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“Leave girl. We have work to do, if you want to eat,” the bearded man answers as he drops a bucket into the dinghy. Someone calls Eagan’s name, and I glance toward the voice, seeing the man that was talking to Kylian earlier.
“I’ll be right back,” Eagan says, moving to talk to the man. I nod, but my gaze moves to the dinghy; it would be perfect for carrying what I need. Peering down at my hands, I focus on my magic.
The tingling spreads through my fingertips, slithering upward through my palms and into my wrists, and it isn’t painful. It never is at first. It is warm and electric and alive in a way that nothing else in my body has ever been, as if the magic is the most honest part of me.
The air around my hands shimmers, a faint distortion that catches the gray light and bends it, and I feel the power build. I have to fight my instinct to suppress the power. Kylian said I don’t have to hide here.
I glance at the dinghy and the men ignoring my presence, then lift my hand. I don’t plan to. My body is ahead of my brain the way it always is when the magic takes the lead, and gold erupts from my palm in a single concentrated streak that cuts through the air and wraps around the hull in shimmering strands.
The light is warm and bright against the gray of everything, threads of liquid gold that wind around rusted metal and rotting wood, spreading like a spider web, tightening, gripping, and the gasps from the three men are immediate Their eyes move from the dinghy, following the line of magic back to my hands.
The bearded man stumbles backward. The younger one drops his rope. The man on the crate stands so fast that it tips, and he nearly goes with it.
And I pull.
The intention is there, the control not so much. I want the boat to shift, to move, so I could use it as my wagon for everything I need, but my magic doesn’t respond to my idea. It’s charged by my anger at being dismissed.
My power has been caged inside me for twenty years, and every time I allow it to surface, it comes out starving, desperate, overcompensating for every moment it’s been held back. The gold strands yank the dinghy forward with a force that snaps the mooring ropes and lifts the hull clear out of the water.
The boat flies. There is no other word for it. It rips free from the dock and soars through the air, trailing water and seaweed and the remains of the rope that tried to hold it. Then it hits the stone retaining wall. Metal shrieks against rock. Wood cracks and explodes outward in a shower of splinters and crushed metal. The hull crumples on impact, folding in on itself, and the whole ruined mess slides down the wall and lands at the base of the stone in a heap of twisted metal and broken planks.
Silence.
The three fishermen stand frozen, their faces drained of color, their eyes fixed on the destroyed remains of their boat with expressions that have moved past shock to fear.
My hand drops, and my heart slams so hard against my ribs I worry it may leap from my chest. A cold wave rushes through my body that conflicts with the residual warmth of the magic still buzzing under my skin. I didn’t mean to destroy it. I meant to move it. But my magic seemed to miss that part.
I keep my face still. My voice comes out steady, and the steadiness is the biggest lie I’ve ever told because I am just as shocked as they are.
“As I said, I need wagons and shovels.”
The bearded man moves first. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t nod, does nothing that requires conscious decision-making. He simply turns and runs toward the storage shed at the end of the dock. The other two follow, their feet carrying them in different directions. One toward the beach, one toward the town, and within moments I am standing alone by the dock with a destroyed dinghy.
A warm trickle hits my upper lip, but I quickly swipe at it, pulling away to find my fingertips coated in blood. Vertigo washes over me.
Turning from the broken mess, I find Eagan gaping at me, and the other man is staring with an expression I can’t decipher.
The world tilts, but Eagan’s hand closes around my arm before my knees give, his grip firm as I sway slightly.
“Did you have to destroy the dinghy?” he asks with a chuckle.
“That wasn’t intentional,” I admit.
“Well, by the look of you, that cost you more than you thought,” he murmurs, and his arm shifts around my shoulders, redistributing my weight against his side, and I let him because I am on the verge of passing out.
We move away from the dock. Each step requires more effort than the last, and the nosebleed hasn’t stopped. I can feel the blood reaching my chin now, warm drops falling onto the collar of my shirt, and the copper taste coats my tongue and throat. My vision blurs at the edges, the gray sky and gray stone merging into a single wash of colorless nothing, and I focus on Eagan’s hand and each careful step.
We aren’t even halfway up the path before Eagan stops and curses as he peers down at me. My vision taints red as his thumb brushes under my eye. His thumb pulls back, covered in my blood, and the next instant, he’s scooping me up into his arms. I don’t fight because I can no longer feel my legs, or anything at all.
Wind rushes past me as he runs, and my vision fades in and out.
Voices. Not from one direction but from everywhere at once, the way sound travels in cramped streets. Faces appear with each blink, my body dangling limply from Eagan’s arms, and everyone is upside down, or maybe I am.
“A mage! There’s a mage on the island!”
By the time we reach the first cluster of buildings in the lower quarter, people are already gathering. They spill from doorways and alleys, some still holding whatever they were doing when the news reached them. They press toward us from both sides of the narrow street, not close enough to touch, but close enough that I can see every expression on their faces.
Fear first. Anger second.
