My heart skips a beat.
“Tahana?” I cry as the soldiers row toward the city.
Again, I see the captains calling their targets, and the men position the cannons. A boy holding a candle stands ready to light the fuses, and behind him the archers loose yet another volley.
Arrows rain down from the sky, and the smoke from the distant fire swirls about me, filing my throat and eyes as the cries of the dying echo in all directions. A part of me wants to run, to shield myself from the chaos, but I cannot.
“Tadhana!” I cry once more, and this time, the voice comes from somewhere deep inside me. My voice echoes with the voices of my ancestors. The bottle vibrates in my hand, growing warm at first, then so hot I can barely hold it. The hair on my arms stands on end and my whole body shakes. I feel alive and full of power. Every ounce of me is suffused with it. For a moment, I feel as if I am a wineskin filled to the point of breaking, every stitch pulling apart, slowly unraveling until it breaks…
Then it happens.
In a single stroke, all of the power flows out of me, escaping like some great and powerful exhalation.
Where once the air was dark and threaded with smoke, an intense and overwhelming light illuminates the scene of battle. I close my eyes against the brightness, but even with my eyes shut, I still see its glow. It is as bright as the sun or maybe brighter. I dare not look at it. A shower of lightning flows out of me and strikes the tiny armada, bifurcating, splitting into smaller and smaller arcs, striking the ships, the rafts, and the soldiers they ferried. It shatters wood, and what it does not break, it sets aflame. In the span of a heartbeat, the ships are engulfed in white-hot flame and the rafts are shattered, the water filled with broken shards. With their rafts destroyed, the Blackcoats plunge overboard, their heavy armor carrying them down to the watery depths. Our archers pick off the rest. Soon, the waters run red and the sky is black with smoke, but the air is quiet.
The battle has ended.
CHAPTER TWENTYEBAN
It’s over. We were able to repel the Lacon raid. In the aftermath, a placid, midnight-blue evening arrives alongside our subdued celebrations, lending a deeper sense of calm. Folk gather in the common spaces to lick their wounds and share some much-needed libations. Out come the best of their hand-carved goblets and stores of bignay wine. No one’s quite sure how we triumphed—it was all a blur. They’d all seen the lightning strike, though no one seems to know where it came from, as there were no storm clouds overhead. Some believe it was a freak accident, a glitch in nature; others, that it can’t be coincidence, that it had to be the power of the gods. That perhaps fortune smiles on us Ophir at last.
Gin has been very quiet since the victory and I’m not about to tell everyone her secret. I know what happened. I know how we won. She’s incredible. It was all her, and her ability to bond with the spirit. If not for her, none of us would be standing. Fearless, and beautiful, too.
I snake through the crowd, Gin beside me, checking on people. Everywhere I go, hands reach out to shake mine and thank us for leading them. “You did it yourselves,” I tell them, and it’s true. Me and Gin—we merely oversaw some organization, galvanized morale. It was the people themselves who bested the Blackcoats, despite the enemy’s superior weaponry and benefit of the surprise attack. That and Gin’s relic, of course.
Cheers erupt in the distance. A commotion at one of the docks. I head over to investigate. A boat’s being pulled in. Darius has returned.
“Figures,” I mutter. “Just in time for the victory celebration.” I don’t know why I dislike him so much; maybe it’s the arrogance, maybe it’s jealousy that he was able to grow up in relative freedom while I grew up in scarcity and hunger.
Darius hops from the boat onto the platform at the dock. His face is a mask of anguish, and his eyes are haunted once he sees what’s left of the colony. There are still small fires being put out. Boats drift near the docks, chunks broken off, many destroyed entirely. Dozens are injured, we don’t know how many are lost. Tents are tattered. There’s more damage than I realized, seeing it through Darius’s eyes. Then his gaze turns to Gin and his face softens.
“You are all right,” he says to Gin with a smile.
“It’s good to have you back,” she tells him.
Ah, there it is. Why I dislike him so much. I don’t like the way he looks at Gin. I hate to admit it, but I don’t like it one bit. I keep telling myself she means nothing to me and that I can’t get attached to anyone. Maybe I’m just feeling too alone in this world after Vergel’s death. But maybe—yeah—I have to admit it. I like her. It’s infuriating to realize he does, too.
When he turns to me, his smile vanishes. “You were followed,” he says flatly. “That’s the only way they could have found our location.”
That stings. I’m about to protest but there’s truth in his words.
“It doesn’t matter now.” He shakes his head and sighs. “It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t know. It’s my fault. We took precautions but it wasn’t enough.”
Perlah interrupts. “I told you we should have moved the Lashing when we spotted them.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You saw us?”
“Of course. Scouts alerted us when you crossed the river mouth,” she says. “But Darius didn’t want to abandon you. He’s always had a soft spot for refugees from the Sleeve.” She sighs. “But it’s a good thing you were with us. Darius, Eban and Gin organized the warriors and the counterattack. They’re the reason the Lashing is still standing.”
“As well as a lucky lightning strike, I heard,” says Darius with a curious look on his face.
“Yes, very lucky,” I agree. “Just like you were lucky you weren’t here during the raid.”
Darius regards me with amusement. “Lucky, was I?”
“Or maybe you weren’t lucky at all. Maybe you knew it was coming and didn’t want to be around for it.”
Darius looks like he’s about to punch me. “I have given everything I have to the Lashing, can you say the same?” With a snort, he turns away from me and back to Perlah. “How many casualties?”
