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Tait clicked the cover over his watch, a curve in the corner of his mouth, like he fought a grin.
The moment Arion turned his back on us, he jolted when a spear rammed through the chest of the guard one pace from him. The elven prince wheeled around, eyes wide.
Water split in a spray of angry waves as the ashen sails of theShadow Wingcarved through the surface. Narza’s ship was made of three levels, and thick sails that looked more like the clouds overhead than canvas.
From the shallows, faces emerged. Witches, sirens, sea singers with their mutilated features, rose from the tides, spears and swords raised.
But Maelstrom, standing like a bit of carved stone, lowered his arm, grinning as the impaled guard fell forward.
Lines and lines of sea folk stormed the shore of the isle, dropping their herbs and vials in bursts of smoke and rancid scents.
“Fione!” A trio of sea witches screeched and raged at the sight of their house traitor.
One tossed a pouch. Fione hissed and held up her palms. A wash of sea water swallowed the pouch in the same moment it flashed in flames, doused in the swell of tides.
The witches bared their teeth and readied more blades and spells.
Another guard twitched and stumbled forward when blooddripped from his pores. He stumbled toward my cousin. Alek’s eyes were dark as a raven’s wing. He held out one hand, then another, summoning two more guards.
Locked in Alek’s blood summoning glamour, it took Tait no time to ram his cutlass into the ribs and spines of the guards until they toppled in a heap at my cousin’s feet.
“You said the witches did not stand with him,” Arion snarled at Fione.
Her chest heaved. She blinked, unease carved into her porcelain face. “They . . . they don’t. They didn’t.”
“Shield us,” Arion snarled.
Fione scrambled for the pouch on her waist, desperate and frantic, but she fumbled when a clap of thunder shook the whole of the isle. Cyclones burst from the sea, great torrents of water and wind beat against the army.
Maelstrom stood in the shallows, hands stretched over his head, calling out the rage of the sea. On the deck of theShadow Wing, Narza had her palms down, pulling up water to meet his fury.
Bleeding hells, they were fearsome together.
Sand whipped against us, sharp pricks against cheeks and eyes. I blinked, grinning at the sight of the elven struggling to hold their arrows, their swords. They used their shields to guard up against the winds.
“Kill them!” Arion roared, but he, too, blinked rapidly, unable to keep his eyes open against the sand.
Narza and Maelstrom released their spell as one and launched a fierce wave over the shore. I fell to my knees, palms flat, and urged something, anything to help earth folk hold steady. Aleksi cried out in a bit of shock when slimy coils of underwater weeds broke through the damp sand. They curled around my cousin’s ankles, my father’s thighs, and my waist.
When the rogue wave hit, we were bolstered in place.
Not so for the elven. Shields were lost, men tossed back, andsome ran for higher ground. Arion grappled for a stone, holding him steady against the burst of water. Fione faded into the frenzy.
Narza’s crew spilled over the rails of their ship, invading the isle without end. My heart swelled to hear Narza’s dark satin voice ordering her house to take up arms for their king, their queen, their home.
When Jonas had devised the exchange for her vow to remain and defend the earth realms, I’d half expected her to return to the Ever and watch, once again, as her grandson faced a war. Cynical of me, perhaps, but to see her, fierce as ever, I let out a cry of my own rage at the line of what remained of the elven guard.
Arion stumbled again as soil underfoot cracked between their feet. The elven prince lunged to the side, desperate to avoid slipping into the ravine.
My father rolled an axe in his grip, head cocked. “Well, shall we find out how this will go?”
Arion drew his blade. He held my father’s hateful stare. Then, as the water from the wave retreated, he and his men sprinted onto the beach.
An elven guard with a crooked nose and a gilded longsword rushed for me. I blocked his strike and twisted in a way to avoid a slice to the back from his quick-footed shift.
His blade cut a path toward my chest. I leaned back, narrowly missing the point. My dagger cut his ribs; my boot smashed against the side of his knee. He seethed at me as if he didn’t feel a thing.
The guard slammed his thick fist into my mouth, tossing me backward.
