Painted Blade || sihtric

46.

   ON a sandy beach under the sun, broken bits of wood washed up with barrels and rope, parts hitting the neighboring rocks.

But struggling to walk out of the water was a coughing Bemia, her lungs full of salt and sand. In one hand, she dragged her son who was groaning and struggling to breathe without water entering his mouth. Behind her, Osferth had an arm over Sihtric's shoulders while groans full of pain passed his lips.

"Come on, Espen," Bemia whispered, only to collapse on her knees in the water from the exhaustion and pain in her body.

At some point during the night, the ship had sunk—or crashed—she didn't know. All she knew was that one minute she was rowing and then the next she was holding onto a barrel, gasping for air with the sun beating down on her.

Espen stood up with a curse, throwing his mother's arm over his shoulder in the process. But then she started coughing again and when water left her lungs, his eyes widened before she threw up what was left in her stomach.

"Mother?" He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him as she groaned. "How hurt are you?"

"Barely," she breathed, blinking hard a few times at the throbbing in her head. "Just a little seasick."

"A little?" He raised a brow and then shook his head, leading her toward the beach where the surviving men were. "I would say you'll be sick for a few days."

Bemia moved her arm off his shoulders, forcing him to stop as she grabbed his face between her hands, scanning him for any wounds. "Does anything hurt?"

Espen shook his head. "Just tired, Ma."

"Bemia!" Sihtric called out from the beach and they both turned to see him crouched down in front of a shaking Osferth who was cradling his arm.

Bemia's heart dropped, and she didn't have to say anything to her son before they both started running through the water, heading straight toward them.

When they reached the others, Bemia crouched down beside Sihtric, her eyes landing straight on Osferth's arm. "How hurt are you?"

Osferth's tear-filled eyes locked with hers, full of pain. "It burns. It burns like hell, Mother."

"Then it's broken," she muttered, gently grabbing his elbows as she grabbed his hand. "I'll need to make a sling. Espen, find me fabric. Anything."

Espen nodded before he darted away, looking through the boat wreck.

"Are you okay?" Sihtric asked his wife, watching her carefully push up Osferth's sleeve to see the bent bone.

"I'm fine," Bemia lied, moving closer to Osferth. "Has anyone checked on Young Uhtred?"

Sihtric looked over his shoulder for a long moment. "I'll check on him," he offered and then he was gone too.

"Katja will be mad with us," Osferth quietly said, his jaw tight with pain.

"I think she'll just be happy we're alive," she countered, and then her face fell with a memory she had somehow forgotten. "Maybe not," she whispered, swallowing thickly. "I—Beocca didn't make it back."

   AN hour or two later, Bemia found herself lying on her back in the long grass of a field, staring up at the clouds in the sunny sky. Since the moment they found the field, she hadn't moved an inch.

But the others had.

Espen was quiet, lying near her with his eyes closed, possibly asleep for all anyone knew. Sihtric was sheathing his axe standing near his wife's head and Osferth was across from him, his broken arm in a sling after she'd sorted him out on the beach.