Natalin froze, looking back to Mullan. He was still watching the man, his lips pressed into a thin line. The formality of before was back, whatever casual conversation they’d shared.

He tore his eyes away from the still-pacing figure at last. “Truth be told, girl, there was an attack, not two days past.”

Her hands trembled at the words. “W-What? An-”

“It’s nothing you should be worrying about,” Mullan said, hurrying through the words like he was correcting himself. “Riverguard came out and handled it already. There’s always a detachment here, ‘round this season. Was just a boatful of pirates who hadn’t heard that raiding season hasn’t started yet. Simple enough job for our men.” A low chuckle rumbled up from his belly. “They won’t be bothering anyone again, I’ll tell you that much.”

Natalin clasped her hands in front of her, letting her staff come to rest crosswise. “Then...what can I-”

“Some of them took wounds in the fight,” Mullan said. He gestured towards the longhouse with one hand. “We...well, Lohova’s a small port. We don’t have a dedicated seer, and Seer Olma stopped by only a few days before the fight. Can’t say when the mistress’ll come back next, and our men need healing.”

Natalin shook her head, feeling the blood drain from her face. “A-And you didn’t send word to Aramoor?” The thought confused and appalled her.

Mullan shrugged. “Don’t have a lot of bodies to spare, not with pirates around these parts. We sent word, right enough - had all the old ladies praying up a storm since the minute all this went down. The Waterbinder always listens.” His grin took on a new, pointed light.

And Gerd had just happened to decide she could go out on her own, so long as she came here. Natalin shook her head slowly. If she reached back into the corners of her mind, she could feel Efren still - waiting. Listening.

You could have just said something, she muttered silently, sending the thought his way.

He didn’t reply. But a hand pressed down against her head, big and invisible and stinking of saltwater. It twisted back and forth, mussing her hair, and was gone.

Natalin straightened, still feeling Mullan’s eyes on her. “Take me to them,” she said, gripping her staff more tightly.

----------------------------------------

Her head pounded. She gritted her teeth, feeling the floor sway under her feet.

She’d made progress, though. She knew she had. The five riverguard laid out on the tables in the longhouse had been pale when she pushed through the doors, with the air filled with the stink of burgeoning infection. The town’s healers had tried - they were bandaged decently enough, with fabric that had been soaked in herbs.

Bandages and herbs could only do so much, though, and the men had been hurt. Her stomach had churned at the sight of the wounds cut deep into their flesh. She’d been helping heal in Aramoor - but the ills that took the citizens of the capital were entirely different.

It didn’t matter, she’d told herself. She’d heal them. It was expected of her.

It had taken time, and she could feel the strain of the mana that had been drained away in the process, but their breathing came easier. The bleeding had stopped. The wounds were still there - she was good, but not that good - but they would live.

Natalin leaned back on her stool, wiping sweat from her forehead, and allowed herself a thin, victorious smile.

A glass of water was thrust in front of her. “Here. Take this.”

Mullan stood alongside her. She hesitated for a single second, her reactions slowed by exhaustion, but took it. Once the first taste of it hit her mouth, dry and dusty, she couldn’t help it. She gulped the whole glass straight down.

“I thought as much,” the village chief said, his tone carefully casual. “Take it slow, miss. There’s plenty to be had.”

She bobbed a nod in response, taking a long moment to breathe. He shifted, stepping past her towards her patients.

“Have to say, I appreciate it,” he murmured, running a gentle hand over one of the men’s shoulders. “Wasn’t quite sure what we’d be doing next. Aramoor’s a long sail, and a longer ride.”

“I’m glad I was here,” Natalin said, wrapping both hands around the glass. “You should have sent a rider anyway.”

“Maybe,” Mullan said. “Ah, well. It worked out.”

She wrinkled her nose. He shouldn’t be so casual about it. He might look worried now, and she could hear the relief in his words, but he’d gambled with their lives. “Next time I-”

“You look like him when you heal,” Mullan said, crossing to another bedbound man. “Didn’t expect that. Didn’t see the resemblance, not like that old coot and your Charred friend.”

