And it’s over, surely it’s over—
And I won’t see Jade, not ever again—
And then one of the officers falls, an arrow through his ear, which is spouting blood.
A second one dies next to him, pierced by the Heater girl’s sword. She made it through. She saved me.
The third officer turns to run, but is cut off by the shadowy Heater. His two curved daggers make short work of him.
I struggle to my feet, holding my sword at the ready, expecting them to kill me next. Save me and then kill me.
A scream tears through the rain.
We all turn to see Hobbs standing over a Heater boy, who’s fallen to the sand, surrounded by the dead bodies of the brave children who fought with him.
Hobbs killed them. He killed them all. And he’s about to kill this boy too.
This boy who is…
My eyes widen when his face comes into view: skinny and scared and then screaming and angry; he’s the boy I fought on the day I became a man, in a time that now feels so long ago. The boy who beat me, who shamed me.
The boy whose life I must save now.
Hobbs raises his sword and there’s no time, although the two Heater girls are already running toward him, one with a sword and one with a bow and an empty satchel.
I pull a knife from my belt, trying to remember everything Cain taught me about knife-throwing—eyes on your target, shoulder and elbow and wrist in line, throw hard but not too hard—and heave it past the running Heaters, toward Hobbs.
The moment the knife leaves my hand, everything seems to speed up. Hobbs’ sword falls so fast, so deadly, but it’s not in his hand when it does. It’s gravity, only gravity, and the earth’s pull takes him, too, a moment later, my knife embedded in the back of his skull.
The Heater girls pull the boy out from under Hobbs, one of them clutching him as tightly as if he’s her son, while the other—the bigger, stronger one—stands over them, daring anyone else to attack.
She nods at me. I nod back.
The boy just stares, his face soaked with tears.
I turn away and almost run right into the two Heater men, whose weapons are raised.
This might be suicide, might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but I drop my own sword in the sand, broad side down.
“I’m not your enemy,” I say.
“We know,” the taller, unmarked one says, his words round and long.
The one with the dark markings speaks, his voice coming out warmer and clearer than I expected. “We’re looking for a Heater girl. Thirteen years old. She’d resemble those two.” He motions to the two that are protecting the bilge rat boy.
For the first time, my eyes really take them in, every detail, every feature. The curve of their noses. The shape of their brown eyes. The texture of their hair. They appear more like sisters than tribemates. And Jade would look right at home next to them.
I gasp, nodding. “I know her,” I say. “She’s back on the ship.”
“Let’s go,” the shadow-eyed one says.
With a ragged shout and clangor, a group of Soakers pour down the beach toward us. At their head is my father.
Sadie
When Skye and Siena and Feve and Circ rush down the beach, I want to go with them, to help save their kinsfolk, but I can’t, because at the same moment I see Remy and Buff and Dazz, fighting in a circle, surrounded by at least ten Soakers.
I urge Passion in their direction, watching as Dazz clubs one enemy in the skull, knocking him out. But another Soaker manages to slip through and stab him in the shoulder. His grip relaxes and his club falls away. “Ahhh!” Buff yells, coming to his friend’s rescue, slashing with his short-knife. He discards one opponent, but is then knocked back into Remy, who’s facing the other way, facing an onslaught of enemy strikes.
Passion slams into the back of two of the Soakers, their bones audibly cracking as they fall beneath us. Two others fall by my sword. With Passion and I added to the mix, and with the element of surprise on our side, we gain the upper hand, cutting each and every one of them down.
On the ground, Dazz groans, alive but in significant pain. “Where’s Skye?” he asks when I look down at him.
“On the beach,” I say.
“Help her,” he pleads.
“Are you—”
“I’m fine. Just go.”
I hesitate, but then Remy says, “We’ll protect him.”
I nod and turn Passion toward where I last saw the Heaters.
The four of them are in a line, directly in the path of a group of running Soakers, a blue-clad officer at their front. Even as I gallop toward them, Gard and Thunder come in from the side, leading a group of at least a dozen Riders who have managed, like me, to remain atop their steeds.
They collide with the Soakers, bodies and swords flying everywhere.
The Soaker officer, a big man with a long sword, steps away from the pack of bodies. His hat is different than the other officers, longer and arched at the top. I know who he is: the admiral. Admiral Jones, the leader of the Soakers. He gestures at Gard, who stabs a Soaker and then dismounts, patting Thunder on the rear. Obediently, Thunder runs up the beach, toward and then past me, making for the safety of the plains.
Another Soaker officer attacks Gard, but he tosses him aside like a child and steps forward, sword in hand.
That’s when I see him slinking away from the crowd.
A boy.
A boy wearing a blue officer’s uniform.
The Evil hisses in my ear.
Huck
Lightning crashes, splitting the sky in half. Thunder booms, crashing through my ears. Men die, as insignificant as fleas compared to the power of the storm.
My father’s forgotten about me in the midst of the battle, and now he faces off against the war leader of the Stormers. I’ve only ever seen him from far away, from safe on the ships. He’s so much bigger this close. They call him Gard. Fighting him is what my father has always wanted. It’s also my chance.
Slightly back from the fray, I feel numb. None of this matters to me—not when she could be dying in the rain. Dying by my very hand. Not when a reunion with her sisters is possible.
I turn and run back for the boats, grab the side and push as hard as I can.
I’m going back to her.
“Stop right there,” a voice says from behind.
Sadie
He doesn’t turn right away, so I say it again. “Stop.” My voice is calm, when in my head I hear only killkillkillkill.
This time he turns, white-faced and rain-slick. He raises his empty hands.
I raise my sword.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Lieutenant Jones,” he says.
Jones! It can’t be. This boy can’t be the admiral’s son, can he? But even as I raise my sword I know that he is.
killkillkillkill
“Please,” he says. “My father’s a bad man.”
“Yes,” I say. “You all are.”
Passion takes two steps forward; I’m close enough to slash him.
Yesss, ssslasssh him, the Evil says.
“No…no,” he says, but there’s not much strength in his voice. Only…sadness. For what? For who? “I didn’t want any of this to happen. I never knew…”
There’s a roar behind us and I glance back. Gard’s unleashing a barrage of heavy blows on the admiral, forcing him back. Soon, Gard will finish him. So if I finish off Lieutenant Jones, the Soakers—or what’s left of them—will be leaderless.
I turn back to the boy, who hasn’t moved. “You’re saying you’ve done nothing wrong?” I ask, angling my sword beneath his chin.
No more quessstionsss!
Am I controlling the Evil, or is it controlling me? I still can’t figure it out. I grip the sword tighter and fight off the urge to shove it through the boy’s neck.
“I—I…” He can’t get the words out. I expected him to flat out lie, but instead he seems to be taking the question rather seriously. Swords ring out. Men grunt and groan and yell. “I hurt her. The Heater girl, Jade. I hurt her because he said he would kill her if I didn’t. And I killed a man for her. And I saved that Heater boy from Hobbs. I killed him too. I had to. And I—”