Fire.
A thought crossed her mind, a wild idea… she turned, staring at the flame bulb. If she was lucky—and nothing about this situation led her to believe she was—one last insane idea may just be her ticket out of Adela’s clutches.
* * *
Two days.
Two days passed.
At least, she thought it was about two days. Once a day, seemingly around the same time, Fallor came to “check” on her. He volleyed insults and jibes through the bars, meaningless verbal attacks that Vi let slide off her skin like vinegar off oil.
Each day she stared at him dully, balling her emotions deep within her. Focusing only on what must be done.
Each night, she ran through maps and rough estimates in her head. She had no idea exactly how fast theStormfrostwas moving through the tides, but she’d seen a similar ship in Erion’s books. Using the reported speeds of that vessel and the fact that they had begun their journey on Blue Lagoon, Vi estimated they were somewhere near the easternmost tip of Meru.
It was just an estimate, however.
Until Fallor confirmed it on the third day.
“It’s a shame you can’t see it,” he gloated in that terrible, skin-crawling tone of his. “To be close enough to Meru to lay eyes on the coast but unable to see it… You could’ve made history and completed your father’s mission if you’d made it to the continent. But he failed, and so will you.”
On and on Fallor went about her family’s shortcomings. Vi fought a yawn. She had her information.
As soon as he left, Vi stood. Her plan was roughly constructed and risky at best—suicidal, more likely. But while Vi had no intention of dying, it would be better to die at sea than to hand herself over to the elfin’ra.
Vi stood, taking a deep breath. She turned to the flame bulb, starting over toward it. If Vi had been any shorter, she wouldn’t have been able to reach it. But perhaps she had been blessed with height for just this moment.
Raising her arms over her head and twisting her wrists back, Vi said a silent prayer that no one would hear what she was about to do, then smashed her shackles into the ice covering the bulb.
Much like the rowboat as it slammed against the hull of the ship, the ice cracked and splintered, falling in pieces. Vi let momentum ricochet her arms back before redoubling her efforts and smashing forward yet again. More white fractures formed and broke into cracks. She repeated the process one more time—two—and on the third, it broke to the glass underneath.
Glass fractured, embedding into her palms. Before the flame could extinguish Vi jumped, turning. Her hair singed—the stink of it filled her nose.
She could burn off all her hair if that’s what it took. She needed to burn through the heavy leather straps holding the ball gag in her mouth. If she could get off the gag, she could muster her Lightspinning. If she could do that, she could get rid of the shackles.
She hoped. This all hinged on the theory that the pirates had put both gag and shackles on her to stymie two different kinds of magic: the gag for her Lightspinning, and the shackles for her fire magic. If she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t say Yargen’s words to summon her powers that way. If she couldn’t access the raw power of her spark and channel it as fire, she was useless as a Firebearer as well.
Smoke filled the air and was quickly replaced by the wintry cool of the ship. Vi reached up, tugging at the gag on her cheeks. She struggled, inching her fingers back, working to try to reach the clasp. But she couldn’t; she was still too immobile and the leather was holding strong.
Turning, she raced to the other flame bulb, repeating the process.
A loudbangbroke her concentration briefly as she heard the door at the end of the hall slam open. Vi turned back to the fire behind a bulb of glass and thin sheet of ice. She smashed against it again. And again.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The man behind the bars barked at her.
Vi ignored him, heaving one last mighty smash. The glass shattered once more. Her hands plunged straight through the wall behind, fingers crunching against the ice. Her wrists were in the last remnants of the flame before it extinguished.
But this time, the fire didn’t die.
An explosion of light originated from Vi’s wrist as the wooden bead from the Mother Tree heated and exploded in an array of fire and light. Vi felt it wash over her like the tides of the sea on which she was trapped adrift.
The man was thrown back in the blast.
He hit the wall opposite with a thud; the remaining icy bars shattered atop his hunched form. Vi felt magic—her magic. No, different. This was hers but not. Everything was sharper, more precise, as though this was the magic she was yet working toward.
Yargen’s power originates from the Mother Tree. The rogue thought wandered through her mind, said in Ellene’s voice.
Vi ripped the gag from her mouth. The shackles had been destroyed in the blast. Massaging her jaw and jumping over the limp body of the man, she made a dash for the stairs.
