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“Now, now, Your Highness.” Fiorge stroked my hair, ignoring my attempts to yank my head away. “By the time we hand you over to your father, you won’t even care anymore what happens to ya.”
Nyah.
I closed my eyes and called out to her, desperate for help. She would know what to do. She had to.
But no one answered my call. The further inside I searched, the more frantic I became. What had happened? What had Fiorge done to me? Or…
Cold certainty gripped me as my eyes snapped back open to find more of my comrades being dragged down the stairs before me. My magic was gone. It was the only explanation—after all, Nyah was made of magic.
But that meant—what if she—
No. She couldn’t be dead. I wouldn’t accept it. I couldn’t. Just as I couldn’t accept that Torvo never resurfaced. I refused to acknowledge the giant empty space I hadn’t felt since calling Nye back inside me the night of the final Imrati trial.
I stared dumbfounded while Rivven fought against his captors and bonds as he was half-pushed, half dragged down the steps to the hold. Shoving with his shoulder, he knocked one man into the wall. The pirate’s neck twisted at an unnatural angle from the impact, and he fell to the ground with a thunk. When Rivven reached the bottom, the others shoved him to his knees. We locked eyes.
Momentary shock filled his eyes when they met mine and he realized it was me he was facing, not Nye. That meant whatever had happened had been without Nyah’s consent. She hadn’t turned over control of my body of her own free will. Someone had taken my magic, taken Nye, and it couldn’t have been Fiorge. If it had been, he wouldn’t have bothered with the collar.
A chair was dragged next to me, and Sharlyne was shoved into it. Fiorge leaned over between us, a hand behind each of our heads. After a few more moments of chaos on the stairs, Devira and the captain were dragged down as well, disheveled and a bit bloody, but alive, the pirates restraining them.
“How did you get the other ship past the storm?” Rivven demanded in a quiet, low voice that sent chills down my arms.
“I have backing you could never conceive of. You should’ve fought me on land,” Fiorge told Rivven.
Rivven clamped his jaw shut, seething, as his chest rose and fell with shallow, angry breaths, eyes filled with promises that made me cringe even though they weren’t directed toward me.
“The sea is my domain!” Fiorge cried, making me wince as his men erupted into cheers and hollers all around.
As soon as the shouts died down, Rivven punched out the words, “What do you want?”
“I want the reward for turning you two over.” Fiorge gripped my chin from behind the chair, wrenching my head up like a trophy. “And if you’re a little worse for wear, I don’t think His Majesty will mind all that much.”
The men laughed and cat-called in response.
“You touch her, and he will skin you alive,” Rivven said, jerking his head toward me. “He wants her in good condition.”
“Who says I won’t leave her magic useable? That’s what the bastard wants, ain’t it?” Fiorge forced my cheek to the side, then slid his slimy tongue up the length of my face.
“No,” Rivven’s voice echoed with the force of the word. Fiorge stilled for a moment. “No, he wants an heir, and if you do anything to screw that up—”
“Maybe I’ll just plant one in her meself,” Fiorge answered with a wicked grin.
I squeezed my eyes shut, wanting to shut it all out. Despite everything I’d been through—the freedom of the sea, the time I’d had with Torvo, the way I’d embraced my power— it was a struggle not to abandon my friends now for the sanctuary of my mind. Staying present felt like fighting my very nature, and even as I tried to do so, all I saw was Torvo being tossed overboard. All I felt was Nyah’s absence, like a hole cut straight from my heart. It was too much.
What good was I to them anyway? It was my fault we were in this situation. And without my magic, I was useless. Fiorge was right—it was all my father ever wanted, the only part of me worth a damn to anyone.
“Appearances are important to the king,” Rivven said, regaining my attention. He barked out a laugh. “You think he’ll let you live if it looks like you were able to take the princess and do what you wanted? Frankly, I doubt you’ll live past returning us either way, and I can’t wait to watch him strike you down without a thought.”
Fiorge straightened, releasing my face. “I’ll just have to make sure she looks presentable then, won’t I? This one, however,” he grabbed Sharlyne’s face, “isn’t wanted by the king, so my men can do whatever they want with ‘er. Same with the other one.” He nodded toward a struggling Devira. Had she seen what had become of her brother?
The men whistled and shouted in response. Rivven’s eyes glowed for a moment before he crumpled forward with a cry of pain.
“Best to watch that magic,” Fiorge said. “You could really hurt yourself tryin’ ta use it with that shackle on your neck. Courtesy of His Majesty. See? He and I are already on speaking terms.”
Another round of laughter rippled through the men.
“How many casualties, men?” he asked.
A lanky man stepped forward, lifting a blood smeared hand in the air. “Two of them, seven of us, including ‘im.” He nodded toward the body of the man Rivven had dispatched on the way down.
