The river was freezing. It was a shock that went straight to the bone, driving the air from Mirabelle's lungs as she plunged into the darkness.
She kicked upward, breaking the surface with a gasp. The current was strong, pulling her downstream, but a hand grabbed the back of her tunic. Revas hauled her toward the muddy bank like she weighed nothing.
They scrambled onto the shore, collapsing into the reeds. Mirabelle coughed, spitting out river water.
"I hate water," Revas announced to the night sky. He was lying on his back in the mud, staring up at the stars. "I hate swimming. I hate wet clothes."
He sat up, wringing out his clothes. He looked like a drowned cat—sullen, shivering, and thoroughly unimpressed with the concept of heroism.
"We survived," Mirabelle wheezed, pushing wet hair out of her eyes. "And we saved the Aqueduct."
"Great," Revas muttered. "Now I can drink a glass of fresh water to wash the taste of river slime out of my mouth."
