by Gwynn White
The cool, dank subterranean cellar was easily big enough to run the length of the tavern and the street above it. Most of it was crammed with barrels. The fae in this town certainly put away a lot of ale.
Closest to the stairs, she found the empty barrels Feral Fox had mentioned. Their lids perched on top of them, waiting for someone to use a conveniently placed mallet to thunk them into place. Hopefully the ale residue wouldn’t hamper the magic.
She put the candle on one of the barrels and stood back to think how best to fill her selected two. A suggestion from her water magic would have helped, but it was snoozing like it was on a Hiding of the Moon vacation.
“Oy! You said you wanted to help. Now’s your chance to wake a street of sleeping fae.” She held her breath in the hopes of an answer.
The magic stirred languidly. Didn’t it know they had time pressure? She huffed and jammed a hand into each barrel.
“Start pouring.”
Nothing happened.
“All talk and no action.” She slapped the side of one of the barrels—and then jumped back as water spilled out of her hands, splashed up and soaked right through her clothes to chill her torso. She grimaced. Never once had her fire magic so much as singed her clothing, so what right did the water magic have to drench her? She sensed it was spiteful enough to have done it on purpose.
She stuck her hands into the barrels, shivering while water gushed from her open palms. Both barrels filled so quickly, she misjudged when to cut off the source. Water surged over the sides and washed her boots. “Enough.”
But the water kept on pouring, not just from her hands, but from every pore in her body. It swept across the floor like someone had tossed out an enormous bucket.
She gasped. “I said stop.” And still it gushed.
“Everything okay in there?” Klaus’s voice was muffled.
“Yes. You just keep the mutts away.” She wrung out her hands to stop the flow. She might just as well have stuck her finger into a cloud to stop the rain for the good it did. She gritted her teeth and growled.
“You sure?” Klaus called. “All that snarling—sounds to me like you have a dog in there with you.”
She swore. “It’s this darkness-cursed magic of mine. It won’t stop. It thinks we’re flooding the whole of Ocea.”
The flood gates slammed closed. She felt the snap deep in her core and threw her head back and groaned. Why was water magic so temperamental? Her fire may have been unhelpful but at least it didn’t sulk like this.
“You have enough magic for that?” Klaus’s voice brimmed with awe.
She sighed. “Apparently so. Klaus, if it ever strikes you to ask which of my two types of magic I dislike the most, I’ll answer… water. Every time.”
Klaus’s head poked into the cellar. “Talk to it like that and it could drown you when you’re sleeping.”
She shuddered. There could be more truth to that than either of them liked. She muttered a silent sorry to her magic but it didn’t help. It was like she was carrying a rock inside her belly. She rolled her eyes and then picked up a barrel lid and the mallet. She wacked the lid a tad harder than was necessary and shouted, “Klaus, call the barrel-moving team.”
He shuffled away, so he must have heard her over the din. She nudged the second lid into place and clambered back up the stairs. The boys could figure the rest out. She was going to Averin.
A bitter wind whistled down the street. It whipped through Stasha’s wet clothing and chilled her to the bone as she huddled next to Averin.
He hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d last seen him. Lying on the cobbles, his papery-thin skin was blue with cold. But at least his chest lifted and fell with gentle breathing.
What his mood would be when he woke, she barely dared fathom. If it had been her flat on her back thanks to Darien, she’d set the world ablaze when she came to. But only if she remembered what had been done to her and by whom. Averin and the rest of the fae had to remember. So much rode on that.
A little way down the street in the direction of the loch, Feral Fox and Ivan rolled a barrel toward Trystaen, Eliezar, and Suren. Vlad, Goul, and Klaus waited a hundred or so yards up the town-end of the street. Their barrel was open, and they each carried a tankard. They could only start sloshing water about when the rest of the battalion were in place.
She hovered her frozen fingers an inch above Averin’s face and willed magic into them while she waited on Feral Fox and the boys.
No life-giving water pumped into her fingers.
Her water magic was still rolled in an icy gray ball in her core. Heart pounding against her rib cage, she snapped, Stop sulking. I said I was sorry.
