Roth growled. “Not stupid. It wasn’t his idea to turn around.”
“He agreed. We al agreed. I thought we could help.”
Kera was a talented weather worker. But her magic could not turn the demon tide. The wal of water thundered toward them under the sun-washed November sky.
The bow hit the first deep trough and pitched. Spray shot up on both sides. Madagh’s claws scrabbled furiously for purchase on the wooden deck. Kera lunged for the rail as the ropes binding Iestyn dragged and held.
Chafed and burned.
The wrinkle on the horizon swel ed. Another wave.
Iestyn drew a shuddering breath, struggling to get his bearings.
Lara stirred in his arms, her slight weight anchoring him to the present. “World’s End.”
He could not speak. His heart stil pounded. His throat burned.
2 2 0
V i r g i n i a K a n t r a
*
*
*
Iestyn’s arms around her were ridged like ropes. His breath rasped. Lara turned, her own heart quickening in sympathy, a drawn-out, distant roaring in her head like the approaching tide. “Another flashback?”
She should have expected it. Last night had triggered one, too. Iestyn’s past was crashing in on him, his future rushing in on him like the wave in his dreams, inexorable, inescapable.
“Are you al right?” she asked.
He nodded, his pupils wide and unfocused.
“It’s natural for you to be upset,” she said gently. “You must feel like you’re losing your cohort al over again.”
His gaze narrowed on her face. “What?”
“Your friends.” The sturdy boy, the sulky-mouthed girl in his dream. Lara kept talking, saying anything, real y, determined to banish that black, blank look from his eyes.
“I know when Bria left, I . . . What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Real y? Because you look terrible.” Sweat beaded his upper lip. Beneath his tan, his face was gray. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“I’l be fine,” he insisted, irritation roughening his voice.
She slid her arm around his waist. He resisted leaning his weight on her. But when she nudged him to the seat on deck, he lowered himself heavily onto the bench.
The cable repairman shifted over to make room.
“What’s the matter with him?”
Iestyn ignored him, closing his eyes, al his golden vitality drained away. His head dropped back, exposing the F o r g o t t e n s e a 221
long, strong column of his throat. Just above the neckline of his shirt, his skin was red and inflamed.
She frowned. Redder than before?
Gently, she inserted two fingers under the edge of the fabric. Iestyn jerked from her touch, baring his teeth like an animal in pain.
Her heart wobbled. Shifting to block the cable guy’s vision, she slowly, careful y peeled back the col ar of Iestyn’s Tshirt.
Her stomach lurched. Her vision blurred. She blinked to clear it. The skin around the heth puffed, fresh blisters bubbling on already raw flesh.
“I think he’s had too much sun,” she said to the cable guy.
She moistened her lips. “Would you mind . . . Could you get us some water?”
“I don’t need anything,” Iestyn said.
“Water? Sure.” The man pushed to his feet, leaving his bucket under the bench. His boots clanged on the metal stairs as he descended to the lower deck.
“How long has it been like this?” she asked Iestyn.
“Started . . . When the island came in sight.”
He raised his lashes and looked at her. “Because I’m okay.
I’m breathing, aren’t I?”
Worry made her sharp. “Barely.”
