The bed is moving properly. Comfortable. But I know what it means immediately: I’m on water. I’m on a ship. The movement is too stately, too damped, for a small boat. I’m in a bed that’s more of a cot, with lovingly carved railings.

And then the memory. All the blood, soaking in everywhere. It smelled hot and metallic. And a lock of Jalese’s hair moving in the tiny breeze. I feel sick and dizzy and fevered. And my hands. My hands are in agony. It builds and builds as I approach wakefulness, and all I want to do is retreat back to sleep.

“No, you must wake, child,” a voice says. A gentle, wise female voice I recognise. I open my eyes. Satthei Fareis, of course, seated decoratively on the window seat next to my cot. “Lie quietly, dear. You need your strength.”

“It hurts!”

“I know. Shh.” She helps me to sit up, piling pillows behind me. They’re made of pristine silk. “Oh my dear, what were you thinking?”

My hands hurt so much. They feel like they’re trying to explode, shot through with shards. My wrists are tied with ribbon to the sides of the cot. “Why are my hands tied?” I demand, but I can turn them over and see… The charms are still embedded, and my hands are swollen around them and through them, somehow. “Oh my God,” I can’t help saying, in English. I can see my blood pulsing through the translucent creamy face of a shell. “Oh god that’s…” I can’t even finish. I want to throw up, but my stomach is empty.

“You were trying to tear them out,” Fareis says. “Now you’re awake, if you promise to leave them alone I’ll untie you.”

I nod, and she unties the ribbons. My hands itch deeply, somewhere under the pain.

“We’re going to try to decouple the charms tomorrow,” Fareis says. “You have to be awake.”

“All right.”

“I’m afraid you must endure this a little longer, and try regardless to build up strength. It will be difficult.”

“How long–”

“Two nights.”

“Where is… Uh, everyone? I’m on your ship?”

“Of course. You’re in one of our guest cabins.” The windows are open and I can hear people’s voices and footsteps on the jetty. Market goes on. For some reason I’m relieved; I’d thought for a moment that we might be far out to sea.

“What about my friends?”

“Your friend Samila is here with us. I believe she’s on deck at the moment. The Reki has been captured. The harbourmaster is holding him in one of their cells ashore.”

~The Reki?~ Dark elf, of course. “Kerilas? But… it wasn’t him! He didn’t do it! Lotan did it!”

“Samila says the same thing, but the Reki talent for enchantment is considerable. You’re scratching,” she adds.

I look down. I’ve actually drawn a line of blood along my forearm, rubbing my palm down it. I can’t close my fingers or make a fist.

“He didn’t do it!” I insist. “He didn’t enchant anyone, I don’t think he’d even know how! What about Lotan?”

“Lotan is the young man with the sword?” I nod. “Yes, Samila mentioned him too. She says he ran away.”

“Well, he did it! It was an accident. Really, it was a total accident, but it was him. Kerilas wasn’t even there!”

“Shh, dear. You have to be calm.”

“You’re not listening to me!”

“Must I make you sleep before you do further damage to yourself?” she says, a harder tone to her voice. “The matter is in the hands of the harbourmaster. I have no part in shore justice. You’ve been brought here because no-one ashore is able to treat your injuries and they would only make things worse if they tried. Now, you must be calm. You made an astonishing effort to save your friend, not to mention a foolhardy one, I might add. It’s going to take time for you to heal.”

I’m too tired, and my hands hurt so much, so I just slump back and sigh irritably. I automatically try to clench my fingers, but I’m reminded not to do it painfully by a trapped nerve.

“Why didn’t it work?” I ask. I can hear the plaintive sound in my voice. “Why didn’t… Why wouldn’t the Goddess save her?”

“Ah.” It sounds like she’s heard this question many times before.

“What did I do wrong?”

“You did nothing wrong. At least, not before it was too late anyway.” She gestures at my hands. The last desperate, mad thing. “What you did was remarkable. What Samila did was remarkable. The way she described it, a nonmagical way to keep her alive longer for you to work. It was brilliant. I’ve kept her busy the last two days training all of us in what she did.” She means the CPR, I realise. “It was just too deep a wound, and too fast.” She touches her hand to my arm, but it makes my wrist muscles tense and that triggers a shooting pain all the way up my arm and into my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she says, and withdraws her hand. “You must understand, dear; those we call gods and goddesses are beings with limits just as we are. You must not assume the Goddess chose not to save her. She did much at your asking. The wound was healed, but blood cannot be called from emptiness, even by the Goddess.”

I sigh. I don’t care about the tears. “At least you didn’t say she has a plan.”

Fareis looks at me, puzzled. “Why would I say that?”

I shake my head. I’m so tired.

“Go back to sleep,” Fareis says gently, as if she heard my thought. “I will tell Samila you have been awake.”

I just feel so empty.

“Would you like me to help you to sleep?”

I don’t think I can sleep on my own. The pain from my hands is too great. Who could fall asleep with their hands held in a fire? I just nod.

“Let me help you settle again then,” she says, and she assists as I carefully lie myself down again. “And,” she says, placing her fingertips on my forehead. She probably says more, but I never hear it.

