Page 41 of The Nymph King

The pressure had been enormous, and her arms still trembled from holding that much power. What unnerved her, though, was where the resistance had disappeared. The air around the slip had distorted every spell that entered it, bending trajectories and pulling loose energy from their edges. The Drasil had strained beneath the pressure, and even the crown had forced power through a structure determined to remain open.

Her shadows had done neither. In fact, they had entered the slip effortlessly, and once inside, they moved through its layers as though they already understood the pathways, slipping around the foreign magic instead of fighting it. Imani had tracked their movement and somehow known which lines to bend, which ones to leave intact, and exactly where to push.

No one had taught her that, certainly not Zadie, who understood her Under magic better than anyone Imani had met.

She bit her lip, trying to shut down her fears and revel in the success. But she couldn’t tell whether she had forced the slip to seal, or whether, for reasons she did not understand, it had recognized her magic and let it in.

CHAPTER 13

The boats cut back through unsettled water toward the Norn-held stretch of coast beneath the cliffs. Around them, the battlefield refused to quiet. Ships righted themselves in lurching, uneven motions; crews shouted over the wind, securing lines and dragging the wounded from splintered decks. The air tasted of ozone and salt, heavy with the lingering distortion of magic that had only just calmed.

They would regroup with the surviving soldiers first, then make the journey inland back to Vathis.

Imani stood at the bow, steady despite the deck’s constant rocking. The magic she summoned still lingered, coursing beneath her skin as a gentle, controlled flow, no longer frantic but still intense. It heightened her senses, so every movement and glance around her felt more vivid.

And the soldiers were looking. Not in passing. Not with mere curiosity. She felt the weight of their stares settle over her, marking the shift from background to center, from an unseen presence to something measured and remembered.

Ellisar moved to the edge of the deck’s raised section. His presence alone quieted the nearby chatter. Though the sounds of battle still remained, everyone’s focus shifted to him. He surveyed the worn, weary soldiers. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady and clear, carrying easily over the wind.

“Lochheim has been stopped and the slip sealed before any more death or damage could be wrought,” he said. “Their foothold ends here.” A beat. Then, without looking at her: “And the true queen stands among us once more.”

The words struck harder than the clash of steel.

“We return to Vathis,” he continued, “not only with victory but with truth restored. There will be a celebration. Let the city know.”

A captain near the stern let out a low whistle and Ellisar’s head turned toward him.

The captain, broad-shouldered and soaked through one sleeve, gave him an exaggerated salute.

“A celebration, High Sentinel?”

A few nearby soldiers glanced at one another.

The captain continued, “Should we alert the kitchens now, or give them time to recover from the last time you called dried meat and two bottles of wine a proper feast?”

Laughter broke out somewhere behind him as Ellisar closed his eyes. “Captain,” he said, but the warning in his voice only made the man grin.

“I’m only asking for logistical purposes.”

Another soldier coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.

Ellisar crossed his arms. “You were nearly thrown overboard ten minutes ago.”

“Yes, High Sentinel.”

“And this is how you’ve chosen to use the life you were given back.”

The captain nodded solemnly. “I considered gratitude, but this felt more natural.”

Several soldiers hooted outright. Ellisar looked at the captain for a long moment, silver hair blown sideways by the wind, his expression severe enough that any stranger would have assumed an execution was imminent.

Then one corner of his mouth curved, and the captain clapped his hands. “So that is permission for a bottle of wine?”

“No.”

“Two bottles?”

“Return to your post,” Ellisar said, shaking his head.