The Weather War E-Book

Stephanie A. Cain

• Herausgeber: Stephanie A. Cain
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Princess Azmei died for her country three years ago--or so everyone but a trusted few believed. Having survived assassination attempts, the desert, dragons, and a treacherous plot designed to destroy her entire family, Azmei has finally managed to save her kingdom.Now she has to save the world.Azmei travels to Amethir, whose prince she promised three years ago to marry. With her is Hawk, the man who loves her, and Yar, the Voice of Dragons. They carry a terrifying message for the king of Amethir: the gods are waking and the world is about to shake.Prince Vistaren of Amethir has also received a frightening warning, this one from a powerful stormwitch--weather magic is failing. Patterns of storms are beginning to build outside their prescribed season. While the Stormwitch Academy officially denies any problems, there are hints of trouble yet to come.Azmei and Vistaren know they must act. But the king refuses to listen to them and the land is beginning to tear itself apart. Facing pirate attacks, seadragon swarms, and a strange woman who uses magic in a way no stormwitch should, Vistaren and Azmei know they must find a way to set things right.But what price is too high to save the world?

Leseprobe

The Weather War

Storms in Amethir: Book Four

Stephanie A. Cain

THE WEATHER WAR

Storms in Amethir: Book Four

Copyright 2017 Stephanie A. Cain

All Rights Reserved.

Cover art by Nicole Cardiff

ISBN: 978-1-944774-06-6

First Electronic Edition, September 2017

Published by Cathartes Press publishing on Smashwords

Table of Contents

Copyright Page

Also by Stephanie A. Cain

Dedication | For Jilly — | Eldry is all her fault.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

About the Author

Author's Note

Acknowledgements

Also by Stephanie A. Cain

Also by Stephanie A. Cain

Storms in Amethir

Stormsinger

Stormshadow

Stormseer

The Weather War

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Storms in Amethir Holiday Novellas

The Midwinter Royal

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Faith and Fealty

Sow the Wind

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Circle City Magic (urban fantasy)

Shades of Circle City

Circle City Psychic (forthcoming)

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With Other Authors

Equus(Rhonda Parrish’s Magical Menageries #5)

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If you would like to receive updates on new fiction, please join my monthly email newsletter list. I give newsletter subscribers first look at everything I do!

Dedication

For Jilly —

Eldry is all her fault.

PROLOGUE

The driving rain slashed across Eldry’s face. Her long hair was plastered to her cheeks, her dress clinging to her legs, tangling in them and making it hard to walk. She squinted up into the clouds, wincing as lightning tore a hole in the darkness.

The deck of the Elana Bey was pitching under her. Eldry lurched and staggered to catch her balance. The wind was howling through the bare rigging and reefed sails—the crew had chosen to heave to, though she thought they were regretting it now. She was certainly wishing they’d been able to outrun the storm. She’d deflected the worst of it, but the Elana Bey’s captain had told her there was no need to push it completely aside. She wished now that she had argued with him. But then, the storm was much more powerful than she had originally thought.

Eldry had only been sailing for a few months. She hadn’t wanted this assignment, but her choices had been a ship or back to her home up the Gehb River into the mountains, and she never wanted to see Stony Lonesome ever again. That made the decision to sail to Tamnen an easy one.

The sailors were shouting at each other. Eldry couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the urgency of their words had escalated into alarm. She turned just as something overhead cracked deafeningly.

Eldry staggered forward. The ship’s mate had shoved her. Mouth open in a wordless cry of surprise, Eldry took several stumbling steps forward. A moment later a section of the mast crashed to the deck behind her. She spun to thank the ship’s mate, but he was trapped under the mast. He’d saved her life—but he’d lost his own.

Eldry screamed in shock, staggering back against the railing. She gripped it as the deck lurched.

“Stormwitch!” The captain was next to her, fingers gripping her elbow so tightly they pinched. “Stormwitch! Turn the storm! Save us!”

Eldry stared at him with wide eyes. It took her a moment to comprehend that he’d changed his mind. She closed her gaping mouth and nodded.

