A new blaze of pain erupted from her hip, hot and sharp. She was aware of shouting and the vibration in the hull as the enormous ship began to slow.
Up. The voice was firm.
Up. Syrina could sense it getting a handle on the pain.
Don’t think. Up.
Don’t think. Up.She clawed up. Something heavy and hot tugged her hip downward, and her mouth was metallic and salty. Blood streamed into her eyes from a gash on her forehead, and she still couldn’t suck in more than light, desperate breaths of the humid air.
On the deck, she got to her knees, reached behind her, and yanked out the long curved copper pole that had harpooned her. With one hand, she tugged her nose back to where it belonged, while with the other, she wiped the blood from her eyes enough that she could look around. And she saw a
