times, but her face seemed oddly out of focus, as though turning to smoke.
“You had been dead for years,” he said to her. “You were a hook in our mouths, serving no purpose other than to irritate us at best and leave us flopping in the boat at worst. When I saw you dying in Bregor’s arms I felt saddened for you, but glad that your bitter spirit was about to find rest.”
“Rest?” Her voice was a mixture of outrage and terror. “What do you know about life after death? Rest is something I’ll never have, thanks to you, not here in the void. And as repayment for a life of bitterness I will ensure you never have any peace. Turn and turn about! Fisherman, I promise I will haunt you for the remainder of eternity. Do you hear me, Noetos? The remainder of eternity!”
“Noetos?” another voice said, insistent. “Stay with us.”
“On the count of three,” said another. “One, two, three!”
“They’ll not save you,” Opuntia insisted, her face growing even harder. “You’re coming with me!”
Something like fishhooks tore at his back, pulling him out of his body. He hovered above the broken ship, gazing with interest on his companions—his former companions, he supposed, now he was dead—as they bent over him. There was Cylene, her face above his, tears in her eyes; alongside her stood Arathé and Anomer, hand in hand, eyes closed.
“Put it back, put it back,” a voice wailed. “He’s bleeding to death!”
“It’s not lack of blood we need to worry about,” Anomer said. “It’s the poison working towards his heart.”
“He’s gone,” Arathé signalled, though Noetos heard her voice in his head, that pure voice she’d possessed before Andratan had started them all on this bitter path. It warmed his cold heart.
“No, he’s still close. Hold onto him!” Anomer’s lips turned pale with effort.
“Let him go!” Opuntia shrieked.
All three faces turned towards the place where Noetos hung in the air.
“Hold him, hold him!” Anomer commanded, and the hooks bit deeper into the fisherman’s skin. In moments his vision faded and his world was reduced to those bright points of pain, the fishhooks tearing at his soul. He groaned, then gave in and let go.
“His eyes are twitching,” Cylene said, her voice excited despite being laced with obvious weariness.
Anomer turned from his sewing and scrambled across the beach to his father’s side. “How are you?” he asked, placing a hand on his father’s battered face.
“Is he going to be all right?” Cylene’s hand joined Anomer’s on Noetos’s forehead.
Noetos’s eyes sprang open and fixed on Cylene. “Get her away from me,” he whispered. “Why do you permit her to be here?”
“What?” Anomer supposed he must have misheard. He glanced at Cylene; her hand remained on Noetos’s brow, but her eyes had opened wide in surprise.
“Get her away from me! Make her leave!” his father shouted. “She wants to kill me!” He took a feeble swipe at her, still enough to connect with her shoulder and knock her to the ground.
“What are you doing?” Anomer cried. “This is Cylene! She helped save you from the poison. She does not want to kill you!”
Cylene had begun to shake, her lip quivering, her face suddenly bloodless, in the grip of shock.
“She does wish to kill me,” said Noetos, speaking with a disconcerting reasonableness. “She poisoned me. She intended for me to die. I will not have her anywhere near me.” His hand felt around his belt. “Where is my sword? I’ll deal with her.”
The girl started sobbing. Arathé took her by the hand, pulled her to her feet and led her away.
“She’s gone now, Father,” Anomer said. “Lie still; you are gravely wounded. Arathé and I drew the poison out with our water magic and attempted to heal the wound, but neither of us is trained and we may not have been entirely successful. Had it not been for Cylene, we would have lost you. She has real strength, Father, and she never gave up hope. You should be proud of her.”
He was babbling, he knew, but he could not understand what was happening. Why had his father turned on Cylene? Was it some strange side effect of the poison, or was something else at play here?
Certainly the girl had done more for his father than he had done himself. He’d had a chance to let his father die, and for a moment the anger within him had overruled his feelings and he’d been willing to let Noetos go. Just like he let