It would be hard now. Harder than it would have been to turn it before it reached them. But she could do it. She might not be a stormcaller, but she was a powerful deflector. She clenched her fist around the large chunk of polished seaglass that hung from her neck. Trying to push away the distractions of the wind and pelting rain, she closed her eyes.

She could still see the flash of lightning through her eyelids, but a moment later she raised the mental walls that shut off the howling of the wind. She took deep breaths, trying to steady her racing heart. Fear would do her no good here. She needed control.

She extended her senses, finding the worst of the storm easily—it was right overhead. She could nudge the storm weatherward to get it past quickly, or she could nudge it to the side and carry the worst of it away from them.

“Eldry!” That was Rhys’ voice. She tried to shrug him off, but strong hands shook her. “Eldry! We’re going to die! You have to get belowdecks!”

Eldry’s eyes popped open. “This is my job!” she snapped at him. She pushed him away. “Get below yourself.”

“I’m not going without you.”

She glared at her best friend. “Then stop distracting me and let me work.”

She shouldn’t have brought Rhys with her. He was no sailor, for all that he’d moved to the coast for her. He had supported her service at the stormwitch academy, but he didn’t understand the work. He still didn’t understand why she hated Stony Lonesome so much, why she’d sworn never to go back. But he was loyal, so she had invited him with her as a condition of her service.

It had been a mistake.

She closed her eyes again, stretching her senses out again. She would nudge the storm weatherward but she would also shift it a bit east. It couldn’t hurt to do both, and it would probably make the Elana Bey safe sooner than doing just one shift. She stretched out her mental fingers, grasping the fringes of the storm and tugging gently.

The wind howled louder suddenly and Rhys screamed. She couldn’t seem to seal off her attention well enough to block it. He was gripping her arm, pulling on her.

“Rhys, stop!” she shouted.

The world flashed into white.

Eldry reeled backwards, her hair whipping into her face. Her hands were tingling, crackling with pain so hot it seared them cold. The world crashed down on her, thunder so loud it was like an avalanche of boulders falling on her head.

As the crash faded away, she heard Rhys still screaming.

Eldry blinked her eyes frantically, willing herself to see anything but the white afterimages of that flash. When she did, she wished she couldn’t.

Rhys was sprawled on the deck. His body spasmed, limbs flailing, his back arching away from the boards.

The voices of the crew merged together and swelled into a huge, monstrous thing. They were louder than the storm. Eldry’s own scream was drowned out by Rhys’.

Rhys went still.

“Rhys!” she screamed, dropping to her knees beside him. Her fingers fumbled frantically at his throat. She held her breath until she found a pulse. It was thready and weak, but it was there. “Sea Lord Antos, preserve us,” Eldry whispered, leaning down to put her arms around Rhys. She was the cause of his hurt. He would never have left Stony Lonesome if it weren’t for her.

She buried her face against his chest, reaching out to gauge the storm’s strength. The worst of it had passed east and weatherward of them. The ferocity of the wind lessened. She’d done it.

Which was why the wave caught her completely by surprise.

It washed over the deck, greedy water clutching at her. It tore Rhys from her grasp and she screamed. Then she realized it had swept her from the deck of the ship. She sucked in a deep breath. Then she was flying, flying, falling, and the sea was all.

CHAPTER 1

Thunder rumbled low in the distance. Princess Azmei Corrone of Tamnen tucked her hair behind her ear and squinted. They’d been sailing for three weeks, and they probably another week to go. But they hadn’t accounted for storms when they made their plans.

“Is that something we need to be worried about?” she asked, lifting her chin towards the thunder.

Beside her, Destar Thorne shrugged. “We’re close to Amethirian waters, but not in them yet. Their storm season hasn’t started. And the rest of us sailors just take the weather as it comes.”

His tone didn’t give away what he thought about that. Azmei looked at him curiously. “Have you ever sailed with a stormwitch?” she asked.

“Aye, twice now. Once after we thought you dead, when I conveyed the Amethirian ambassador from Ranarr to Tamnen City.” His voice roughened. “He put the wind in our sails, right enough, but I didn’t like it. Wasn’t natural.”

