Page 19 of Night Tide

He was more bedraggled than a drowned rat and white as a corpse, but his gray gaze was warm. “You returned the favor. I’m alive because of you. There is no debt, Mistress Imre.”

She squeezed his hand, as sun-browned as hers and far more elegant. “You called me Ziga in the sea. You still can. We’re family after all.” It was an acknowledgement spoken with both joy and regret.

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “Ziga,” he said, and he murmured her name as if he invoked it in prayer. “We’ll meet again soon.” He indicated Gitta with a thrust of his chin. “Take care of your child of earth. She is exceptional.”

* * *

The moon waxedbright above the dunes and the salt grass whispered incoherent secrets to any with the patience to listen.

Zigana sat astride Gitta and stared at the night tide as it tumbled back and forth along the shoreline. Frishi no longer questioned her as to why she rode to the beach each night now. Zigana wasn’t sure she could explain it herself. A need to hear the surf and only the surf; to see the waves roll and feel the steady breathing of her heroic, stalwart mare under her—these things reassured her in some way, allowed her to sleep at night.

The shadow of a dorsal fin cleaved the water, running parallel to the shore before sinking beneath the waves. While there had been no more nightmares or sea spiders singing villagers to their death for a good six weeks, the Gray was still no place for a land creature at night, and she was content to listen to the surf from the safe distance of dry ground. Shrimping season was over for the year, and soon she’d turn Gitta’s strength toward another labor as winter set in and the air froze a person’s a lungs every time they inhaled.

She looked forward to a time away from the water. But not too long. Seawater coursed in her veins along with blood, just as it did with Gitta. A flicker of light drew her gaze to the bluff and the castle perched atop its crown. Golden luminescence, either from a hearth or a lamp, filled a window. Somewhere behind those stone walls, a courageous man possessing a bewitching smile waited out his exile for his father’s sins. Zigana tried not to think of him too often and did her best to avoid him when she could. One did not moon over another’s husband, especially the husband of a sister. She forced herself to look away from the beckoning glow.

Gitta whuffled and shifted her weight from one hoof to the other. Zigana took the hint. “Ready for home, love?” The mare nickered her agreement, and Zigana clicked the command to turn their backs on the Gray.

Behind them, the surf tumbled and murmured, and far in the distance—where only the deep water ships might hear—something sang and wove dark dreams.

~END~