it’s safe to say that they were too far away to notice. But that is hardly a concern for me at the moment.
Draxen's men haul us up quickly. There must be at least five of them tugging on the rope. I have to grip the edge of the railing once I get to the top—it’s difficult while holding on to Riden’s weight as well. Otherwise they would have hauled me all the way over, and I probably would have broken a finger or my wrist as it jammed into the railing.
Draxen grabs Riden and lays him down on the ship’s deck. I’m about to step forward to help when I’m seized by what feels like twenty men.
“Go grab Holdin!” he orders. Someone runs belowdecks.
“The ship’s doctor can’t help him,” I snap.
I’m momentarily distracted by the filthy fingers at my body. They probe and push, straying to places they shouldn’t. Places hardly necessary for restraining me. My muscles hurt from the strain. My pride hurts from the whole scene.
“What did you do to him?” Draxen demands.
That’s it. I don’t care if the whole crew witnesses this. They’re about to die anyway. I slam my abilities into Draxen, ordering him to make his men let me go.
His crew hears me singing; they’re perplexed enough by that. But once Draxen orders them to let me go, they’re dumbfounded.
He has to repeat himself, more loudly this time, before they listen. They must decide I’m not behind the change if they still obeyed Draxen’s order. Good.
I rush to Riden, sit on the cold deck, and place a hand on either side of his head. I lower my head as though going in for a kiss. I need to force air back into his lungs. Plugging his nose with the fingers of my right hand, I blow into his mouth, willing the air to reach down into his lungs.
I wait a moment and then try again. Five times I do this, and nothing changes.
“No,” I say, barely a whisper. I lie on top of his body, placing my head against his chest, a silent plea for it to start moving up and down, for his lungs to work, for his body to keep the life within.
This can’t be happening. Not after he rescued me. Not after he let himself get shot to help me. He can’t die now.
But there is water in his lungs. I can sense it beneath my cheek. And if I could just get it out …
I place my hands against his chest to make it look as though I’m using them to force the water from his lungs, but I know at this point they’re useless.
I sing, so softly that only Riden can hear, were he awake. I tell his mind to stay alert. I beg the organs to remain steady. I cannot heal his wounds. I cannot speed up or change anything. I can only reach his mind. I tell him not to give up. Not yet. He’s not allowed to die.
When I’ve expelled some of the song from me, I pull at the water beneath me, the water in Riden’s lungs. I cannot touch it, but I can sense it. And I demand that it come to me.
It does not move.
But I dig my fingers into Riden’s chest, and pull—both physically and mentally. I will him back to life with every essence of myself.
And finally, the water sways upward. It drifts out of the lungs, through his flesh, sweats out of his skin, and comes into me.
“Now breathe!” I say and sing at the same time. I blow air into his mouth once more. Demand that his lungs start working. Riden’s heart still beats, so if I can convince his lungs to pump on their own, he will be all right. He has to be all right.
Riden gasps, heaving in the loudest breath I have ever heard. It reminds me of a newborn babe taking its first breath. It is the sound of life.
I lean away from him and take a moment to breathe myself.
In seconds, they are upon me. Draxen must have regained his senses. A blade is shoved under my throat. Another presses against my stomach, digging in enough to scratch the skin. I can’t even muster up the strength to care. Riden is alive. That’s all that matters. His eyes are closed and his wounds still bleed. But he will survive.
“What would you like done with her, Captain?” one of the offending pirates asks.
“Take her back to