A sloppy huff was her only reply.
She had to bite her tongue to stop swearing at it. Instead, she shouted to Vlad. “Haul your skinny butt over here. I need a tankard of your water.”
Klaus and Goul gave each other a what’s-up look as Vlad raced over. He reached her just as Feral Fox and Ivan rolled the barrel to a stop next to Trystaen, Eliezar, and Suren. Feral Fox unstopped the lid and dipped a tankard into the barrel.
“Ready, Stasha?” Ivan’s shout whistled through his crooked front teeth.
She grabbed the tankard from Vlad. “Go!”
But before she could dribble a single drop onto Averin, his eyes shot open. Bloodshot and bleary, his crushing blue orbs fixed on her. “Pit princess?” He glanced past her, and her heart dropped.
All around them fae shuffled and groaned.
They were too late. Darien had let go of the sleeping spell.
“That was some party,” someone behind her muttered. “What in the all the stars was it about this time? Ah, a lie about Angharad. Those damn rebels.”
Bile filled her throat at the success of Darien’s deceit.
Averin sat up and looked around, bemused. His eyes fixed on the tankard in her hand. “Drinking now, pit princess?”
Vlad grabbed the tankard and plunked it down next to the drunken fae who’d tried to dance with her. The fae groaned and fumbled for it. Water sloshed onto his hands. “Thank the gods,” he croaked, tipping the tankard to his lips. He drank heartily. The magic perked him up so much that he stood and stretched.
Averin wasn’t doing as well.
Head canted to look at her, he rested his elbows on his knees. She expected his usual appraising look, but his face was blank.
“What do you remember?” she asked him urgently.
“Remember?” His eyes drifted left and right, and he shivered. “It’s freezing. Why are we sitting on the street in this weather?” His expression cleared as if a fog had lifted. He shot to his feet, blue eyes frantic. “The Pyreack! Where are El and Trys?”
No mention of Darien. That wasn’t good. She stood and shook off the flames itching under her skin. “They’re down there. Near the loch.”
Klaus and Goul sidled up to join them. Their down-turned lips and glum eyes shouted defeat. Darien had won this round. No doubt about it. Would he win the next by killing all her friends?
Vlad stepped in front of Averin. “Prince Averin, sir. Your Askavol Fighting Pit Battalion have gotten the longboat you commanded us to steal.” All he needed was to salute. “It’s got food and ale on board. Everything.”
“Good job, Master Vlad,” Averin said, but he didn’t move. His eyes fixed on her. “Last time I saw you, it was dark. The sun hadn’t even risen.” He glanced at the sky. “Now it’s well past breakfast. Pit princess, talk to me.”
All around them, fae stirred. It was just a matter of time before someone recognized her as the Pyreack fae with the burning hands.
She took Averin’s arm. “There’s so much to tell, but first I need you, Eliezar, Trystaen, and Suren to trust me.” She pointed at Klaus and the boys. “Us. The fae here saw that I have fire magic, and they didn’t like it. I don’t want to end up hurting them.”
All strength to Averin, he stood, scooped Klaus up in his arms, and broke into a dodging run through the wak
ing fae toward the loch.
Vlad and Goul darted ahead of them.
Averin couldn’t possibly be going at full speed if humans could outrun him. Maybe Darien’s sleeping spell had done more damage than she’d initially thought.
Feral Fox and Ivan had turned some hidden charm on Trystaen, Eliezar, and Suren, for they were also headed for the loch at a run.
Trailing far behind, Stasha, Averin, and Klaus were the last to leave the cobbled road and clatter onto a boardwalk between a collection of wooden buildings reeking of fish. The boardwalk ended at a wooden wharf at the edge of the loch. Some five hundred yards away, the loch narrowed into a channel—the start of the river Weydeen.
A fleet of fishing boats rattled against their moorings. The rolled-up nets and crayfish cages on their decks accounted for some of the dang awful smell. Large and unwieldy, the boats would be too much for their crew of landlubbers to manage.