Azmei pressed her lips together, trying to shove down the guilt. She’d done the best she could. Not knowing where the threat against her family came from, she’d made what she thought to be the right decision. She’d known people would be hurt by it, but what else could she have done? If she hadn’t gone into hiding, would her cousin Arisanat have succeeded in murdering her brother as well as her father? He might have destroyed the entire kingdom of Tamnen.

Destar cleared his throat. “The other time was longer ago, when I was ship’s boy on my first mission. I was ten years old, and Prince Marsede and his father King Costa were trying to improve trade with Amethir. We sailed to Maron City with a trade proposal, and the king of Amethir wanted his message to get out of their waters before storm season. The stormwitch he sent with us was this tall old woman with fancy white braids, and she dressed and talked like a sailor.”

Azmei smiled. “You liked her.”

“She was impressive, no doubt about that. We knew less about the stormwitches back then. Thought they were half devil, with their magic abilities, and liable to send us all straight to the bottom if we defied them. She knew how to use our superstition against us, too.” Destar chuckled. “But she was kind, for all that.”

“I’ve only met a stormwitch a handful of times, and never seen one work,” Azmei said. “I know they can create ice. Vistaren’s stormwitch frosted a glass of wine for me once.” She smiled softly, thinking about the circumstances. She had just learned that Vistaren loved men instead of women, dashing all her girlish notions of an epic love affair with her betrothed. The cold wine was a kindness he needn’t have extended, considering how shocked she’d been at that revelation, and it had endeared him to her even more, though perhaps not in the way she had originally imagined.

“Do you know how things stand with Prince Vistaren?” Destar asked, his voice a low rumble.

Azmei glanced curiously at him. “In what way?”

Destar shrugged. “He wore the mourning black the full half a year for you. And he’s not married in the three years since. But there are rumors that...” He trailed off and then coughed. “I know it’s impertinent of me, princess. But did the two of you have an understanding?”

Azmei forced a smile. “He said he would honor our betrothal. I told him he shouldn’t wait, that there were no certainties, but...” Her smile strengthened. “We don’t love each other as a husband and wife might, but there is genuine affection there, Destar.” Not to mention she was the only princess currently available.

“You have a unique gift of gathering allies to you, lass,” Destar said. He rested a hand on her shoulder. “These two you’ve brought with you, they’re not quite what I was expecting.”

Azmei looked up at him, then followed his gaze to the railing, where a teenaged boy with dark hair stood staring out at the ocean. He stood an inch or two shy of six feet, with a nearly scrawny build, and his black hair flopped into his eyes. Azmei smiled.

“I imagine not,” she said. “Nobody could expect Yar.”

She took her leave of the captain and went to lean on the railing next to Yar. The boy was just as enamored of the ocean as he had been three weeks ago when he saw it for the first time. She supposed she couldn’t blame him; Yar had grown up in a city of canals, but it was in the rugged western region of Tamnen, far from the ocean.

“It’s so big,” Yar said without looking at her.

“Bigger than all of Tamnen,” she replied.

“And alive. So alive.”

She just looked at him. He was the one who would know; Yar’s life had been consumed by magic, perhaps since he was a baby, but definitely over the past half year. He’d been chosen as the Voice of Dragons, and it was partly because of Yar that they were making this journey halfway across the world.

“Does Xellax talk to you often?” she asked.

“All the time.” He smiled, turning his silver eyes to hers. “She is treated well by your brother. She gets fat sheep to eat. She likes it.”

Azmei laughed, pleased. “And that’ll keep the people of Tamnen City under control, seeing a dragon lounging on the palace walls.” Her cousin’s rebellion had nearly succeeded. Razem said it would have succeeded if she and Yar hadn’t arrived with the dragons when they did. Azmei thought her brother gave her too much credit, but she knew it had been a near thing. It wouldn’t be bad for the citizens of Tamnen to have a living, fire-breathing reminder of the powerful allies her brother had.

