It was far, far more than Nisong would have done, because it was far, far more than any of those refugees would have done for a construct. But she let it go. She needed to find Leaf. He had memories of how to sail a boat; surely he had memories of how to swim. If she’d survived the wave from Luangon, she couldn’t imagine Leaf hadn’t. She’d been thrown clear of the boat, but maybe he’d been able to stay aboard. Maybe he’d sailed all the way back and was, even now, looking for her. She let hope bloom in her breast.

They found his body near the sea serpent.

She saw the sea serpent first, its torso winding down the beach like the root of some giant tree. Its green-blue scales shone dully beneath the cloudy sky, each webbed claw larger than Nisong herself. The prow of a ship had wedged its way between two of the broad scales on its belly. Its head lolled back, horns and frill half-buried. Blood seeped from the wound, staining the surrounding sand red.

Vague memories flitted through her mind, of being bitten by a sea serpent when it was a baby, its coils no longer than her forearm, its teeth small, white and sharp. Few sea serpents grew into full-sized adults. Those that did rarely washed up dead – there weren’t a lot of things that could kill a fully grown sea serpent.

And then she heard Coral’s swift intake of breath, and she saw the frail figure curled on the sand next to the sea serpent.

Leaf had always been thin and gangly. His ribs pressed against his skin when he took in a deep breath; his cheekbones rose above his jaw like sheer cliff faces. She was kneeling by his side before she could remember moving, rolling him over, checking for breath.

His skin was cold, his lips blue.

Shell, and then Frond, then Grass. Not Leaf too. Not on the very same day. She struck his chest with her fist, willing his heart to beat again. He knew how to swim! He was supposed to be safe.

He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t cough up seawater.

Coral hovered behind her. “Is Grass…?”

Nisong closed her eyes. “No. She’s gone too.”

Coral knelt in the sand by Leaf’s body. For a moment they just stared at him, as if hope and heartache could bring him back to life.

“It’s just you and me now,” Coral said.

“There are others—”

“You know what I mean.”

Nisong did. If Coral, Leaf, Grass, Frond and Shell had been her family, Coral was now all she had left. “I told him I’d watch over him. I said I’d keep him safe.” She’d lied to him.