“One of the soldiers guarding Meriam with his life.” He kicks the crate between Fionn’s wing and body. “We’ll need a second box.”
Erwin obliges.
“While I help Fallon with this spell, can you check the other crates and the other floors on this ship and let me know if you find a brown-skinned male with long black curls?”
I fathom the man he’s asked the Crows to seek is the other Faerie he left in charge of Meriam’s protection.
He shuts his eyes and gives his head a brief shake. “There’s a spell to rapidly increase something’s size.”
The thrill of learning a new spell presses my concern for Meriam’s slain guard aside.
“You’ll want to draw an arrow facing upwards.”
“That’s it? An arrow?”
“Hover your finger over the symbol for it will not stop growing until you slash through the rune.”
I follow his directions and draw on the wood. Before my very wide eyes, the crate begins to expand upward.
“Slash!” Justus’s shout jolts my fingers across the arrow.
I perform the same spell on the other crate, this time stopping the progression before needing to be reminded.
I don’t realize how silent it’s become until my father murmurs, “Dachrich. Incredible.”
I take it that’s whatdockrehtranslates into. It dawns on me that this is the first time my father has seen me perform magic.
I beam.“Know any sigils to create light?”
“Swirl blood into your palm.” It’s my father who supplies me with this answer. “I saw Daya do that once.”
I start at the center of my palm and pinwheel my finger until I’ve reached the juncture of my thumb. For a moment, nothing happens, but then my hand absorbs every last drop of red, and my palm ignites.
I lower myself to the floor, trying to disregard the substances that soak into my hair and clothes as I slide myself beneath Fionn.
When the boat begins to list, and the crates to groan, Lore shouts,OUT! Get out from under him before he crushes you.
Keep the boat steady for me, my love.
Fallon!
It takes me three heartbeats to locate the indent the pellet caused. Though I could scrape it out with my pinkie, I don’t want to risk getting blood on the obsidian. “I’ll need a small stick.” When none appears, I say, “Or a needle-thin blade.”
A second later, a fork whose tines have been crushed together scrapes across the wooden slats toward me. “Or cutlery.” I grip my tool and dig it into the dint until the razor-sharp pellet plinks out, hitting my armor before rolling off.
In seconds, Fionn transforms from stone to smoke to feathers to man. His face is gray with fright; his eyes haunted. His first word is his mate’s name. I nod to the bridge. He disintegrates once again into smoke and floats up.
Fork in hand, I stand just as wood groans.
“I found no other corpse, Rossi, but I did find this.” Erwin uncorks a pitcher.
“This is really not the time for a tipple, brother,” my father grumbles.
“Oh, it’s not liquor.” He holds it out to him. “Smell.”
My father takes one whiff and stiffens. Whatever’s inside beats down the size of his pupils.
“You think it’s Meriam’s, Rossi?”
