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“There’s a lever,” Pranmore says, holding up his lantern so I have more light. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, their apparatus burbles to life.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I locate the same lever and flip it.

And nothing happens.

“Clover, turn it on!” Henrik says urgently.

“It’s notworking.”

I mutter curses under my breath as I flip the switch back and forth several times, but it’s to no avail.

“I don’t think it has a charge,” I cry. “The energy crystals must be drained.”

Without the stored magic feeding the Vallen enchantment, the device won’t run.

More elves are already spilling from the tavern, yelling and hollering like an angry mob.

“You’ll have to squeeze in with us,” Lawrence says urgently.

“There’s no room!” I exclaim.

“We don’t have a choice,” Henrik says. “Lawrence, toss me your rope, and I’ll pull us together.”

It only takes a few seconds to get the boats side by side, but it feels like an eternity.

“Bartholomew, you go first,” Henrik says.

“I’m not sure that I can…”

Pranmore grabs hold of him and yanks him over. Ayan curses when one of Pranmore’s antler points jabs him in the shoulder, and the Woodmore mutters an apology. It’s already a tight fit with the four of them.

“Clover,” Henrik says. “You’re next.”

Suddenly, the boat sways under us.

“What was that?” I demand, dropping to all fours and clutching the seat.

“Hurry!” Lawrence commands. “They’re almost here.”

A fireball flies by my head and nearly collides with Bartholomew as it passes the neighboring boat. It sizzles as it crashes into the water, creating a sudden burst of steam.

I stand, determined to get across quickly. Henrik holds my hand, steadying me as I step onto the ledge of our boat. He stands on the other side, keeping us balanced so I won’t accidentally tip the whole thing.

Lawrence takes hold of my other hand, and I let go of Henrik. Just when I move my foot to step over, the boat rocks again—this time violently.

The small vessel careens to the side, and I go crashing into the brackish water with a startled yelp.

18

Henrik

“Clover!”Lawrence yells as our boat suddenly capsizes. I’m thrown into the marsh, suddenly submerged over my head.

Unable to see in the inky water, I struggle to find the surface. Even as my lungs begin to burn, my thoughts are focused on Clover. I pray Lawrence didn’t let go of her hand when we went over.

I gasp when I finally surface, startled to emerge in a pitch-black space. Warm air fills my lungs, burning but welcome. I reach up, and my hand hits a wooden plank. I skim my fingers over the grains, trying to get my bearings and quickly realizing I’m under the overturned boat. Grasping one of the benches, I wipe my face, hoping to clear my vision even though it’s too dark to see anything. I cough violently as I try to expel the water I inhaled on my way up.

As my wits return, my senses sharpen. Nearby, I can make out the harried voices of the group, along with the sound of water lapping against the boat. The marsh is cool, but not cold, and it smells of fish and decay.