Yar shrugged and looked back out to sea, which made Azmei smile again. In some ways he had changed so much from the boy troubled by Voices in his head, and in others, he was very much the same. He still had little interest in politics, and the smallest thing could fascinate him for hours.

Yar’s shoulders moved as he heaved a sigh. “You wanted me to like you for who you are. When we met, I mean. Not your title.” He glanced over at her, but Azmei just blinked at him, confused. “That’s why you lied.”

“Oh.” Azmei felt a flush of embarrassment rush up her cheeks. “Yes.” When they’d met, he’d been a teenage runaway who heard voices, and she’d been a gruff assassin who felt drawn to protect him despite the fact that she’d killed his grandfather and older brother. How far they’d come from where they started.

“But once I decided to like you,” he continued, “you still didn’t tell me.” He cocked his head to one side. “To protect me. Since you knew my sister was dead. And you knew why she was dead.”

Azmei was silent. He must have a reason for bringing this up, but she couldn’t guess what it was, so she waited.

“Is that why you’re avoiding Hawk now? To protect him?”

It was like a punch to the gut. Azmei stared at him, wondering how he’d noticed that, of all things, and why he thought he should bring it up. She knew he liked Hawk. Everyone liked Hawk. She certainly liked Hawk. But Yar didn’t usually care about other people’s relationships.

“I heard your brother ask you if you’re still going to marry Vistaren,” Yar elaborated, and Azmei’s thoughts flashed back to the night, three weeks ago, when they’d all sat around the fire in the aftermath of Arisanat’s failed rebellion.

“Then you also heard me say I plan to go back to Tamnen if I can,” she said tartly.

Yar shrugged. “But I asked people. Well. I asked Ilzi. She said you were betrothed, and maybe you still are. She said everyone knew it, so Hawk knew it. Knows it.”

Azmei sighed and folded her arms across her chest, waiting.

“So you’re not protecting him,” Yar concluded. “You’re being dumb.”

Speechless, she glared at him. How dare he—

Yar shrugged. “You didn’t want me to care about you being a princess. So I’ll talk to you as Orya talked to me. And you’re being dumb.”

Azmei choked back a laugh. Of all the times for Yar to become observant. “Thank you,” she said in a strangled tone. “I think.”

Maybe she was being dumb. There was no knowing what would happen when they arrived in Amethir, but that was at least a week away. Practically speaking, it was difficult to avoid someone on a ship, even one as big as the Victorious, the flagship of her brother’s navy.

And if she were honest with herself, she didn’t like avoiding Hawk. She’d just been too cowardly to face the questions he would probably ask.

She found Hawk at the stern railing on the poop deck. He leaned on the railing, his right leg bent at the knee, which told her the old wound was bothering him. His hair, so dark a brown it was almost black, was scraped into a stubby tail at the base of his skull. His eyes squinted against the sunlight that still shone on them despite the dark clouds on the horizon.

She stopped a few steps away and cleared her throat, though he must have heard her coming. She had never met anyone as alert as Hawk, except her old training master Tanvel.

He didn’t turn. For a moment she thought he was going to ignore her, which would be fair, considering the way she’d been acting. But finally he said, “Join me, princess.”

“Don’t,” she said, leaning on the railing next to him, close enough that their shoulders touched.

He glanced sidelong at her. “Oh, are you being Azmei now?” There was no rancor in his voice, but Azmei felt a pang of shame anyway.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She wanted to point out that she’d never had the luxury of a romantic relationship before. It wasn’t like princesses were encouraged to fall in love with anyone before they were disposed of in a properly political marriage. And he ought to know—as everyone in the kingdom knew—that her properly political marriage hadn’t exactly worked out the way she had expected.

Hawk sighed and slid his hand over to cover her fingers with his own. “So am I,” he said, his voice soft. “I am having trouble finding my equilibrium.”

Azmei sighed. “I know it must not seem like it, but I’m grateful you’re here.”

His smile was wry. “You have a funny way of showing it.” But he lifted their joined hands so he could brush his lips against her fingers. She felt her stomach flutter.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said. “This is all beyond me. Carrying a message for the dragons about the gods? Going to Amethir, where everyone except the prince thinks I’m dead?” She felt him go still and forced herself to continue. “Figuring out what’s going to happen with my betrothal when we get there?”

