The world drew in on itself. The air around Elise cracked and power surged through her, wild and unstoppable. She screamed as it left her, not in pain, but in raw, feral release.
Her War Weaving slammed into the Ulster ship like the fist of an angry god.
Wood exploded into tiny fragments. A jagged hole tore open just above the waterline and the galley lurched violently, oars snapping, men thrown screaming from their feet. Its forward momentum died in an instant, and it began to slew sideways, turning away from the battle as the crew scrambled in chaos.
Below, Martin and Bryn bobbed in the water, coughing and clinging to one another. Ropes were thrown. Strong hands hauled them back aboard, dragging them onto the deck in a sodden heap.
Elise dropped to her knees beside them. “Are you hurt?” she demanded, grabbing their shoulders. “Tell me you’re all right.”
They were shaking violently, teeth chattering, but there was no blood. No broken bones.
“We—we’re fine,” Martin stammered. “Cold. Gods, so cold.”
Elise wrapped her arms around them both, relief crashing over her so hard it left her dizzy. Boots came to stand in front of her and she looked up to see Phillip smiling down at her.
“Ye see? Not so hard is it, when ye have the proper motivation?”
She surged to her feet, fury burning away the last of her shock. “You bastard,” she spat. “You cruel, heartless bastard.”
Phillip didn’t flinch. “War Weaving,” he said, as though lecturing a student, “isnae a weapon of aggression. It never was. It isdefense. And now,” Phillip’s gaze flicked pointedly to Martinand Bryn, huddled together behind her, “ye have innocent lives to defend from the enemy trying to kill them.”
He gestured to the sea, where the Ulster fleet was regrouping, circling, preparing to strike again.
“Ye are a War Weaver now.” He smiled and it was full of cruelty and triumph. “Ye aremyWar Weaver. And yewillbe my weapon.”
*
The wind howledlike a living thing, tearing at the sails and driving the ships of Islay hard across the gray water. Jamie stood at the prow of the lead vessel, his eyes fixed on the distant clash of ships ahead.
Even from here he could hear it—the dull thud of impacts, the screams of men carrying across the water. It turned his insides to ice.
“Harder into the wind!” he bellowed. “Give me everything she has!”
The helmsman nodded grimly, jaw clenched, and the ship surged forward, its timbers groaning under the strain. Spray lashed Jamie’s face, cold and stinging, but he barely noticed. He had no attention to spare for anything but the battle ahead. A battle where, if he didn’t get there in time, his people were going to die.
Where Elise might…
No. He didn’t finish the thought.
A blinding flash suddenly lit the gloomy day, washing the churning seas with light. The air twisted and up ahead, something slammed into a ship flying the red hand of Ulster—one of Skye’s galleys in reality—and Jamie watched in horror as its side exploded. Wood burst outward in a spray of splinters andfoam. The ship lurched violently, men thrown screaming into the sea as it sheared away from the fight.
Jamie staggered as though he’d been struck himself.
“No,” he breathed. “No—”
Only one person could cause that kind of damage. Elise.
“Gods damn ye, Phillip,” Jamie snarled. “What have ye done to her?”
Another shockwave rippled over the water, smaller this time, but enough to send a second ship reeling out of formation. Panic rippled through the ‘Ulster’ line. The king’s fleet surged forward, emboldened.
Jamie spun, shouting orders. “Signals! Now!”
A sailor scrambled to obey, hauling out the flags. Jamie seized one himself, his hands shaking as he tried to unfurl the heavy fabric. “Raise the Isles flags! All of them—now!”
The flag went up, snapping violently in the wind—the black galley of Islay catching the light as it unfurled.
“Signal Cailean and Arran!” Jamie barked. “Tell them to do the same! Drop the Ulster flags. Raise the Isles flags. Pray they understand!”
