There was only one way out of this. He stopped swimming and plunged underwater. He grabbed his wrist and took an instant to shore up his resolve. Then he pulled it across his body. Spots of red burst before his eyes. It felt like he was ripping his own muscles, the pain an explosion inside his shoulder, but the joint wouldn’t spring back into place. He let go of his arm. Couldn’t try again. Was sure he’d pass out if he did.
He pushed up, cutting through the churning water, his breath running out. He kicked harder, searching for the surface. Searching.
Searching.
Suddenly he couldn’t tell which way was up. Fear threatened to overtake him, but he forced himself to swim with calm strokes. Panic would mean the end. Long seconds later, his lungs screaming for oxygen, panic came anyway, and he felt himself thrashing wildly in the water, his body moving beyond his control.
He knew he couldn’t breathe. That he wouldn’t draw in air. No matter how he fought against it, he couldn’t stop himself. The ache in his lungs and his head was bigger than the pain in his shoulder. Bigger than anything.
He opened his mouth and inhaled. An explosion of cold shot down his throat. In the next instant, he pushed it back out. The bright red bursts came back, and his chest convulsed, pulling, pushing. Needing, rejecting.
He slipped down into colder water, where it grew darker and quieter and darker still. He felt his limbs relax, then an aching sorrow spread through him, replacing the pain.
Aria. He’d just gotten her back. Didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to hurt her. Didn’t want—
Something slammed into his throat. The Blood Lord chain … strangling him. He grasped for it, and then he realized someone was above, tugging him upward. The chain loosened, but now he felt an arm around his chest, and he was moving, being towed.
He broke the surface and retched seawater, convulsing with his entire being. He felt a rope being tied around his ribs, and then Gren and Wylan were hauling him up to the rocks while someone pushed him from behind. It could only be Reef.
Bear grabbed for his arm, cursing as he almost slid into the water.
“Shoulder!” Perry gritted through his teeth.
Bear understood, wrapping his arm around Perry’s waist and carrying him beyond the reach of the crashing waves. Perry kept going after he was set down. He clambered across the jetty, desperate, until he reached sand. Then he sank and folded around the pain in his gut—in his shoulder—in his throat. His lungs felt like they’d been beaten blue.
A circle formed around him, but he kept coughing, struggling to find his breath. Finally he swiped the saltwater from his eyes.
Shame hit him hard. He was on his back, broken in front of his people.
Gren shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Old Will stood with Willow tucked into his side. Reef’s chest heaved, the scar across his cheek bright red. Above, the Aether turned in massive, vengeful wheels.
“His arm’s out of its socket,” Bear said.
“Pull it up and then across,” Reef said. “Slow and firm, and don’t stop, no matter what. And be quick about it. We need to get inside.”
Perry shut his eyes. Huge hands closed over his wrist; then he heard Bear’s deep voice above him. “You won’t like this, Perry.”
He didn’t.
Body shaking with nerves and cold, Perry climbed up to his loft, clutching his arm to his side. Awkwardly, hissing at the ache in his shoulder, he pulled his sopping shirt over his head and flung it across the room below. It landed with a splat on the fireplace mantel, hanging there. He lay back and drew breath after breath into his battered lungs as he watched the Aether through the open sliver in the roof. Rain dripped through it, tapping on his chest. Rolling to the mattress beneath him.
Just a few minutes. He needed some time alone before he had to face the tribe.
He closed his eyes. All he could see was Vale, making speeches. Vale, sitting at the head table of the cookhouse, calmly overseeing everything. His brother had never so much as tripped in front of the Tides. And what had Perry just done?
It was the right thing, going after Old Will. So why couldn’t he slow down his breathing? Why did he feel like punching something?
The door swung open, banging against the stone wall with a crack and letting in a cold gust.
“Perry?” someone said from below.
Perry winced in disappointment. It wasn’t the voice he wanted to hear. The only one he’d listen to right now. Had Roar found her?
“Not now, Cinder.” Perry listened for the sound of the door closing. Seconds passed with nothing. He tried again more forcefully. “Cinder, go.”
“I wanted to explain about what happened.”
Perry sat up. Cinder stood below, soaking wet. He was holding his black cap in his hands. He looked determined and calm.
“You want to talk now?” Perry heard his father’s angry tone in his own voice. He knew he should stop himself, but he couldn’t. “You show up when you want to, and run when you don’t? Which is it going to be? If you’re staying, I’d appreciate you not burning our food.”
“I was trying to help—”
“You want to help?” Perry jumped down from the loft, muffling a curse as pain lanced through his arm. He strode up to Cinder, who stared up at him with wide, piercing eyes. He waved toward the open door. “Then why don’t you do something about that?”
Cinder glanced outside, then back at him. “That’s why you want me here? You think I can stop the Aether?”
Perry caught himself suddenly. He wasn’t thinking straight. Didn’t know what he was saying. He shook his head. “No. That’s not why.”