At the opposite end of the wharf, twenty or so serpentine longboats bobbed. Streamlined and build for speed, from the tips of their fang-jawed figureheads to their whip-like tails, they each looked like they’d been carved out of a single pine tree. They also offered no shelter against the elements. This was going to be an icy ride—hopefully the worst of their problems.
The sea-green longboat closest to them flew a bright-blue sail with the familiar Ocea kingdom fish crest. Someone had painted the stars from The Sword constellation that graced the evening sky on the side of the longboat. It was her favorite constellation. With luck, it was a positive sign that Feral Fox and the boys had chosen this longboat out of all the others.
Suren was unfurling the rope that tethered The Sword to the wharf. Everyone else, including Trystaen and Eliezar, were already onboard.
“Careful of the water,” Averin yelled, still holding Klaus tight to his chest. “It’s spelled.”
“Stasha warned us, Prince Averin,” Feral Fox shouted back from a wooden bench in the middle of the boat. “Your battalion is ready for any tricks the water has up its sleeve. The boys and me… we’ll handle the rowing.” He lifted a stout wooden oar and plopped the tip of it into the bronze-colored water. On the wharf side, Goul sat next to him. His oar pointed up at the sky. Behind them, Vlad and Ivan also sat with their oars at the ready.
She wished they looked like seasoned sailors, but, in truth, they could’ve been clutching cucumbers—just long, unwieldy ones. Also, even if the rest of them grabbed a seat and an oar, they would still be undermanned.
“If Prince Averin and Eliezar can take care of the sails, we’ll be just fine,” Feral Fox continued, as if blind to the harsh reality of the empty benches in front and behind him.
“Consider it done, Master Fox.” Averin lowered Klaus onto the wharf. “Stasha, get on first. Then I’ll pass you Klaus.”
She’d never even been close to a boat before, let alone clambered aboard one. Never more conscious of her gangly limbs, she gripped the painted wooden side and swung her leg over the railing, aiming for a narrow space between two benches.
Trystaen caught her and thrust her behind him to make room for Klaus, Suren, and Averin. The longboat rollicked wildly as she clambered over the ale barrels and crates of food to the sea serpent’s head right up front. She crouched down to massage the stitch in her side.
Logic said she should take a seat next to an oar, but given she’d never seen an oar before today, that logic seemed badly flawed. It would serve them all far better if she stayed huddled out of sight up front to aid them, unseen, with her water magic.
Averin grabbed both of Klaus’s arms and tossed him to Eliezar, who caught and passed him onto her. She moved to make space for him, and the boat rocked precariously. She eyed the swirling water, willing it to stay in its bed and not rise up and attack them.
Klaus shuffled away from her and plunked down on the bench in front of Ivan and Vlad. “Suren, I’ve saved a spot for you,” he called, grabbing an oar.
“I’m on it,” Suren said, sliding in next to him. “Maybe you can tell me what happened while I was unconscious.”
“King Darien knocked you all out cold and plundered the fluid from your bodies,” Klaus said grimly. “Apparently, it’s a rainy day today in Pyreack. Should be good for your mother’s farm.”
Suren blinked. Twice. “Now there’s a thing…” He shook his head. “No wonder I’m so thirsty.” He eyed the water longingly but didn’t touch it.
“You and all of us.” Trystaen slid onto the bench behind Suren. “Quite a stunt your king pulled.” His eyes were as cold as frosty pine needles. “And then to lie to every Ocea fae about Angharad… bastard. No wonder Boa never gets ahead in this war.”
Suren’s lips pulled tight. “He’s no longer my king. Or haven’t you noticed that I’m now fighting on your side?”
“I didn’t see too many of your fireballs back in the alley.” She’d never heard Trystaen use such an accusatory tone or seen such dislike twisting his usually cheerful features.
Suren opened his mouth but closed it when Eliezar squeezed his shoulder.
“Ignore him,” Eliezar said with his usual unflappable quietness. “We’re all just disconcerted at having fragmented memories of the last hour or so.”
She almost laughed out loud. Eliezar didn’t appear in the least disconcerted.
