Page 230

I don’t move.

A cannon from our ship fires at the nearest dragon vessel, the blast lighting the deck in a hard flash, and the shot tears through the enemy hull with enough force that men are thrown backward into smoke and splintered planks.

The dragon roars above us.

The sound shakes through the air, deep and furious, and the beast pulls back sharply, banking toward the stern.

“Brace,” Eagan shouts.

The warning comes too late.

A blast tears through the side of our ship.

The force throws men off their feet, rips open a section of rail, and sends water bursting up through the lower planks with a violent roar.

The ship tilts.

Someone screams that the lower deck is flooding.

I turn toward the sound.

“Alessia,” Kylian roars.

“I can seal it,” I shout back, already running toward the stairs that lead below.

Arlo is beside me instantly.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, and I do not have time to tell him no.

The lower deck is going under. Water surges across the floor, already rising past my knees and climbing higher with every breath. Crewmen are shouting from the far end as they drag loose barrels out of the current before they can smash into someone.

The damage is worse than I expected.

A broad section of the hull has been blown inward, jagged steel curled back from the sea, water pouring through in a hard, endless rush that pushes anything loose across the deck and drags it toward the far wall.

I stop at the edge of the flood, my breath catching.

“Can you fix that?” Arlo asks, though he is already moving to shove a floating crate aside, fighting his way toward the breach.

“I don’t have a choice,” I say, because there is no other answer.

I push into the water, gasping when the cold hits my waist, then plant both hands against the steel side of the ship and reach for the elements.

The sea answers.

It surges against me, wild and heavy, trying to force its way through the wound in the ship, and I push back with everything I have, not stopping it fully, I’m not strong enough for that, but slowing it enough that the rush becomes a thick, trembling pressure.

The magic lights the water around my arms in gold and green. The bent steel groans and unbends. Each crease straightening screams against my magic, forcing it closed. The hole narrows by a fraction.

“It’s not holding,” Arlo says, his voice tight as he plants his shoulder against a steel supply crate and shoves it through the flood toward me. “Use this.”

I look at the crate, then at the gaping wound in the hull.

Steel. Heat.

My magic flares in answer, rising through my chest and into my hands with a bright, burning pull.

“Push it against the hole.”