Hawk’s charcoal eyes were sad when he turned to look at her. “You know I wouldn’t stand in your way,” he murmured. “You signed a contract. You—you’re the princess. I couldn’t live with myself if I got between you and your duty.”

Azmei frowned up at him. “To the hells with my duty. I died for my country three years ago. They ought to give me some leeway.”

“I think they did. Three years’ worth.” Hawk sighed and looked back out at the water. “Life has never been easy, Az. Why would it start now?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, pretending they weren’t stinging with tears. “Because I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you,” she whispered. “That ought to mean something.”

She felt his arms go around her, pulling her against his chest. “It does,” he said, his voice rough. “More than you can imagine. I’m just not sure if life really gives a damn.”

Azmei gave a watery chuckle and slipped an arm around his waist. “He might not even want to go through with it. After all, he doesn’t even love women. He might have found someone himself.”

“And can he marry that hypothetical someone and produce heirs with him?” Hawk didn’t sound convinced. “He’ll go through with the treaty marriage, unless he’s stupider than I think.”

“Maybe the succession works differently in Amethir,” Azmei said. “After all, in Tamnen, a prince who loved men wouldn’t stay a prince very long.”

“Unless he knew how to hide it very well,” Hawk agreed. “But I have a feeling there are some things that are universal to politics.” He leaned back, breaking the embrace. “What are those?”

It took Azmei a moment to realize he was changing the topic. Then she squinted out where he was pointing. In the distance, but rapidly approaching the Victorious, were massive black and white shapes, their sleek forms cutting through the water with astonishing speed.

From the crow’s nest, a voice called, “Orca off the port stern!”

“Orca,” Azmei said. “I’ve heard of them, but never seen them before.”

Footsteps thudded across the deck, then Destar was at the railing with them, spyglass raised to his eye. “They’ve been more active lately,” he said. “It’s not their migration time yet. Must be the sirens are moving, but that’s not normal, either. Especially in waters this deep.” He glanced at Azmei. “Sirens are shallow-water beasties.”

She shuddered. “Sirens—they eat people, don’t they?”

“And whatever else they can catch,” Destar agreed. “S’why having orca around is a mixed blessing. They eat sirens, so you know if you go down, the orca’ll probably keep you alive. But they usually mean there are sirens around too.”

“If this is unusual,” Azmei began, and Destar nodded.

“Been a lot of siren activity lately. I don’t like it, what with your news about gods and conflict and the whole world about to shake.”

Azmei exchanged a look with Hawk. “That’s why we must reach Amethir as soon as possible,” she said after a moment. Regardless of her doubts about seeing her betrothed again.

Azmei had thought finding justice for her family would mean she could relax. Instead, she had discovered that Tamnen no longer needed her to save it—but the whole world just might.

“Captain!” shouted the lookout from aloft. “Something’s coming astern!”

Hawk’s hand closed on Azmei’s wrist a moment later. “That isn’t an orca.” His voice was tight.

Destar swore. “What in the seven hells—That doesn’t look friendly.”

Azmei leaned across the railing, shading her eyes. The orca had nearly reached them, and they weren’t slowing. They parted to swim around the Victorious and one leapt into the air alongside them, blowing water in what Azmei thought must be an attempt at communication. Then the orca were past and she was staring at a long, sinuous shape speeding towards them.

“Is that—chasing the orca?” she asked. Teal scales flashed through the spray. She sucked in a breath. She didn’t know what sirens looked like, but that was immense.

“It bloody well looks likes it.” Destar grunted. “Gunners to stations!”

Azmei heard the order repeated by the gunners as they ran to man the guns. She had only sailed anywhere once before, and there had been no cannons involved that time. She shifted her stance, wishing she were better skilled in a distance weapon.

“That looks suspiciously like it might be related to Yarrax,” Hawk muttered next to her. Azmei cast a startled glance at him and then looked back at the monstrous beast bearing down on them.

