Thread of Frost

Ch. 8: That's a Sea Dragon

Rain fell in icy sheets.

Penny clung to the mast. The ship rocked sideways, slamming down on black waves. The wind howled in her ears. Sailors stumbled across the deck, trying desperately to tie up stray ropes and crates of oranges. She could just make out Grayson standing on the deck, shouting something to the captain.

She turned, squinting through the rain. Flurry Tower loomed in the distance, a black, jagged tooth against a white cliff. The boat lurched, and Penny's stomach lurched with it. Gods above. She was going to need a bucket when they got there.

If they ever got there.

She glanced at the stairs. Maribel was somewhere below, preparing hot tea and dry clothes for the sailors. When the storm had started up several hours ago, most of the other women had followed suit.

The ship pitched sideways. She gripped the mast with frozen fingers.

"Penny!" a voice called.

Grayson stumbled across the deck, one hand braced against the wind. His blond hair was in tatters, and the wind had whipped colour into his cheeks. He also, Penny noted with rising anxiety, looked absolutely livid.

Bugger.

"What are you doing?" Grayson stabbed a finger toward the stairs. "Go below deck!"

She shook her head. "I can help."

"Go. Now."

Penny didn't move. Grayson swore — a filthy, colorful string of words that would have made even the most rugged sailor blush — and reached for her arm. Penny dug her heels in, clinging to the mast.

"Wait!" Penny swallowed. "How bad is it? Is this..." Her heart slammed in her chest. "Would you consider this a boatwrecker?"

Grayson's mouth tightened. "Go below deck, Princess. I'm not asking again."

Water smacked the boat. Wooden crates smashed against the side, shattering into splinters. A howl of pain split the air. Penny and Grayson exchanged a glance; without a word, both of them sprinted across the deck, slipping over the wet boards.

A young sailor lay under a pile of crates. His trousers were torn, and his left leg was bent at an unnatural angle. And his pain. Penny winced. It felt like a scorching poker under her ribs, so hot that it was almost cold.

Grayson dropped to his knees. "What happened?"

"The barrel came lose." The young sailor was shivering. "Smashed my ankle."

Grayson shoved aside several crates. "Can you move it?"

The sailor shook his head. Grayson's mouth was a white line. He took the younger boy's leg, rotating it in his hands. "Does this hurt?"

White-hot pain lashed through her. The young sailor grimaced.

"A little," he said.

Grayson turned the ankle again. "And now?"

Agony sliced through her. "Stop it!" Penny gritted her teeth, gripping the slick railing for support. "Stop. Gods above."

Grayson glanced up at her in surprise. Then understanding filled his face, followed by something darker. He lowered the sailor's leg. "It's broken. You'll need to bind it."

Penny rubbed at her chest. "He needs a healer."

Grayson's blue eyes were the colour of winter storms. "We don't have one on board." He swore, seizing a bit of rope. Then he thrust it into the young sailor's hand. "Here. Bite down on this."