“Ten from this harbor,” Saundyl answered. “But they’re building more in the lumberyards to the west and portaling the vessels directly to the water once they’re complete. We were expecting another score in a few days.”
“Do you know anything about the shipyard’s fortifications?” Vesryn questioned, stepping closer. “How many Essence-wielders might be present?” His gaze flicked to Lykor when Saundyl shook his head. “I could dispatch the rangers to…finish what you started here.”
Lykor’s jaw tightened as he stared at the whirling spheres of Essence talents. He didn’t have the luxury of fighting every battle himself. If he distributed this power with purpose, he could begin forging his own army. But perhaps the prince was right—the rangers and that self-important Zaeryn could surely manage razing the vessels before they ever touched water.
“Are there others like us?” Serenna asked quietly, folding her arms around herself. “With shaman power?”
Saundyl nodded stiffly. “Ten from Vaelyn’s court were already deployed across the sea. More arrive from the other realms by the day—and not just those with Essence. The elves are collecting humans who are manifesting their ancestral power.”
Silence coiled around them, thick as the mist rolling in from the tide. Lykor stilled, his breath sharp through his nose. Humans. Their sheer numbers already made them an insurmountable threat—tens of thousands in the king’s army. But if they also had access to power…
Saundyl flinched as wraith began shambling to their feet along the shoreline, eyes veering away as though denying their existence could erase their presence. “I—I don’t understand how…”
Lykor muttered under his breath. He didn’t have the patience—or desire—to enlighten a blind fool about the grim realities of the world.
Catching a shift of motion, his gaze flicked upward. The cliff face blazed with torchlight, a fiery corona searing through the night. This little excursion was over.
Shadows stirred around Lykor’s feet as he summoned rending and faced the wraith scattered along the shore—a loose end he had no intention of leaving untied. Darkness writhed, tendrils swirling to his fingertips as he lifted his arm.
But before he could release the tide of shadows, fingers hooked around his wrist, firm and halting. The interruption snapped Lykor’s head to the side, a snarl ripping free.
Of course it was Jassyn standing there, wind whipping his curls into disarray, those amber eyes steady beneath the full weight of Lykor’s fury. But it was that scar—always the scar—that commanded Lykor’s attention. That defiant line slashed into his face. A reminder of what Jassyn had endured. An accusation of what Lykor had wrought.
And he hated that mark—hated how it stood as a glaring testament to what his strength hadn’t broken. What he was still too weak to destroy. Jassyn was as much a threat as the king, a fact that burned like acid in his veins. What did it say about his own power if—
With the barest shake of his head, Jassyn conveyed an unspoken appeal. It wasn’t a challenge, but it dared to ask for something Lykor wasn’t sure he could give.
“There’s no need to claim more lives,” he said softly.
And for an agonizing moment, Lykor hesitated, detesting how one person could unmake him so thoroughly with nothing more than a look. How Jassyn had the nerve to touch him, when that morning, Lykor had reached out and he’d recoiled.
Yet now, Jassyn was steady. Unflinching.
As if there was no longer anything to fear. As if he had already decided that Lykor wouldn’t hurt him. That hecouldn’t.
Or was it because the undeniable truth was that Jassyn could reach into his mind, bludgeon that vile magic into his skull, and bring him to his knees with a single thought?
That he could coerce him now if he refused to stop.
Lykor’s shoulders twitched as he came back to himself. He yanked his arm out of Jassyn’s grip and growled, “And if their loyalties still lie with the capital?”
Saundyl’s bitter laugh broke the tension, cheeks tinged with anger. “You’ll find most of us don’t take kindly to being controlled—or our families being threatened. But what choice do we have when we don’t even know who is watching and reporting our every move?”
Lykor grunted dismissively, letting his shadows unravel in the wind. This wasn’t his problem. Yet his eyes lingered on Saundyl, catching the flicker of resolve buried beneath the fear. Those pushed to their limits would always choose a side. Whether this boy would emerge as an ally or a liability if they met again was a question that time would soon answer.
“We can take these wraith back with us,” Serenna offered. “They would at least be safe until we figure out where they stand.”
Vesryn shifted closer to her, eyes roving over the globes of stolen Essence drifting around them. “We’ll return their power and—”
“No,” Lykor interrupted, flat and final. “We’re not outfitted to shelter every stray in the realm.” He turned to the girl. “If your brother is delusional enough to stay, then be quick with your farewells.”
Whatever grand scheme the prince had brewing was of no concern to him—Lykor had his own designs for that power. His gaze slid to Saundyl. “And if we find ourselves standing on opposite sides across the sea,” he growled, “you’ll find out just how little patience I have for anyone who dares to putmypeople in danger.”
Without waiting for his response—or for the prince to spin another argument—Lykor stalked toward the waiting portal. Hehurled the globes of Essence ahead of him, the orbs casting a final glow across the sand before they vanished into the void.
One more battle awaited him tonight—an irate captain to placate. Let Kal busy himself redistributing these talents.
At the threshold, Lykor threw his final words over his shoulder. “This changes nothing. We still leave at dawn.”
