Dilys closed his eyes and concentrated on the power stored inside his body—the bubbling, lava-hot sea- and weathergifts bestowed by Gabriella and the crackling electric storm gifts laid upon him by Khamsin Coruscate.
He channeled the seagifts into the ocean, reshaping the currents to his will. Spray misted over him, and the long ropes of his hair blew back from his face as theKrackenpicked up speed.
The crackling energy of Khamsin’s weathergift he called upon more cautiously. Her gift was wilder than his Gabriella’s, and very powerful. He could feel it fighting for release, the energy whipping at him in frenetic arcs that set his temper on edge.
His admiration for Khamsin grew tenfold. How did she live with such a wild, fierce battle raging inside her every second of the day?
Dilys used every ounce of his training to keep that magic in check, loosening his hold just enough to let a few wild sparks leap out. The sails of his ship gusted, the canvases bulging as wind filled them.
TheKrackenshot forward, cutting through the waves like a knife.
Behind him, riding the wind and current he was generating, the other ships of his fleet followed suit.
Chapter 20
Summer groaned as she roused to consciousness. Her head ached ferociously. Her mouth felt—ugh, best not think about what her mouth felt like. The disgusting gag was still in place. Her stomach was churning wildly. Whatever sleeping poison her captors had used on her, it didn’t agree with her.
“Awake, are you, my pearl?” crooned a voice Summer didn’t recognize. Foreign, accented, male. Eru, the common tongue, wasn’t his first language. She tried to place the accent—some sort of western land—but her mind was too muzzy to properly identify it.
She considered keeping her eyes closed and pretending to sleep until a large hand slid with shocking brazenness up her leg, underneath her nightgown.
Her eyes flew open. She jerked away from the vile hand that dared to touch her.
No longer locked in some musty, smelly hold and no longer blindfolded, she was on a bed, in a ship’s cabin. Her captor, his teeth a white slash grinning in a darkly bronzed face, watched her with unsettling black eyes.
“You are a soft, pretty little thing. Which Season are you?” That cold gaze roved over her with leisurely insolence before finally meeting her murderous, narrow-eyed glare. “Summer, I’d say, with those lovely blue eyes. Hmm?”
The man was tall, his dark skin weathered to a burnished teak. He wore his thick black hair in a simple queue and sported a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. His clothes were impeccably neat and made from obviously expensive cloth. In fact, he might have passed for a wealthy nobleman in the right environment, but she would have feared him even then. There was a cold, predatory gleam in his dark eyes, a snake coldly sizing up its prey.
Whatever his plans for her, they weren’t good.
And then he introduced himself. “Where are my manners? I am Mur Balat, purveyor of Mystral’s finest and rarest goods.”
Summer’s stomach gave a sudden, queasy lurch. Her flesh went clammy, and her eyes went wide. Instinct had her rolling over, trying to raise up on her knees and lean over the side of the bed as her stomach spasmed.
Balat—Mystral’s most infamous slaver—moved with unexpected swiftness, yanking free her gag and holding her head over an empty wooden pail as she was violently sick.
“Easy, my pearl. Thetzelethe men gave you to keep you docile has this effect on some. It will soon pass.” His voice was gentle, crooning, almost soothing. As was the hand stroking the back of her neck.
Somehow that made him even more terrifying.
When she was finished, he wiped her face with a cool, moist cloth that smelled improbably of lemon and some exotic tropical scent she didn’t recognize.
“Better?” He brushed a dark hand along the edges of her hairline, pushing back the limp curls. She flinched. He gave a small, good-natured chuckle. “I take it you’ve heard of me.” The thought that she knew his name and feared him clearly gave him pleasure.
“P-plea—” Her abused throat closed up. She coughed—froze a moment when she thought she might be sick again—then swallowed painfully and forced the words out. Her voice was hoarse. “I am an Heir of the Rose, a princess of Summerlea. My brother-in-law is the Winter King... Whatever you are being paid for us, my family will pay double—triple—even more to get me and my sisters back.” She tried to put a push of Persuasion in her voice, but her throat was too sore, and trying to focus enough to call her magic was like swimming through glue.
Balat regarded her with an unwavering gaze. “As a businessman, I’m normally quite open to a better offer, but in this case, as tempting as that sounds, my pearl, there’s not enough money in the world to induce me to return you or your sisters to your family. You are simply far too valuable to me. Not, of course, in your current, filthy condition, but that’s easily remedied.” He clapped his hands and a door slid open on the side of the room, and three women entered carrying a basin, a large steaming ewer, and a basket filled with cloths and a variety of small bottles and containers. All three women were clad in pristine white skirts that were slit up to their thighs. Naked from the waist up, their blue-black skin was covered in a strangely beautiful, flowing design of gleaming silver symbols. Runes of some kind. Their hair was burgundy, their eyes peridot green, and each wore a silver collar around her throat.
“Clean her up,” the man commanded. “And take care of this.” His slippered foot nudged the pail beside the bed.
Wordlessly, one woman picked up the pail and carried it away while the other two approached Gabriella. Working in concert, they set the basin down on a small table beside the bed, filled it with steaming water from the ewer, and drizzled a thick blue liquid into the water. The third woman returned, and together, the three of them untied Summer’s wrists, holding her firmly. She didn’t resist them. Thetzelehadn’t fully worn off, but the infamous Mur Balat had made a vital mistake.
He’d put a daughter of the Sun in a room with windows. Uncovered windows. In broad daylight.
The sunlight was bright and warm and revitalizing. She could feel herself getting stronger, more lucid with each passing moment as the sun-born magic in her blood burned the remainingtzeleout of her system.
“My sh-sisters,” she murmured, the slurring only slightly exaggerated. Helos help her. Thattzele,whatever it was, packed quite a punch. “Where are they? What have you done with them?” With effort, she managed to send a tentative tendril of power billowing outward, tasting the winds in an effort to locate Autumn and Spring.
