A splash of sunburn tumbled across the other diver, peeling the skin on his nose and shoulders into delicate stripes. The tilt of his mouth gave him a sad air.

A royal gesture of her hand told them to continue diving. She settled on a rock and watched them plunge into the river, agitating the logs, and the calm of the herons. The sky was a turquoise blanket. The roaming summer clouds eased the heat. A breeze ruffled her hair. The pebbles under her feet smelled of algae and wet earth. The divers, honored by her presence, flaunted their talent. Was the existence of the sharks a lie to discourage escapes? Or was this calm a facade for the lurking danger underneath? The men scrambled back up the cliff and settled next to her.

“What are you diving for?” she asked.

“For the rare seeds of the black roses your father breeds.”

“They’re found in the river?” she asked, surprised.

“In claws of blood-oysters.”

With steps as light as a mountain goat, Raven clambered up to the top of the steep cliff, raised her arms, and announced, “I’m diving!”

Cyrus held her hand and, with an unerring stride, led her back down to the riverside. “My princess, the sharks will tear you to pieces.”

“Why don’t they tear you?”

“We have a secret.”

“What is it?” She tossed her hair back and cocked her head to one side, subduing her habitual proud stance, and in one of her most inviting voices said, “Tell me, I’m your friend.”

“Take off your clothing.”

She discarded her robes and stood naked, her silver hair a diaphanous veil. From the jar, Cyrus scooped an ointment, the color of algae, and rubbed it over her face, arms, hands, the soles of her feet, covering every part. She shivered under his palms, and he smiled at the hardening of her nipples. What he had heard was true that by some miracle her body had matured beyond her years. Lifting her on one shoulder, he skipped up to the highest peak and set her down, allowing her time to take in the landscape.

“Calm down, my lady. You’ll be safe for fifty seconds in the water. After that the ointment will wash off. While your body is covered with it, the sharks won’t attack you.”

She stood there paralyzed. Down below, the river was like a sheet of glass. It would cut her to pieces. She was tempting death. What if the divers were lying, what if the sharks reacted to her female scent?

Cyrus tapped her on the shoulder.

Glancing down, she nearly lost her balance. The ointment had turned invisible on her skin.

“You don’t trust me?”

Why should she? She didn’t even know them. But numerous times she had watched the men dive and reappear from the depths without a scratch on them. What if her child-body repelled the ointment? What if only men were immune to the sharks? What if she lost count and did not surface in time?