It had scales of metallic teal and its body was serpentine, but the head that reared above the swells did have a remarkably draconian shape to it. The bone over the eye had the same flat shape and its jaw was filled with teeth that looked like they were at least as long as her arm. A fin-like crest began immediately behind its head and stretched along its neck to the point where it disappeared under the surface.

Azmei spun to look for her friend. “Yar!” she screamed. Her eyes found him a moment later and she saw it would do no good to talk to him; he had fallen back into a sitting position on the deck and his face had the vacant expression it took on when he was lost in one of his visions.

She turned to Destar. “Seadragons,” she said. “What do they look—“

“Sleeping gods!” Destar interrupted. He was peering at the oncoming creature—which was much closer than it had been moments before. “You’re right, lass. I’ve never seen one alive.”

“I’ve never seen one at all, but that one doesn’t look like it wants us to stay alive,” Hawk put in.

“Take the princess amidships,” Destar ordered. “Protect her with your life.”

“The princess can protect herself,” Azmei snapped, but she allowed Hawk to guide her away from the railing and towards the center of the ship. One hand fell to the dagger at her hip, but it was more for comfort than anything; it would be no use against a creature that immense.

“Don’t argue in the middle of a battle, soldier,” Hawk murmured. He loosened his sword in its sheath. “I should have taken Thorne up on his offer to learn to shoot.”

“I still trust my steel over gunpowder.” Azmei couldn’t tear her gaze away from the seadragon. Another minute and it would be on them. She registered that Destar was shouting orders to his crew, but she wasn’t sure if they would get the cannon ready in time to make a difference.

She underestimated the crew of the Victorious. She could still taste her words on her lips when the first of the cannons roared. The deck shuddered underfoot as the acrid tang of gunpowder stung her nostrils. A plume of water rose several paces to the left of the seadragon. It bellowed but kept charging towards the ship.

Destar was shouting a correction. Azmei realized her fingers were tight on the hilt of her dagger. With an effort she loosened her grip. A second cannon fired and, this time, the aim was dead on.

Red fountained from a crease along the seadragon’s neck. It bellowed again and dove under the surface. Azmei frowned. Surely it wasn’t that easy to kill.

She could hear the gunners preparing for a second volley, cleaning the barrels and reloading. She exchanged a swift, anxious glance with Hawk and went back to scanning the surface of the ocean.

“Help Yar,” Hawk snapped.

“What?” Azmei looked around. Yar had fallen prone on the deck, his heels drumming against the wood. She swore and dove for him. He could bite his tongue or even choke on it without intervention. Her heart was pounding as she worked her fingers between the back of his head and the planking. Where was the seadragon? Was it attacking him psychically somehow? The timing of his attack couldn’t be a coincidence.

Steel rang over her head and she knew Hawk had drawn his sword. She took a deep breath, forcing away her fear. Hawk would guard her. Nothing would harm her if he could prevent it. And if he couldn’t prevent it... Well, if he couldn’t prevent it, she would die, and there was nothing to be done about it. She focused on cushioning Yar’s head with one hand and trying to prise open his jaws with the other.

The ship rolled hard. Sailors to her right screamed and Azmei realized the starboard side of the ship was rising into the air. She couldn’t look away from Yar’s face, though. His eyes had rolled back into his head and his mouth was twisted into a silent scream. What was going on in his head?

Please, Silent God, whatever peace you may grant me, let me help him, she thought. It wasn’t much of a prayer, but she wasn’t much of a disciple, and the Silent God was surely used to her by now. She pulled her belt off with one hand and managed to force a length of leather between Yar’s teeth. It was the most she could do.

She rocked back onto her heels and took a moment to look up at Hawk. His teeth were bared as he looked at something off the starboard side of the ship. His sword was raised, but he clearly knew as well as she did that it would do no good.

A cannon blast shook her and she swayed. She didn’t have a free hand to catch herself, so she relied on her balance to keep from falling. Yar’s face was strained and pale under his dark skin tone. Azmei wanted to swear. She hated feeling helpless.

