Through Stone and Sea - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,126

would not like that for all the precious books he carried. There was little to be done for it.

“Hold your pack over your head,” he whispered. “I will try to lash the staff to your back, crystal upward.”

Wynn slipped her pack’s straps off, so he could secure the staff, but he was still worried about his books. The ones from the healers’ monastery might survive, but Welstiel’s journals had some entries made with charcoal sticks. He slipped a pack off his shoulder and pulled out those journals.

Wynn scowled at them, and then at him.

She knew what he intended and did not like it or the sight of them. But she took the journals and roughly shoved them in her pack.

Chane knew better than to thank her and hoisted on his packs.

“We go slowly—silently,” he whispered. “And Shade must let me hold her afloat. We cannot have any splashing.”

Wynn nodded and touched the dog’s face. Whatever passed between them, the meaning must have been clear. Shade only twitched a jowl as he wrapped one arm around her chest. Wynn stepped over the dropoff, and he grabbed hold of her belt.

Chane waded forward in slow steps, flinching every time water splashed even slightly. How would he break through the last gate in silence? With his strength waning, the prospect was almost more than he could face.

This had to be the last one.

Reine sat upon the couch holding Frey reclined in her lap. He was thin and pale, and it didn’t matter how many times she’d seen him like this; each time was worse, because each time he looked worse.

At least he was dry, so he hadn’t tried to drown himself again. Still, everyone around her—from Chuillyon and Cinder-Shard to all of the family—said he must have seawater to touch as well as gaze upon. It was all that kept him from slipping into pure madness.

But Reine saw the hunger in her husband’s aquamarine eyes.

It was worse than that first night she’d met him, when he’d stared out the castle window. Now and then, in his quieter moments, she still saw the semblance of thought in his frail features. His eyes would shift, and suddenly he’d glance up, seeming to notice her for the first time.

“Yes, it’s me,” she said calmly, again and again. “Just me, Frey.”

He squinted as if recognizing her only then. But any turn of his head exposed his throat.

Triple sets of faint creases marked both sides, like the faint beginnings of wrinkles that would deepen with age. But these were too perfect, too straight and parallel, placed so high near his jawline. They appeared only at the highest tides each year, vanishing again as the tide receded.

Frey suddenly rolled his head toward the opening to the pool’s outer chamber.

Reine felt him go rigid in her lap. His eyes didn’t blink.

“They’re coming,” he said hoarsely.

Sick of the terror, Reine couldn’t hide it anymore and began to shake. Not because of what might—or would—come . . . but because he longed for it.

“No,” she whispered, and then more sharply, “No!”

Frey rolled from her lap, though she tried to hang on to him. By the time he gained his feet, she’d already blocked the opening. How many times had she stopped him from beating himself nearly unconscious upon the pool’s gate?

“Frey, stay,” she ordered.

He held his place, staring over her head.

“Listen to me, love,” she whispered, hanging on to calm. “The water can wait . . . until the tide passes. Then you can . . .”

She lost her voice as his head cocked. His brow creased in concentration as he swayed slightly with effort to stay on his feet.

“Not . . . them?” he croaked.

Frey’s lost gaze drifted down to Reine and then rose beyond her again. Puzzlement in his expression shifted first to suspicion and then hardened to anger, enough that Reine hesitantly glanced over her shoulder.

The outer door was still shut tight, but she heard the softest scrape of metal. Its echo in the quiet left her uncertain where it came from. She backed one step through the opening, glancing toward the pool. . . .

Reine toppled aside as Frey knocked her out of his way. Her back hit the pool chamber’s rear wall, stunning her as she heard the splash. She went cold with fright.

Beneath the pool’s rippling surface, a mute wavering form moved along the bottom toward the gate.

Reine leaped off the edge and sank to her chest. She thought she heard another splash, but as her