“You’re doing well, Kas,” I whisper. “I think you can stop now.”
Yet Kasmira continues to work, flinging her right arm out, then her left, shoving the darkest clouds to our backs. The last drops of rain vanish, but the bleeding from her nose worsens. My heart sinks despite her victory over the storm.
“Land ahead!” cries one of the younger sailors.
I tear my gaze from my friend to find a gray shadow looming on the horizon, far bigger than the outline of any island, and for a ridiculous, heart-swooping moment I think we’ve somehow steered ourselves back to Karthia. But as we speed closer, I suspect we’ve reached our intended destination.
Four people stand on a distant pink-sand shore, their outlines shimmering thanks to their water-resistant robes, similar to the ones Karthian weather workers wear but with different belts and adornments. The mages—as I suppose they must be weather workers, too—move their hands in an intricate dance, making gestures that echo Kasmira’s, and anger flares deep in the pit of my stomach as I realize what they’re doing.
They’re fueling the storm. Perhaps they even made it, trying tokeep us from their shore by turning wind and water against us. Maybe they’re protecting gems or gold. Maybe they have a ruler who hates visitors as much as King Wylding did. Or maybe they just like killing. No matter the reason, they’d better hope their storm is enough to keep them well out of my reach.
Lightning cracks open the clearing sky, striking theParadise’s foremast and splitting it in two. Sailors scramble out of the way, shouting obscenities and covering their heads as heavy chunks of wood crash against the deck, some tearing holes in the boards where they land.
We’re lucky everything is so damp, or we’d have a fire to deal with, too.
The ship lists to the left, still moving forward, but not entirely under Dvora’s control anymore. Her curses fill the charged air.
I grab Kasmira’s shoulder and shake her. “Kas, your ship is falling apart. Yourship!” She always says she could never love a person as much as she loves this creaky old ship, with its many hidden compartments and the leaks it’s always springing. “We have to stop these people the old-fashioned way—with our blades—or we won’t have theParadiseto get us out of here.” I shake her harder. “Death be damned! Kas, snap out of it!”
Kasmira doesn’t open her eyes, but a faint line appears between her brows. She makes another hand gesture, likely trying to counter whatever the other weather workers are summoning in the clouds.
Meredy dashes up from the cabin at last, fully dressed but hastily so, her eyes widening as she spots the wreckage on deck. Lysander looms over her, rearing back on his hind legs to snarl at the unfamiliar mages.
“Let’s get this mess out of everyone’s way!” Meredy calls to him. The grizzly lowers himself to all fours and starts hauling large pieces of the shattered mast by clutching them between his powerful jaws.
Meredy directs him, and in the process, a flicker of fear crosses her face as her gaze passes over Kasmira. Or perhaps she’s looking at something beyond Kas’s makeshift shelter, wondering why we’re still sailing toward shore when the people there are bent on killing us. She shakes her head, regaining focus, and grabs one end of the largest piece of split mast while Lysander takes the other.
The ship’s course veers wildly, but Dvora still fights to guide us toward shore.
I hope she knows what she’s getting us into.
One of the weather workers shouts up the beach to his companions. “Stand down! Don’t you see, they’re not—they’re not from Ezora. We made a mistake.Stand down!”
My body stays tensed, waiting to see if the other mages will follow orders. I’ve never heard of Ezora, and I wonder if these people have ever heard of Karthia. They speak our language—the tavern keeper in Lyris called it a common tongue, after all—so it won’t be hard for me to tell these people what a big mistake they’ve made when we get to shore.
They seem to realize that now, too, but the ship is drawing so near that I’m tempted to flail my way up the beach and start punching the mages on it. Then I won’t just be some girl on a ship—I’ll be the girl with the fists everyone should be afraid of.
The three other mages drop their hands as their leader’s command registers, whispering among themselves and casting curious looks at our ship.
My shoulders relax, just barely. There’s still Kasmira to worry about. I tighten my hold on her and study her face for signs of recognition. “Come on, Kas. I need to know you’re all right. They aren’t trying to kill us anymore.”
The blood pouring from her nose thickens, spilling over her lips. She’s pushing the storm farther out to sea.
Suddenly, Kasmira slumps on her side and starts to twitch, her head banging against the deck before I can catch her.
“No! Kas—I need help over here!”
Feeling utterly useless, I brush her braids away from her face, knowing, thanks to Danial’s constant prattle about healing techniques, that something as simple as moving her head might lead to more harm than good. I just hope Dvora has enough healing skill to magic Kasmira’s brain back to a place where it’s not attacking the rest of her.
Dvora comes running at my cry, followed by Meredy. They drop to their knees beside us, Dvora immediately using her Sight to look deeper than her captain’s skin and assess the damage inside. She places a hand on Kasmira’s forehead, frowning in concentration.
“There’s nothing you or any of the rest of us could have done,” Meredy murmurs, correctly reading my stricken expression. “The storm had to be dealt with, and no one on this ship has gray-eyed Sight but Kasmira.” She glances darkly at the shore. “Lysander and I have some things to say to those mages, though. I bet you do, too, Odessa.”
“Nothing I want to say to them involves using actual words. I like this place even less than Lyris so far,” I grumble. I don’t miss the unspoken apology in her using my name, but I don’t have time to appreciate it as I follow her gaze back to the pink-tinged shore.
There, standing so far down the beach from the rest of the group that I hadn’t noticed her before, is a fifth weather worker. The lone mage raises her hands to the dawn sky, her fingers curling with effort. She didn’t hear the message about standing down, then.
Meredy and I leap to our feet. “Stop!” she yells, frantically waving her arms.
