve bitten her tongue. His smirk told her he knew he was good-looking, enjoyed the fact that she thought so too. She gritted her teeth against the fury that boiled inside of her. He was so arrogant.
“And you,” he drawled, that deep voice pitched to send shivers up her spine, “didn’t have to be so provocatively… exotically… gorgeous.”
Mahri reeled as if he’d slapped her. One minute he made her furious and the next he made her want to melt against him—and there he goes, she thought. He’s doing it again. Making her forget everything but his existence.
“Jaja,” she called, her gaze still trapped in his. “Where are you?”
A muffled squeak for an answer, and Korl’s eyes released her, turned to watch the monk-fish’s progression across the deck by the petals that puffed up from his movements. Another muffled, fairly disgusted squeak, and a brown ball of scales exploded from the whiteness, landing unerringly on Mahri’s shoulder. With an almost human display of dignity, he brushed off any remaining petals from his scales.
Her hand touched bone and she pulled it from the fluff, stood and swung it with unnecessary force to beat the flowers out of her boat. Korl accomplished more with the paddle, and when the deck was relatively clear he looked up at her with a grin.
“Now what?”
Mahri opened her mouth to reply when something shook the boat, a tentative wiggle that didn’t come from any current. Korl’s grin faded and they both looked out across the expanse of white. Something fast, long—like a tentacle, yet not—speared through the water, snagged a mound of petals then disappeared with a quiet plop.
Mahri Saw into the water, down past the upper roots of the sea trees, her Vision dull with lack of root but able to discern the huge shape that lay around and underneath them. Her craft wobbled again.
“Do you See it?” she asked him, knowing that
The man had the nerve to smile at her with feigned indulgence. “Aah, but you’re a Wilding, a freak of genetics that can’t be counted on to run true, like the original line of heredity.”
Mahri shook her head. What had happened? One minute they were on their way to oblivion, and the next…
“You take things entirely too seriously, Prince Korl.” And she made the word “prince” sound like a curse, and his handsome face fell into a frown. She paused a moment and thought, don’t be too hard on him, he’s only repeating what he’s been taught.
“It’s just that a prince can’t waste himself on—” he began.
This time she did curse, a vile word that made him blush clear up to his headband. “Don’t worry, oh-great-one, I barely sullied you!” she spat.
He froze, the arrogant mask dropped for a moment and Korl regarded her with lustfully curious speculation. “Really?”
Mahri choked, momentarily speechless, not knowing whether to laugh or scream. Then she stood utterly still, her mouth wide with horror. That he could make her forget all else…
“We’re not moving,” she cried, scrambling to her feet. “Why aren’t we moving?”
Mahri looked over the bow of her craft. The vines had spent most of their buds, only a few late-bloomers remained. And flowers now choked the channel, huge mounds of white petals that mired their boat and slowed the current to a crawl. She spun. Except for the depression where she and Korl had lain, the boat overflowed with the white mass, and she dropped to her knees, searching for her bone staff.
“This is all your fault,” she scolded.
“My fault?”
“Aya. Why couldn’t you’ve been old and ugly?”
Korl quit searching for the paddle and stared at her in astonishment. “But most apprentice’s are young.”
“But you didn’t have to be so handsome,” she exclaimed, turning an accusing look on him. They both balanced on hands and knees, almost nose-to-nose. He didn’t even have the good grace to look flattered, and Mahri could’ve bitten her tongue. His smirk told her he knew he was good-looking, enjoyed the fact that she thought so too. She gritted her teeth against the fury that boiled inside of her. He was so arrogant.
“And you,” he drawled, that deep voice pitched to send shivers up her spine, “didn’t have to be so provocatively… exotically… gorgeous.”
Mahri reeled as if he’d slapped her. One minute he made her furious and the next he made her want to melt against him—and there he goes, she thought. He’s doing it again. Making her forget everything but his existence.
“Jaja,” she called, her gaze still trapped in his. “Where are you?”
A muffled squeak for an answer, and Korl’s eyes released her, turned to watch the monk-fish’s progression across the deck by the petals that puffed up from his movements. Another muffled, fairly disgusted squeak, and a brown ball of scales exploded from the whiteness, landing unerringly on Mahri’s shoulder. With an almost human display of dignity, he brushed off any remaining petals from his scales.
Her hand touched bone and she pulled it from the fluff, stood and swung it with unnecessary force to beat the flowers out of her boat. Korl accomplished more with the paddle, and when the deck was relatively clear he looked up at her with a grin.
“Now what?”
Mahri opened her mouth to reply when something shook the boat, a tentative wiggle that didn’t come from any current. Korl’s grin faded and they both looked out across the expanse of white. Something fast, long—like a tentacle, yet not—speared through the water, snagged a mound of petals then disappeared with a quiet plop.
Mahri Saw into the water, down past the upper roots of the sea trees, her Vision dull with lack of root but able to discern the huge shape that lay around and underneath them. Her craft wobbled again.
“Do you See it?” she asked him, knowing that
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