Right beneath his tiny craft, something was moving through the water. He began sucking in light to draft his oar apparatus-and froze. And from fifty paces, for Gavin to have heard the hiss of a sea creature cutting through the water, it would have to be massive. There was no spray hanging in the air, no whoosh of expelled breath.
It could have been a whale.Įxcept whales usually surface to breathe. Something hissed in the water, a sound like a boat cutting through the waves.įifty paces behind him, something disappeared under the waves, something big enough to cause its own swell. Lucidonius, were you here? Were you even real? Did this happen to you, too? He looked to the heavens, arms spread, touching the waves with his fingertips. Hard to relax when thousands of people were waiting for you and only you, but he needed this measure of peace. Robbed of its blue, the sea looked like thin, gray-green broth. He couldn't even see that much unless he concentrated. Since he'd lost the Battle of Garriston four days ago, wherever there was blue, he saw gray. The sky above, cloudless, mist burned off, should be a peaceful, vibrant sapphire.īut he couldn't see it. Two hours before noon, here on the southern rim of the Cerulean Sea, the waters should be a stunning deep blue-green. Now the dome of the heavens above him was a lid, and he a crab in the cauldron, heat rising. Lying on his back like this, he'd once almost believed he was one with the sea. Gavin Guile lay on his back on a narrow skimmer floating in the middle of the sea.
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