Sam is there the next time I wake up. She’s sitting in the same window-seat Fareis was occupying the last time, reading a book. It looks like one of the ones I was given, with the inlaid wood veneer cover. She’s found some elvish-style tight work trousers or leggings and a medium-length tunic with a bodice, and looks quite smart.

It’s night, but the windows are still open. It’s warm and there are smells of cooking spices and oils and things in the air. The pain swells again as I rise to full wakefulness. I don’t think it’s any better at all.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hey you.” She looks tired and worried. But then Lee’s old grin flashes through. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hold your hand.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” She does put the book down and lean over me to untie the ribbons around my wrist again. “I assume you’re not getting a taste for elvish bondage?”

“You assume correctl– Ow fuck!”

“Sorry. Here, sit up.”

“Having said that, I’m not sure I’m getting any benefit out of being untied,” I mutter. “It’s not as if I can do anything with them. God, this sucks.” She helps with the pillows so I can sit up comfortably. It’s amazing just how much you do with your hands that you don’t even think about.

“I don’t know why they can’t put some kind of dressing on them,” Sam says. “At least, you know, so you’ve got some padding. They just say they have to have sea air.”

“Probably right.” I sit back against the pillows, having to breath a little heavily. “I just feel so drained.”

Sam resumes her place on the window seat. “I’m not surprised. Listen, I’ve been listening to them talking. They think it’s going to be a long time before you’re really well again. I mean, it could be weeks or months.”

I sigh. “She said something about decoupling tomorrow? I think that’s something to do with getting these out?”

Sam nods. “You’ve taken real damage though. And you’re going to take more when they do it. I think it’s going to be messy. No help from the Goddess.”

“Well, shit.” I close my eyes for a moment. I think it’s only a moment. “What’re you reading anyway?”

“Oh…” She picks up the book she’s been reading and shows me. “Fairy tales. Getting a culture upload.”

“Heh. Hey, you read Elvish?”

She raises her eyebrows, looking at me. “Apparently I do. Want me to read to you?”

“I think I can read.”

“Yeah, but you can’t turn pages, can you?” She smiles.

“Yeah,” I say after a pause. “I’d like that. Bit later though. I think I’m going to have to go to sleep again soon.”

Sam nods and puts the book down.

“Sam. Are you okay?”

“Not really.” Her voice is strained.

“Tell me.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. You just need to get better.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

Sam still hesitates.

“Sami, I’m not sure I trust Satthei Fareis,” I say, doubly careful to be speaking in English.

“She seems to be doing everything she can to help,” Sam says.

“I know. It’s just a feeling. Tell me what’s going on, please?”

So she tells me, and it’s pretty much what Fareis said: Lotan ran away, the fucker, and hasn’t been seen since. Meanwhile everyone just assumes Kerilas did it because he’s a dark elf. He might be executed. And no-one’s listening to Sam saying Kerilas had nothing to do with it. Obviously she’s under an enchantment, they’re saying. “I think they mean, like, Stockholm Syndrome or something. By any other name.”

“This is so fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees.

“They’re going to execute him!” It doesn’t seem real. It’s like a joke or something. “I can’t believe Lotan ran away. That’s just so… It’s so weak.”

“He panicked. I probably would too if I’d just done something like that. Jalese dead and you looked really… You stopped breathing for a while.”

“Shit.”

“Don’t call the Goddess a bitch again, huh?”

“You think she understands English?”

Sam sighs. “Look on the bright side; at least I haven’t got PMT any more.”

“Heh.” ~Oh.~ She meets my gaze for a few moments, almost expressionless. “You okay?”

She nods. “Don’t worry, I’ve done my comedy gross-out scene. Shame you missed it really, it was quite tasteless. Vomit may have been involved.”

“Sam, I’m sorry–”

“It’s okay. Everything’s under control. Actually I feel a lot better. A lot more…” She mimes a calm sea. It’s a Jeodine gesture. “In control. I mean, yeah, I’m getting cramps in places I’m not supposed to have places, but it’s not too bad, I guess. Dunno what all the fuss is about, really.”

Grin. She’s covering again. Making light of it, as she always does. And maybe that’s really the best way, especially when there’s so much to hold together right now. She’s the only one of us who’s intact and functioning at this moment.

“We buried Jalese day before yesterday,” Sam says, changing the subject. “Sea burial.”

It makes me cry a little. “I miss her.”

“Yeah, she was a good ’un.”

“We really fucked up, didn’t we? We’re just shit at this.”

We sit in silence. I want to grieve for Jalese properly but my head is full of how much my hands hurt.

Sam says suddenly, “You know, I keep waiting for a funny little old guy to turn up.” She turns suddenly to sit along the window seat, so she can look outside. I think she might be crying, but she wants to hide it. “He’d tell us where the bad guys are. He’d tell us what we have to do, set us off on some quest so we can… So we can go home.”

I don’t know what to say.

“I just feel like we’ve been abandoned. I mean, what’s the point? Why do this to us? Why bring us here and just dump us?”