“What?” she said, confusion overcoming even the chill that ran down her back at his words. “What do you mean, about the Charred?”

Mullan waved a hand, shrugging. “Oh, old Isram and his talk about Naorin. Thought it was stupid. It’s not like any of you lot are actual blood relatives, and all.” His dark eyes fixed on her again, suddenly sharp. “But sitting there, your hands all silver and your eyes full of focus, you looked just like Kalin.”

She knew the name. It was only natural - she was Efren’s favored child, the inheritor of his powers. Gerd had never spoken the name outright, but she could tell when the old diviner was thinking about him. Her steward brought him up often enough, when he felt the need to ream Natalin for one thing or another.

As the Tideborn, it would be odd for her to not know the name of the one who’d come before her.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Naorin,” she said, latching onto the name. She needed something to take her mind off the dark, curious thoughts that shot through her mind. She didn’t want to think about him, to think about the man whose name made Gerd leave the room and whose mention brought even Efren to a silent, brooding halt. “I...I don’t know who-”

“The Charred, of course, may he rest in the Flameweaver’s embrace. Don’t be daft. What are they teaching you, in that temple?” Mullan snapped.

She blinked. “Takio’s predecessor?”

His brow furrowed. He shook his head once, a quick, short movement. “Almost, girl, but your friend out there was preceded by Ayuma. Naorin came before Ayuma. Nearly insufferable, the both of them, but that’s just part of the game, isn’t it?”

“Oh,” she said, letting her eyes drop to the floor. Exhaustion tugged at them, tempting her to let her eyelids close. It would just be for a moment, the whispers crooned. She ignored them, shaking her head until she could see straight. If she closed her eyes, she’d sleep, and she couldn’t sleep yet. She still had to get them home.

Latching onto the thought, she stood, forcing her aching limbs to cooperate. “I...they’ve been waiting for quite some time,” she said, only realizing the truth of her words after they were said. She’d spent a long time in the sickroom. She winced, already picturing the look on the Narai’s faces when she emerged. There was no getting around the fact that she’d delayed them.

Mullan eyed her as she shoved the glass back into his hands, but didn’t say anything. She offered him a quick smile, turning for the door with a swish of her half-skirt. “I’m glad I was able to help, elder.”

“Just Mullan. I ain’t dead yet,” the village chief said, a sardonic note re-entering his voice.

She chuckled. “Right.” The sound of her boots striking the wood underfoot was far louder than it had any right to be, echoing through her mind like a drum. Before she realized she was moving she was at the door, her hand on the latch.

The light outside was like a brand, searing into her eyes. She threw a hand up, blocking the worst of it, and gritted her teeth against the rush of pain.

It was bright, yes, but the sun was already sinking low. She glared at it on the horizon, noting exactly how long she’d spent in the healing. Too long. She bit her lip, turning in a slow circle.

She found the Charred right where she’d left him - only he’d taken a seat on a low wall of stones built around the village boundary, letting the villagers come to him. He still wore a smile on his face - and no wonder, she thought sourly. One of the village girls sat beside him, listening with rapt attention to whatever story Antiel was telling.

He shifted, putting a hand down beside himself. Natalin flinched. The sun danced across his skin, setting every line and scar traced into his flesh into harsh relief. His ear was cut, she noted with more than a little horror. A section of the lobe was missing entirely. Another gash across his cheek. A piece of his eyebrow grew no hair, scarred over. And-

She tore her eyes off him, seeing him turn, but he’d already spotted her. To her surprise, the look he gave was almost tolerant.

“Ready?” she heard him call, raising his voice a hair to be heard. The villagers alongside him drew back, pulling away as he rose to his feet. Antiel and Kassien turned with him. She saw Antiel’s shoulders sag in what could only be relief. They fell in line behind Takio as he crossed the courtyard towards her.

She nodded, letting her eyes drop. So many scars. She’d seen them before - of course she had. She’d noted them from the minute he sat beside her at the banquet. But Mullan’s words hung in her memories, fresh and altogether too real. Naorin, he’d said. And Ayuma. He’d spoken of the two Charred like he’d met them, like he’d seen them with his own eyes.

