A gust of chill wind blew off the island, and the air smelled of sulfur. Strange. Syla didn’t remember catching that odor beforeon Harvest Island. She hoped the volcano hadn’t become active, especially not when her party needed to venture up its slopes.
Bolstered by lightning saving it, the gray dragon roared and led its winged comrades toward her ship. Wreylith flew out to greet them, her fangs on display as she issued a roar of her own.
Cannons boomed, and Syla hoped the crews were careful with their aim. After wiping her hands again, she returned them to the posts and summoned more projectiles. The silvery balls shot out, targeting dragons that weren’t close to Wreylith. Two new ones were flying in from the far side of the island.
Glad for targets that were nowhere near her ally, Syla sent the next projectiles toward them. She hoped all the dragons in the area came out to confront them. It would be ideal if, when Aunt Tibby placed and activated the shielder, there weren’t any left to disturb her—or be caught inside the barrier when it went up.
When a projectile slammed into the chest of one of the new arrivals, knocking it somersaulting back, Syla admitted surprise that the dragons were attacking at all. Already, she’d downed three, their bodies floating upon the waves, and Wreylith was tearing into the neck of a fourth. Distracted by trying to dodge the projectiles, their enemies had even been hit by cannonballs. Those weapons didn’t seem capable of killing a dragon, but they did damage. One flew awkwardly away with a broken wing.
“You’re doing great, Your Majesty!” Hixun called with encouragement. “Keep slaying those storm-cursed spawn!”
Syla nodded an acknowledgment, though she would have preferred if the dragons left. Why did they keep fighting when?—
Thunder boomed around the volcano, and a streak of blue-white lightning shot out across the sea. Before Syla could react, it slammed into the weapons platform. Magic and energy surged all about her, and pain blasted her palms where she touched the posts. Power knocked her backward, and she tumbled off theplatform, hitting the deck hard as white light beamed from the weapons platform, so brilliant it hurt the eyes. Her heart beat erratically in her chest, and the fear of dying filled her as she waited for it to stop beating altogether.
She was vaguely aware of people running over and kneeling beside her and of others cursing, but it sounded far away. She managed to clasp a hand to her chest, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. Her moon-mark flared silver, and she felt protective power flow into her body. Healing power.
Someone gripped her other hand. “Syla?”
That was Aunt Tibby. The white light from the platform—why was itglowingso brilliantly?—outlined her form.
Teyla and Fel knelt on Syla’s other side. He rested a hand on her shoulder, and Syla felt relief that people who cared were around her. She wished Vorik were there too but remembered that his life might also be in jeopardy. They might not see each other again. Tears threatened, partially from her bleak thoughts and partially from the pain. Despite the healing power flowing into her body, everything hurt.
“She’s awake,” Fel said. “Maybe just stunned?”
“We need a healer,” Teyla said.
“Sheisthe healer,” he said.
“I know that, but there has to be someone else.”
“I’m all right,” Syla rasped. The light coming from the weapons platform was fading. She didn’t know if that was good or not. What if it had been destroyed? That lightning hadn’t been natural. She’dfeltthe magic in it even as it had struck. “Is it… What happened?”
“You were hit by lightning,” Teyla said with awe.
Syla struggled to sit up. Tibby lifted a hand, as if to hold her down, but Fel helped Syla up, his hand behind her back for support.
Black dots danced across her vision, and Syla didn’t try to get up. Captain Vonla stood behind Tibby, looking down at Syla but also eyeing the volcano. Wreylith circled overhead.
“The dragons are leaving!” someone called as Syla craned her neck, trying to spot them.
The ones that had survived the battle had gathered together and were flying off like a flock of geese, heading out across the sea and away from Harvest Island. If they didn’t divert, their route would take them toward the mainland of Froha. Were they heading toward the stormer camp?
“But why leave? After that, they should have felt they had the advantage. Or could at least use my distraction to strike blows.” Syla looked at the weapons platform.
To her eye, it appeared normal again, the white marble not bearing even a crack, but she worried it might have taken internal damage.
“They probably got tired of being shot at,” Fel said. “All the ships have been firing cannons, and Wreylith has torn up a couple of them too.”
“They also might remember that you’re not the only one who can use the weapons platform.” Tibby touched her own chest.
“Or maybe they were called back for some reason,” Syla murmured, watching the dragons growing smaller in the sky.
“Maybe they worried lightning would striketheirasses too,” Fel said.
“It’s possible,” Syla said, though she’d been thinking all along that the dragons were responsible for those clouds—for whatever was going on around the volcano. They should have been bolstered by the lightning strikes attacking their enemies.
Hand shaking, she rubbed her face. Whatever the reason, they needed to take advantage of the dragons’ departure.