“Yar,” she called softly. “Yarrax.” She licked her lips. “Please.” She watched his face for a moment, then raised her voice. “Hawk, tell me what’s happening.”

“The dragon came up under the ship. Someone went over the rail. They’ve almost cut it in two with the cannons.” He spit out the terse sentences like he was angry, but Azmei knew he was just being efficient. “Thorne has his pistol out.”

Azmei bent over Yar, her head tilted so she could feel his breath puff against her cheek. She’d heard of people falling into fits and dying, though Yar had always come out of his all right. He’d been more coherent since joining with the dragons, though. She hadn’t seen a fit this bad since they were in the desert still looking for whatever was causing the Voices in his head.

“Keep talking,” she ordered.

Whatever Hawk said next was drowned out by a crack of thunder splitting the sky. Half a beat later the cannons roared again. Azmei wondered if the seadragon was calling the storm somehow. She knew orca and their cousins were called stormsingers and had some sort of weather magic. Did seadragons have that magic too?

Yar suddenly tensed and went completely still under her touch. Azmei bent closer, watching his chest for several heartbeats until it lifted in a deep breath.

“Hold on!” Hawk shouted, and a hand gripped her shoulder so tightly it hurt.

The deck pitched under them. Azmei heard sailors screaming and someone’s pistol barked nearby. She didn’t think the tiny shot would make even a dent in the seadragon’s thick hide. Destar’s voice rose over the din, not shouting orders or even oaths, but just a wordless roar. The cannons belched again and again, and suddenly a bestial howl rose in the air.

The sound prickled her flesh and shook her bones. She felt hot spray against her cheek and lunged instinctively to shelter Yar from whatever was happening. Then someone hit the deck next to her, screaming in agony. Hawk’s voice rose over her head, but she couldn’t understand what he was saying. She squeezed her eyes shut in sudden fear. This was the end, wasn’t it?

Fingers curled around hers. “Let me go, Az.”

Her eyes flew open. Yar’s swirly silver eyes were open and fixed on her face. He looked entirely coherent, and his jaw was set.

She shifted and sat back, releasing her grip on her belt. It dropped to the deck as Yar rolled to one side and from there to his feet in one fluid motion.

She glanced at the man on the deck next to her. His screams had dwindled to a low, sobbing moan. It was Destar, his cheek flayed open so deep she could see the bone. Her throat tightened.

“Avaunt!” Yar screamed. He was running at the railing, where the seadragon towered at least fifty feet above the deck. “I command! I, Voice of Dragons!”

Destar made a choked noise and Azmei looked down. She tore her jacket off and pressed it against his face, which made him scream again.

“I’m sorry,” she gabbled. “I’m sorry, Destar, I’m sorry, I have to stop the blood!”

He didn’t react, and after a few moments she felt him go limp under her hands. She checked to make sure she wasn’t smothering him, then pressed the cloth hard against his cheek. She’d packed far more clothes than she actually needed, anyway. The jacket wouldn’t be missed.

“The thing’s actually listening,” Hawk said, his voice resonant with wonder.

“What?” Azmei lifted her head and stared at Yar, whose slender form stood straight and strong against the towering silhouette of the seadragon.

“He told it to go away, and it—well, it hasn’t gone away, but it’s actually stopped attacking.” Hawk rested a hand lightly on Azmei’s shoulder. “I think it’s listening to him.”

Azmei looked back at Yar. When she’d met him, he’d been nothing more than a strange, skinny boy, taller than most, who lived half outside the world. Or perhaps it was half inside his head. Either way, he’d been out of sync with everyone else, and Azmei hadn’t known quite what to think of him. All the same, she’d understood why Yar’s sister had died—and attempted to kill—to protect him. There was something special about Yarrax Perslyn, and Azmei had not wanted to be the one to break it.

The seadragon apparently had that same desire. It arched its neck, peering down at the strange creature who dared challenge it. Yar’s dark hair flew in the wind like a banner. He always had trouble meeting a person’s gaze straight on, but he seemingly had no similar difficulty with the seadragon. His chin jutting out stubbornly, Yar had planted his feet wide, his hands on his hips, and appeared to be staring down the seadragon.

