Witch Rising (Witch Song #2.5) Page 2

Lilette felt the heat from the sun above her and the cool of the ocean beneath her. Through the hole her father had made in the barrel, she could see the endless expanse of the blue on blue of ocean and sky.

  Over the long night and morning, her legs had gone from cramped, to tingling, to numb. She pinched them, but there was only a dull and distant pain. Would they fall off?

  Her insides threatened to burst if she stayed in this barrel a moment longer. Wedging her hands against the lid, she braced herself and twisted, but her fingers skidded across the smooth surface. Grunting, she dug in her fingernails, not caring when slivers slid under them. The lid gave with a start. Water seeped in, then came faster and faster.

  Frantic, she twisted harder, but the lid had stuck fast. Water soaked to her knees. Her thighs. Her stomach. She could feel the barrel sitting lower in the water. Panic shot through her. She dug out her father's knife and hacked at the lid, but that only let more water in.

  Gasping as water spurted into her face, she squeezed a few fingers into the hole she'd made and wrenched the lid free. More water rushed in as Lilette grasped the edge of the barrel and wormed her way out. But her arms and legs wouldn't move, and she sank below the water's surface. Sharp pains lanced her limbs as she unfolded them for the first time in hours. They refused to move properly at first, but soon she came up for air and turned a clumsy circle, arms and legs flailing.

  Hope forced her to search for her mother. Her gaze found nothing to rest on-nothing but unending ocean and half-burned flotsam from the ship, and Lilette realized how truly alone she was.

  Somehow, she'd managed to keep hold of the knife. She swam among the debris, but only found things she wished she'd never seen. Finally, she found a chunk of hull large enough to take most of her weight, though her legs dangled in the water. She took stock of herself. To her relief, her legs were no longer numb, though they tingled and burned worse than the time she'd walked through a bed of nettles. The cut in her thigh was not bleeding much.

  She still had on the same nightdress she'd worn for the last three days-ever since they'd escaped the imperial city with nothing but the clothes on their backs and their weapons.

  She pressed her forehead against the water-bloated wood and tried to think. But instead of solutions, all that came were memories.

  When Lilette was four, she'd had no fear of the water, jumping straight off a pier into the sea. Her father had dived in after her and scolded her soundly. But everyday thereafter, he'd taken her to the ocean until she could swim like a fish.

  She held onto that memory to keep from sinking into despair, just as the loose piece of hull kept her from sinking into the ocean.