“What are you doing?” she screams, kicking at me. “Put me down!”
I don’t respond. Don’t even flinch. Her fists beat at my chest, her skin flushed red with fury, but I don’t feel it. Not really. I’m already moving.
Zyphoro watches silently as I stomp across the deck and kick open the cabin door.
Our daughter stirs in her crib, and Ashen lifts his head from the edge of the bed.
At first, his lip curls back and a low snarl vibrates in his throat. White flashes through his eyes.
But one commanding look and he stills.
“The Ithranor are here,” I say.
He rises.
“Protect my family.”
Without waiting for a reply, I toss Amara onto the bed. She lands with a bounce and an indignant squeak.
“How dare you!” she snaps, shoving herself upright, but then smoke ripples off Ashen’s body. He swells, growing larger, twice his size, then three times. Until the bed groans beneath his weight.
He places one massive paw on Amara’s chest and pins her down.
She gasps. “Ashen! What are you doing? Let me up!”
But he doesn’t move. Instead, he gives me a single, grave nod.
I slam the door shut before Amara can spit another word.
The wind is fiercer now, tearing at the sails, lashing cold and sharp across my face. I step to Zyphoro’s side as we stare out at the enemy almost upon us.
Ithranor Fae rise into the sky on spiraling discs of air. Dozens of them, maybe more.
We are horribly outnumbered.
But we didn’t come this far to die. Not when we’re so close to returning home. With Amara, with my daughter. The Ithranor will not take her from me again. Not while I still draw breath.
I will be the end of their house.
“Got a plan?” Zyphoro asks.
I shrug. “I thought we might kill them all.”
She barks a laugh, her hair whipping in the gale. “Fair enough. But I’m not sure how much help you’ll be, brother. If you reach into the void, you’ll doom us all. We can’t fight the IthranorandGygarth.”
“Then I won’t call upon it,” I say simply.
She arches a brow, grin curling at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, now this should be fun. Let’s at least give you a fighting chance.”
She pulls a dagger from the harness strapped to her thigh, flips it once in her hand, and offers it to me handle first.
It’s almost offensive how small it is. I’m used to Death Singer’s weight in my grip. But I can’t summon it, not without stirring the void, and on that, Zyphoro is right.
Still, this little dagger is barely enough to poke out an eye, let alone dismember the traitors flying toward us.
She catches the disdain on my face and frowns. “It kills just fine. Actually, it’s my favorite. And I want it back.”
Reon, Orios, and Solena walk backward towards us, eyes trained on the sky as a wave of Ithranor descends uponThe Shattered Edge.