Mullan was an old man, yes, but not that old. A shiver ran down her spine as her mind did the math her heart didn’t want to.

Maybe she’d been too quick to judge.

“I-I’m sorry for the delay,” Natalin said, clasping her staff more tightly in front of her. “The village here doesn’t have a seer, and there were-”

“Things need doing,” Takio said, half-turning and running a hand through his hair. “I get it. Can we go?”

Without another word, he started walking for the boat. Natalin stared after him, torn between irritation and appreciation.

When she stalked after him, fighting back a yawn, Mullan followed in her wake. “Thanks again for the help,” he said, holding out an arm as they came up alongside the boat. She took it gratefully, jumping the gap to land in the watercraft.

“I’m sorry that it took so long,” she said, turning back to face the village chief. Her hands worked the rope all the while, loosening the knot she’d tied hours before. “I’ll return within the week to check after their progress. Keep changing those dressings twice a day, and-”

“We can handle it.”

She smiled wearily. “Right. Well, I’ll still come out.” Her hands slowed. “Myself, or one of the temple’s seers. I’ll ask someone, if…” If Gerd didn’t let her out again. “If I’m not able to make it.”

“You have our thanks,” the village chief said, sliding the last of the loops free. He tossed the coil into the boat behind her, stooping to take the stern in hand. “Safe travels, Tideborn. Everdeep’s blessing to you.”

When he bowed, the motion was filled with a respect so honest and open that it hurt. Natalin bowed in return, desperate to keep from having to look at it. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still wrong, that she didn’t deserve it. She’d taken so long, after all. There was no way he should be bowing to her for finally getting around to doing what she was supposed to.

“I’ll come back,” she said, her voice only a little breathless.

Within moments, they’d drifted out into the harbor. The village chief turned away, taking his people and going back to their lives. Natalin could only watch his back as he vanished into one of the buildings, bellowing commands to someone she couldn’t see.

She had other worries. She fell into her magic again, grasping at every ounce she could wrap her fingers around. For once, she actually felt tired - and with them still miles from home, that wasn’t what she’d hoped for.

The motions were more familiar, though. Between her frenzied flight on the sledge and the morning’s sailing, she almost felt like she knew what she was doing.

She was breathing hard within minutes, her undershirt soaked through with sweat, but they were picking up speed, little by little.

A too-large hand settled on her shoulder. Strength flooded her veins, enough to breathe a sigh of relief. She didn’t have to look around to know they were no longer alone.

I would have been fine, she muttered.

And now you’ll be even more fine than you would have been, Efren murmured back, his voice rippling with amusement. You have nothing to prove here, waterlily. Be quiet and take the aid.

Natalin shut up and let him help. It was better that than passing out when they were halfway home, she supposed.

The Narai had been quiet through the whole thing. She cracked one eye, halfway suspecting she’d find them fooling around. She nearly jumped, then, when she found Takio staring at her. Shiina sat perched on the boat’s prow, her fiery hair billowing out behind her without a care in the world. Kassien didn’t seem to have noticed - but Antiel twitched, his eyes darting this way and that as though he knew something was wrong.

“What?” she said at last, opening her eyes and glaring at him.

He pursed his lips, resting his chin on one hand, but said nothing.

The wind blew past them, wonderfully soothing against her skin. She settled lower in her seat, focusing on the magic needed to keep them moving.

And still he stared at her, the corners of his lips beginning to curl up.

“What?” she snapped, more insistently.

“I told you, you should get out of the city more,” he said, holding his hands up in a helpless shrug. “This is why you-”

She was proud of herself. She didn’t jog the boat like she so desperately wanted to. She just...gave it a little nudge, a bit of a push to one side as they flew across the waves.

Just enough to set him to grabbing at the gunwales, his face going pale.

Natalin didn’t say anything. She just turned her face forward, obstinately ignoring him.

Shiina’s laughter pealed out across the waters as they accelerated onward, carving a path back towards Aramoor.