The river took me like a fist.
Cold does not describe it. Cold is what the world is in winter. This was cold that wanted you. The current slammed into my ribs and knocked my air out, and the roar of it filled my ears, and for one pure bright moment I wondered if I had just killed myself trying to save the man who had called me a prissy princess three hours ago.
Then I saw him.
A shape under the foam, a glint of movement off to my left, tumbling against the black shelf of a rock. His sword was wedged between two boulders. The guard had caught, and the current had him by the strap.
I kicked. I kicked harder than I had ever kicked anything. My body slammed into rocks on the way and I felt two of them open my shoulder and my hip. I did not stop.
I reached him.
His eyes were half-open. He
