Holy shit, is that Tempest doing this? I don’t know why I assume it’s her, but itfeelslike it could be her. The two mages even discuss it, mentioning how fast these storms appeared, and that usually they have more warning.
“Should we wait, until it passes?” one asks Blackwell, who is directly in front of me.
“I have a feeling the storm could turn into a hurricane if we don’t move fast enough,” he patronizes.
“We should wait,” the other echoes, as if afraid of the water.
“Your leader and his poor decisions got us into this. Remember that when he tries to wear a crown.” Blackwell looks over at one of them. “If we leavenow, it will just be rough sailing. If we wait… You do not want to meet the pirate queen in this state. And Morvock has said we have to leavenow. He’s waiting for us on the ship. Quit your bitching, and keepmoving.”
My eyes widen when I remember it was asharkon Moriganna’s arm—Blackwell’s sigil. It’s just as much his fault as it is Jesper’s that Tempest is here, as I imagine Tempest will not be very forgiving of her daughter being branded; I nearly laugh when I realize he’s throwing Jesper out onto the floor for others to trample on, while acting as if he had nothing to do with it.
Water sprays slightly on us when the winds push it in our direction; this is going to becold.
The covered path takes us to an open, sheltered patio, one that then leads down to the harbor. The line of lit fires blows violently in the winds, and I stand closer to one to try and warm myself up. Those violent waters are no doubt frigid.
“FIRE! There’s a fire on the peninsula!” someone shouts in the distance. Misery’s mages look around, confused, one of them laughing. “Get a mage to fix it, you idiot,” he mutters under his breath.
A man comes rushing our way, his entire body soaked with rain. “Mages! We need you!” He nearly knocks one of the Cinders over, a train of wet footprints behind him. “Ten buildings are aflame. And it’s spreading! One of your kind is doing it, and we found at least, I don’t know, two dozen dead in your quarters,” he pants, his eyes wide with shock. “They’ve turned on us—I mean, I think something’shappened.”
The way Blackwell morphs from calmly moving about as if he’s untouchable, to his lips parting and his eyes widening—he throws a look at me as if he chucked a dagger thatIthrew.
“I havenoidea what’s going on,” I say, my voice a little high-pitched. “Don’t blameme.”
His lips partially move with each pant, curling in as he looks to the harbor, then back at where the man came. He pushes one of the mages. “Is this a coup?”
“Donotsuggest such treason against me,” the mage snarls, facing the man that came to us. “What do you mean, two dozen are dead? That’simpossible. No one can get close without incineration.”
The man steps forward. “Sir, please… there’s a man with a black mask among them. A Zenith, I think.”
Pure shock and horror nearly blanches Blackwell, that gaze falling to me. “GET JANE ON MY SHIP,NOW! Get her ascloseto Morvock aspossible,under his fucking cloak if you have to!”
Panic consumes this place like wildfire, one guard grabbing each of my limbs, the other women subjected to similar treatment as they’re ushered forward.
It’s difficult to fight when at least half a dozen hands are on me, and all I can do is yell and thrash. Blackwell leads with a hurry, but remains very close to me. “Mages, stay with us! We’ll need your power!”
The two mages mutter about how they could have been killed, and something about aneternal flame.
Rain streaks down my face, and I crane my neck to see that there’s so muchsmokein the air. It even rolls high like it did in Coalfell, so definitely from a fire mage.
Soren.
How the fuck is he here?
I thrash even harder, revitalized to know he’shere. Who else would be in a black mask? I scream as loud as I can, my throat even scratching, but they don’t stop my cries.
I’m carried further down, Blackwell’s ship a massive, black construction with evenly placed braziers at the front, two mages standing near the flames. The bow is brightly illuminated, the front of the ship slightly resembling a shark’s head with wooden teeth arranged so the bow is like the nose. Where the mouth opens up is a balcony.
Darkwater.
I can hear the ocean, smell her salt, and we near the vast emptiness ahead, Blackwell’s stupid ship the only beacon in the rain. I transition quickly from that uncomfortable feeling of wet clothes to being utterly soaked by the time we reach the piers. Sails are being lowered, the fabric catching the wind with each gust.
Among the braziers at the bow stands a figure cloaked in black, the candle eyes visible from here, with Jesper standing right next to him.
As I’m taken closer, blinking rapidly to get the rain out of my eyes, that fire behind us isn’t close enough.
They won’t make it.
I don’t lose myself to any of the misery; Anya’s necklace is under my clothes, and I plan to fully fight for her memory. Soren is here, which means maybe my dad is too.