“Now!” cried the first mate’s voice, and the starboard side cannons roared in unison. A cloud of smoke billowed from the cannons, obscuring Azmei’s vision, but she heard the wild bellow of the seadragon. The ship pitched wildly and she was grateful for Hawk’s fingers tightening on her shoulder. Beneath the other noises, she heard an agonized wail from Yarrax.

But it didn’t matter. What mattered was Destar bleeding under her hand, the ship’s deck slowly calming, the rumble of thunder suddenly retreating.

“They hurt it bad,” Hawk said, his voice steady. “It’s going. I’m going to leave you, Az. Yar needs help.”

“Go,” she said immediately. She trusted Hawk’s instincts as much as she trusted her own. For that matter, Hawk had taken to Yar like an older brother to a younger. She knew he cared about the boy’s well-being, and if he placed Yar’s safety below Azmei’s, it was only just below Azmei’s.

Destar was disturbingly still under her hands. She leaned in, reassured herself he was still breathing, and sat up. “Healer!” she shouted.

Two sailors were with her at once, one of them already muttering under his breath. Azmei waited until he put his hand on the cloth over Destar’s cheek, and then she sat back.

“We have him, princess,” the other one said, and she nodded and stood.

She felt like she was waking from a nightmare as she focused on the action at the railing instead of right in front of her. Yar had fallen to his knees, clinging to the railing. On the deck near him, three soldiers were sprawled and writhing in various states of injury. Beyond the railing, the seadragon was flailing and thrashing in the ocean, which was now stained a dark purple-red.

Azmei gained her balance and staggered to Yar’s side. “Yar—“ she began, but he howled.

“Make them stop! Don’t hurt it!” He turned his face towards her, but his eyes were unfocused again.

“It was attacking us!” She looked at the seadragon again, though, and couldn’t suppress the pang of pity that shook her. It had coiled in on itself like a dying serpent. Its throat was laid open, ragged edges of flesh gouting blood.

“Forced!” Yar howled. “Forced! Wrong!”

Azmei went to the rail and stared at the seadragon. Did Yar mean the seadragon had been forced to attack them? And if so, by what? Or whom? Were the gods already so awake they were trying to prevent the warning Yar carried? Or was some other power at work? Perhaps someone was trying to wake the gods faster? Or was it all a strange coincidence?

The seadragon gave a last, shrill shriek and slipped beneath the waves. Azmei couldn’t see it, couldn’t see if it kept sinking or if it was merely retreating. It left a purple-red blood slick on the surface of the sea.

“Princess?” The first mate’s voice was tentative.

Azmei looked over her left shoulder at him. “What is it?”

“The captain, your highness. The healer isn’t sure he’ll live. Could you come?”

Azmei felt a horrible thrill along her limbs. She couldn’t lose Destar! He’d been her teacher, her encourager, as well as her protector. Surely such a small injury wouldn’t kill him.

“I’ll come,” she promised. She spared a final glance for Hawk, who was half supporting Yar, and then she followed the first mate belowdecks.

CHAPTER 2

Eldry woke up on a barren stretch of sand, the sound of waves crashing in her ears. One side of her face was on fire. She couldn’t see out of that eye. Her clothes were stuck to her, dried stiff with sea salt. What had happened?

She swept the gray landscape with the gaze from her good eye. She couldn’t see anyone else. Not even animals, except a solitary gull winging overhead. The sky was gray too. A tumble of rocks in the distance was the only thing of interest on the whole beach.

Rhys, she thought suddenly. Had Rhys gone overboard too? Was he lying somewhere on the beach near her? Or had they saved him somehow? She thought of the way his heels had drummed against the deck, the high-pitched screaming...

Pain stabbed through her head, bringing her back from the too-vivid memories. She lifted her hand, muscles protesting, and touched her right cheek. Another throb of pain went through her and she flinched. Her tentative fingertips trailed up her cheekbone to her eye...and found a pulpy mess. The skin around her eye was swollen, and from the sticky feeling, there was blood. Something was definitely not right.