‘The former,’ Hillary says briskly. ‘Now direct my coven, Caden. Where should we focus our efforts?’
Caden opens then closes his mouth, as his frown partially disappears. ‘Two ships have snuck in past the wards. They hold the witches. Eli could only traverse in with Pearl.’
There’s a sudden shriek from the ship to the far left, which has breached the wards. Then bodies beginhitting the water: half a dozen witches, abandoning ship, leaping into the waves. Lowri looks up at the deck and sees a girl leaning against the railings. A slight girl with pale blonde hair and a wicked grin.
‘Little ghost works swiftly,’ Caden says with a chuckle. ‘Looks like your efforts will be needed on the remaining ship carrying witches to our shores.’
‘Coven Septern, with me,’ Hillary commands, and they all vanish.
More ships from the armada begin pushing against the wards in the surrounding waters and Lowri feels every single one. She begins reeling the wards back in like a net, so they are not shredded by Coven Mereen’s magic, further and further until eventually, they only protect the castle and its surroundings once more. Looking down at her hands, she sees her veins drip black, and she senses the crisp edges of burnout.
‘Caden,’ she calls, searching for him as he rallies the people. There’s a boom of cannon fire, an enemy ship testing the wards, and it lands far too close to the shoreline, raising a gasp from the people of Ennor. ‘Caden! Anyone who cannot fight must get to the castle. Everyone else … needs to be ready.’
Caden searches her features and nods, speaking quick commands to a group of runners. Lowri watches as they weave through the people, dispersing the news. ‘There is no more preparation we can do,’ he says, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘You should retreat to the castle as well, keep the wards strong.’
‘I will fight by your side, brother,’ she says softly.
More ships sail closer, then Lowri seesPhantomgo up in flames. Caden takes a step forward, tracing his gaze over the waters around it. ‘Eli was on there! He was—’
‘I’m here,’ Eli says from behind them, gravel in his throat as he coughs. Two sailors stumble away from his grasp and he runs a dirty hand down his face. ‘I must rescue our crew still aboard the last ships of our fleet. Stand tall, Caden. Never falter.’
Eli takes a shuddering breath and traverses again. Lowri bites her lip, scanning the last of their limping fleet. He’s closer to burnout than she is. Closer to the edge of his power.
The crowd on the shore, including the fierce women and girls trained by Caden – from Rosevear, Ennor and Penrith – grip their weapons as the enemy ships approach the shore and the quay. A strange quiet hangs in the air, broken only by the occasional muffled sob. A melancholy sweeps over them all, silence shivering and cloaking them. It is as though they are already ghosts.
But then …
A voice.
One older, cracked voice parts the silence. A woman with grey hair, clutching a sword to her chest. She begins to hum. Another picks up the tune, then another, and Lowri’s heart swells. Other voices join in, stumbling over the notes at first, then singing in synchronicity. A chorus of many singing a folk song, one they know well on the isles. A song about braving the wildest ofstorms. The gathered begin singing in rounds, beating their boots on the ground. Caden hauls in a breath and joins them, his deep voice weaving under the higher notes. It’s more powerful than a war song. Steadier than a sea shanty. It’s hope, its home, it’s the layers of their ancestors’ voices, all joined as one.
As the melody weaves around her, tears trace down Lowri’s cheeks. She feels every Tresillian witch standing beside her. Generation after generation, staring down the enemy. And her heart is a fist, formed of iron. She opens her hands, magic dusting her fingertips, opens her heart, her mind, her soul.
Ready to unleash her power and save her true home.
i swoop under the enemyships, reaching the quay before the first one lands. There are four lined up in the harbour, smaller boats being launched over the sides, full of men of the watch in their scarlet coats. I hurry up the quay steps, cursing the high tide. If it had been low, their biggest ships would not have been able to creep so close to our shore. We could have picked off more of them as they tried to land on the rocks outside the town.
‘Eli!’ I cry as he traverses through a shadow beside me. He stumbles, releasing the hands of two of his crew, Merryam and another, before collapsing to one knee. I wrap my sodden arms round his neck and bury my face in his shoulder.
‘Mira …’ he breathes, then coughs, steadying himself before pulling me into his arms. ‘You’re still alive.’
‘It seems we will not be meeting in the stars just yet,’ I say, relief bubbling up from deep inside me. ‘How many have we lost?’
‘Too many,’ he says, releasing me. He’s covered in ash and soot, his sleeve singed as though he’s pushed burning wood aside, the flesh of his arm scorched and bloody.
We both look to the boats, the men rowing towards our shore. ‘I must find Caden, ensure he has assembled our best archers.’
Just then, a shout cuts across the quay, Caden’s voice a booming command. We watch as a group of archers that he’s assembled sweep their bows high, then release. A slew of arrows barrel overhead …
And find their targets in the men of the watch. Men fall from the boats trying to reach the quay and a cheer goes up from the shore, before Caden shouts again, signalling another volley. Eli moves through his people, stopping to nod at some, clasp the hands of others, and I follow.
Caden, Lowri and Brielle are standing ready. Merryam flits through the crowd, greeting us, then Joby appears. I embrace them all hurriedly, the relief that they’re still alive a painful throb in my chest.
Then another girl appears, a tall boy beside her, and I gasp. ‘Sember? Heath? You can’t be here! If you should die—’
‘Then my father might actually pay attention. No doubt they will continue on to every port along the Straits after this if they are not defeated today,’ Heath says with a laboured huff. ‘We are at your service.’
‘Did I not promise to come to your aid?’ Sember says with a wink, brandishing a sewing needle that, in a blink, extends into a swish of a thin, sharp sword the length ofher forearm. ‘You forget, even pampered princes learn where the pointy end is supposed to go.’
