Water? Yes! It was everywhere. She twisted three fingers in the air and the world responded with movement.
The sea swirled.
Currents formed, churning, building, rotating, and spinning. The three Ghazel ships began to rotate, revolving as if they were toy boats in a tub she had flicked with a finger.
Whirlpools formed.
Beneath the goblin ships, circles appeared-large swirling funnels of spinning water. Faster and faster they moved, the centers giving way, dropping lower as the speed of the rotation increased. They widened, spreading out, and grew in strength. Even the Harbinger began to rock noticeably as the maelstroms reached out to pull on the strength of the whole sea.
The barks of the Ghazel became cries and screams as the ships continued to spin. A crack issued across the water as a mast snapped. Then another, and another, poles the size of tree trunks popped like twigs. The Ghazel shrieked and wailed, their voices blurring into one note, which Arista also held.
The sheer enormity of the power she worked was incredible. It was so easy and all at her command. Everything-every droplet, every breath, every heartbeat-it was all hers. She felt them, touched them, played with them. It was irresistible, like scratching a terrible itch. She let the power run. It was so big, so potent. She did not just control the power; she was the power, and it was her. She whirled, she frothed, and she wanted to run, to spin and grow. Like a ball sent off a hill, she felt the building momentum. It excited her and she loved the motion-the freedom! She felt herself letting go, giving herself to it, spreading out and becoming a part of the symphony she played-so grand-so beautiful. All she wanted was to blend with the whole, to become-
Stop it!
The idea was a discord. An off note. A broken thread.
Stop it! Pull back!
A distant voice called to her, struggling to be heard over the crescendo of the music she played.
Regain control!
She didn’t want to listen; she didn’t like the sound. It clashed with the melody.
You’re killing them!
Of course I’m killing them. That is the whole point.
The Ghazel are gone. That is not who you are killing! Stop!
No. I can’t.
You can!
I won’t. I don’t want to. It’s too wonderful to stop, too incredible. I have to keep going. I love it so-
Arista woke with a wrenching headache. It was so painful her eyes hurt just from opening. She was in the cabin, lying on the bed where they had found Bernie. A lantern hanging from a hook on the ceiling swayed back and forth, casting shadows that sloshed from one wall to the next.
She turned her head and pain swelled behind her eyes. “Ow,” she whispered.
Arista raised a hand and found a bandage wrapped around her head. There was stiffness at the back of her head where the bandage pulled at her hair. Drawing her hand away, she found blood on her fingertips.
“Are you all right?” Myron asked. He sat beside her on a little stool and took her hand in his.
“What happened?” she asked. “My head is killing me.”
“Excuse me a moment,” the monk said, and opened the door to the deck. “She’s awake,” he called.
Immediately, Hadrian and Alric entered, ducking inside and dodging the lantern. “Are you all right?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that? And yes, I’m fine… mostly. But my head hurts.” She sat up slowly.
Hadrian looked pained. “I’m sorry about that.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, which made her head hurt even more. “You hit me?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“He had to,” Alric put in, his expression grave. “You-you lost control, or something.”
“What do you mean?”
Arista saw him glance toward the doorway. “What is it? What happened?”
She stood up, weaving a bit, her head still not right, and she felt tired to the point of being groggy. Hadrian extended a hand and steadied her. She ducked her head, careful to avoid banging it against the doorframe, and stepped out onto the deck.
“Oh dear Maribor!” she gasped.
The Harbinger was in shambles. The mast was gone; all that remained was a splintered stump. The beams of the deck were warped. One board was cracked to the point of splintering, and on the starboard side near the bow there was a gaping hole that revealed the hull below. The topsail was gone, along with the topsail yard, but the mainsail lay across the bow, torn and tattered. The railing on the port side was missing as well, sheared away.
“ I did this?” she asked, shocked. “Oh my-is anyone…” She looked around, searching for faces-Gaunt, Magnus, Mauvin, Alric, Hadrian…“Where’s Royce, Wyatt, and Elden?”
“They’re okay. They’re working on the ship. Everyone’s okay,” Alric told her. “Thanks to Hadrian. We tried talking to you, shaking you. Wyatt even poured water over your head. You just stood there mumbling and fiddling with your fingers while the ship came apart.”
Mauvin was smiling at her and nodding. On his forehead a deep cut stood out, and his cheek was red and blotchy.
“Did I do that?”
“Actually a flying pulley did that. I was just too stupid to duck.” He was still smiling at her, but there was something behind it-something terrible-something she had never seen on Mauvin’s face before: fear-fear of her.
She sat down where she was, feeling the strength melt out of her legs. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s all right,” her brother told her, again with apprehension in his voice. They made a circle around her, but no one came near.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. Her eyes filled with tears and she let them run down her cheeks. “I just wanted…” Her voice gave up on her and she began to weep.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Hadrian said. He came forward and knelt beside her. “You saved us. The Ghazel are gone.”
“Yeah,” Mauvin said. “Scariest thing I’ve ever seen. It was like-like what they said Esrahaddon could do, only he never did. It was-”
“It was what we needed,” Hadrian broke in over him. “If she hadn’t, we’d all be dead now, and trust me, it would have been a very unpleasant death. Thank you, Your Highness.”
She looked up at Hadrian. He appeared blurry through her watering eyes. He was smiling. She wiped her face and peered at him again carefully. She studied his eyes.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
His hand reached out and brushed her cheeks dry. “What?” he asked again.
“I–I don’t want-” She hesitated and took a breath. “I just don’t want people to be afraid of me.”
“That arrow’s already flown,” Degan Gaunt said.
“Shut it, Gaunt,” Alric snapped.
“Look at me,” Hadrian told her, and putting his hand under her chin, he gently lifted it. He took her hands in his. “Do I look frightened?”
“No,” she said. “But… maybe you should be.”
“You’re tired.”
“I am-I’m really very tired.”
“We’re going to be drifting here for a bit, so why don’t you lie down and get some rest? I’m sure things will look better when you wake up.”
She nodded and her head felt like a boulder rocking on her shoulders.
“Com’on,” he said, pulling her to her feet. She wavered and he slipped an arm around her waist and escorted her back into the cabin, where Myron had the bed ready.
“Myron will watch over you,” Hadrian assured Arista as he tucked the blankets tightly around her. “Get some sleep.”
“Thank you.”
He brushed her wet hair from her eyes. “It’s the least I can do for my hero,” he said.
She walked swiftly up the Grand Mar, the broad avenue beautifully lined with flowering trees. The rose-colored petals flew and swirled, carpeting the ground, scenting the air, and creating a blizzard in spring.
It was festival day, and blue and green flags were everywhere. They flew over houses and waved in the hands of passersby. People clogged the streets. Wandering minstrels filled the air with music and song. Drums announced another parade, this one a procession of elephants followed by chariots, prancing horses, dancing women, and proud soldiers. Stall keepers called to the crowd, handing out cakes, nuts, confections, and fermented drinks called Trembles, made from the sweet blossoms of the trees. Young girls rushed from door to door, delivering small bouquets of flowers in the imperial colors. Noblemen on their chariots wore their bright-colored tunics; gold bracelets flashed in the afternoon sun. Older women stood on balconies, waving colored scarves and shouting words impossible to hear. Boys who dodged and slipped through the crowd carried baskets and sold trinkets. You could get three copper pins for three piths, or five for a keng. There was always a contest to collect the largest variety of pins before the day was out.