The Prisoner's Throne (The Stolen Heir Duology, #2)(83)

“I can keep my teeth from the prince’s sweet flesh, but if you want to come along, there’s no telling what I might do to you,” Jack says.

“I’m coming,” Hyacinthe says. “They’ve got Tiernan.”

Oak hoped he would. He’s not sure he can do this alone. “No snacking on Hyacinthe.”

“Not even a small bite?” Jack asks petulantly. “You are making it hard to be merry, Your Highness.”

“Nonetheless,” Oak says.

“What fool thing is it that you intend to do in this storm?” Tatterfell asks, poking the prince in the gut. “And are you bleeding?”

“Maybe,” he says, touching a finger to his neck. It hurts, but his back hurts worse.

“Take off your shirt,” the little faerie commands, blinking up at him.

“There isn’t time,” he tells her. “But if you have some bindings, I’ll use them for my sword. I seem to have dropped the sheath somewhere.”

Tatterfell rolls her ink-drop eyes.

“I will swim as swiftly as I am able,” Jack says. “But it might not be swiftly enough.”

“You can surface partway there,” Oak suggests. “Let us catch a breath, then go on.”

Jack considers that for a long moment, as though it is not much in his nature. But after a moment, he nods. Hyacinthe frowns and keeps frowning.

Tatterfell binds up the sword and belts it to Oak’s waist with torn strips of his old clothes. She sews up the wound on his back as well, threatening to press her finger into the gouge if he moves.

“You’re ruthless,” he tells her.

She smiles as though he’s delivered an extremely charming compliment.

Then, bracing against the wind and rain, Oak, Jack, and Hyacinthe make their way to the shore.

At the beach, Jack transforms into a sharp-toothed horse. He lowers himself to his knees and waits for them to lash themselves to him. Oak wraps a rope scavenged from the tent around the kelpie’s chest and then around Hyacinthe, tying him tightly to Jack’s back. Then he straps himself on, looping the rope a final time around their middles so they are bound to one another.

When Oak looks at the crashing waves, he begins to doubt the wisdom of his plan. He can barely make out the lights of Insmoor in the storm. Can he really hold his breath for as long as Jack is going to believe he needs?

But there’s no going back. Nothing even to go back to, so he tries to inhale deeply and exhale slowly. Open up his lungs as much as he can.

Jack gallops toward the waves. The icy water splashes against Oak’s legs. He grips the rope and takes one last breath as Jack plunges them all into the sea.

The cold of the ocean stabs the prince’s chest. For a moment, it almost forces the breath from his lungs, but he manages to keep himself from gasping. Opens his eyes in the dark water. Feels the increasing, panicked pressure of Hyacinthe’s grip on his shoulder.

Jack swims swiftly through the water. After a minute, it’s clear it isn’t fast enough. Oak’s lungs burn; he feels lightheaded.

Jack needs to surface. He needs to do it now. Now. The prince presses his knees hard against the kelpie’s chest.

Hyacinthe’s hold on Oak’s shoulder goes slack, his fingers drifting away. Oak concentrates on the pain of the rope cutting into his hand. Tries to stay alert. Tries not to breathe. Tries not to breathe. Tries not to breathe.

Then he can’t hold on anymore, and water comes rushing in.





CHAPTER



22

T

hey surface abruptly, leaving Oak choking and coughing. He can hear Hyacinthe hacking behind him. A swell comes along and slaps him in the face, sending seawater down his throat, making him cough worse.

Jack’s head is above the waves, his mane plastered to his neck. Some kind of membrane has closed over his eyes, causing them to appear pearlescent. A glance toward the shore reassures Oak they are more than halfway to Insmoor. He can’t even catch his breath, though, no less hold it again. His chest hurts and he’s still coughing and waves keep crashing over him.

“Oak,” Hyacinthe manages to wheeze. “This was a bad plan.”

“If we die, he’s going to eat you first,” Oak gets out. “So you better live.”

Too soon, the kelpie begins to descend, slowly enough for Oak to suck in a breath, at least. It’s a shallow one, and he is almost certain he can’t hold it until the shore. His lungs are burning already.

This is the only way across, he reminds himself, closing his eyes.

Jack surfaces once more, just long enough for Oak to gulp down another breath. Then they race for the shore, only to hit the crashing waves there.

The kelpie is hurled forward, thrown against the sandy bottom. Oak and Hyacinthe are dragged along. A sharp rock scrapes against Oak’s leg. He wriggles against the rope, but it is pulled tight.

Somehow Jack fights his way higher onto the beach. Another wave knocks against his flank, and he staggers, then transforms into a boy. The rope slackens. Oak slips down onto the sand. Hyacinthe falls, too, and the prince realizes he’s not conscious. Blood is seeping from a cut above his brow where he may have struck a rock.

Oak puts his shoulder under Hyacinthe’s arm and attempts to haul him away from the shoreline. Before he can get clear, a stray wave trips the prince, and he falls to his knees. He throws his body over Hyacinthe’s to keep him from being sucked back into the sea.