Sevensworn

XVIII. Blood in the Water

For a moment Ronan could do nothing. He couldn't hear. He couldn't move. His eyes were fixed on the place Zia had fallen.

The sea was too rough. He couldn't see her, and she didn't come up for air. He knew he needed to move, needed to act, needed to help her⁠—

He looked at the sky. At the gods that ruled beyond it.

"If you take her from me," he growled, "I swear you will live to regret it."

Ronan turned, and dove into the sea.

The shock was so intense that the moment he hit the water the warmth and security he had come to associate with Shivaroth's presence in his mind was ripped away. The god's voice vanished. He took a deep breath and dove down⁠—that was a problem he would address later. Zia was who mattered now. Only her.

The waves were not gentle as they had been in his childhood. They were violent and sharp, battering him the moment his body was submerged. His shoulder was slammed hard into a sharp ridge covered in jagged points⁠—the reef they had struck, he was willing to wager. He forced his eyes to open against the sting of the salt and the agony spreading across his arm.

There was no sign of Zia.

He came up for air desperately, gasping for breath. Had he waited too long? There was no way to see where she'd fallen. She must have been unconscious, which meant by now she'd have no air left in her lungs. He couldn't wait. He couldn't waste time considering trivial details. He dove back down.

This time he moved with purpose, picking a direction and striking out, swimming with a strong stroke he'd learned from his father and keeping his eyes wide and alert.

The reef surrounded him entirely. He was unsure how they had gotten so far into it without incident, as it looked to stretch at least a mile in every direction, close enough to the surface that he could have walked on it. It was an odd mix of coral and lava rock, sharp and unforgiving, surrounding him on every side.

Through the darkness of the water, his eyes fell on something gold. A locket, he recognized, one he'd seen many times before. His hand shot out and wrapped around the chain. It was snapped in two, but easily distinguishable. Zia's.

He bit the inside of his cheek and stuck out his free hand, catching onto a nearby spire of the reef and digging his nails in hard. The tips of his fingers split and began to bleed but he gritted his teeth and held on, looking intently in the direction it had come from.

Holding his breath was becoming a challenge, but he knew Zia had it worse. She would die in minutes if he couldn't find her, and his time was rapidly running out. The locket that he clutched was frigid to the touch, and he shoved it into his pocket.

Ronan's vision was beginning to swim. He kicked up to the surface, took a breath, and⁠—

Zia's cloak was floating at the surface. It billowed oddly, air trapped under the waterlogged cloth, dragged down by something heavier beneath.

A cry was torn from his lips. He kicked roughly, battling the waves, willing to do anything to save the life of his closest friend. He ignored the burning agony of his not-quite-healed wounds. He couldn't lose Zia. He couldn't. She was so vibrant, so real and genuine, someone he loved more than the stars. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, their warmth mingling with the rain. His hands clutched onto the cloak. He couldn't lose her. He couldn't lose her.

"Zia!" Her name was a prayer on his lips. He reached down into the water, one hand latching onto the cloak until the other found her arm, limp and lifeless, cold to the touch. He hauled himself onto the reef, ignoring the multitude of cuts the rock inflicted upon his skin as he pulled Zia up after him.