Averin was the last to board. He moved straight to the rear of the longboat and grabbed a stout wooden handle like he knew exactly what to do with it. “Everyone on the wharf side, push off with your oars while Eliezar fills the sail. I’ll steer.”
Eliezar stood and lifted his hand, then frowned. No air magic trailed from his fingertips.
Stasha’s heart sank. If his magic was truly gone, that meant Trystaen and Averin were also likely compromised. Darien looked right on track to win here.
Eliezar looked down sharply at Trystaen. “Check your magic. You too, Suren.”
Trystaen swore violently. “Gone.”
The cloying reek of strawberries and honey sliced past her nose. She gasped and clutched her throat. The day had just gotten way worse—
Radomir and at least a dozen red-clad Pyreack soldiers clattered through the wooden buildings and onto the wharf.
She refused to admit defeat, but if none of them had power, and she had to keep her water magic secret, she had no other word for what they now faced. As she clenched her fists and waited for fireballs to rain on them, she couldn’t have hated King Darien more.
“Stasha, we’re sitting ducks! Blast them.” Averin’s wild eyes met hers. “Don’t fail us again, pit princess.”
Her fire magic vanished like a rabbit down a hole.
Not even bothering to go after it, she closed her eyes and yelled, “Averin, will you please stop telling me and my magic what to do.”
Radomir snarled a laugh as unearthly and as chilling as the Tiyanak’s. “Troops, our king has given us our orders.” He and his men each tossed golden flames the size of full moons at The Sword.
Fingernails digging into the cracked green paint, she braced for impact. Everyone with an oar worked gingerly to shift them away from the wharf. Guarding against splashes was equally as vital as dodging fireballs.
Anger swept hot and furious through her at her self-imposed helplessness. A blast of water magic would sort out the problem in seconds.
What was the point of keeping secrets if it took her to the grave—the same grave that gaped open to greet Klaus and Averin and the rest of her friends when those fireballs struck?
She tossed both hands into the air to unleash her magic at the closest fireball.
Before her magic even breached her fingertips, the fireball hit a sheen that flickered up out of nothing between The Sword and the wharf. The orange swirl exploded against it and broke into a thousand embers before snuffing. More fireballs hit the glimmering barrier.
“A shield. Good choice, Stasha.” Despite everything, Eliezar shot her a warm smile. “I’d call that progress.” A shield? That’s what that thing was? News to he
r, given she hadn’t conjured it.
Only one other fae could have.
She spun to Suren. Face void of expression, glamour gone, he sat on his bench, both hands raised. His chocolate-brown eyes blazed with the magic he was pouring into his shield.
Darien’s spirit readers couldn’t have been aware that Suren traveled with her, so when Darien had plundered their magic, he hadn’t known a defector from his own kingdom stood at her side.
Suren’s mother and sisters— Her mouth drooped with dismay for them.
“Everyone except Stasha row,” Averin commanded, clearly unaware of Suren’s massive sacrifice. “I’ll steer us into the current. It’ll carry us to the river.”
Feral Fox plunged his oar into the loch. The boys followed. But even with Eliezar and Trystaen’s help, their inexperience showed. The Sword bobbed but made little headway into open water.
“Suren!” Averin yelled, fighting with his steering stick. “Get rowing.”
Averin’s head shot around to Suren just as Radomir snarled, “Suren! You traitor! You’ve just signed away your family’s right to live.”
Sweat poured down Suren’s temples. A greenish fireball hit his shimmering barrier. Quivering like a soap bubble, the shield popped. A second fireball soared right through the tear. It hit the serpent figurehead’s maw. The Sword tilted like a spinning top, and the acrid reek of burning wood stung her nose.
“They’re trying to set—” A splash and the hiss of dying flames drowned out Ivan’s panicked words. His oar thrashed wildly, completely missing the water.
His wasn’t the only one. Only Trystaen and Eliezar’s oars sliced through the loch. Despite the chaos, they’d made some headway into open water. Fast-moving, it caught the back of The Sword and dragged it into the narrowing channel forming the river. It left Stasha at the burning figurehead, facing the Pyreack.