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“Faster with a wind,” Kalcedon suggested sourly.

“Can I?”

He grunted agreement. It was embarrassing Kalcedon didn’t know weather-work, being from a fishing isle like ours. But then, he had grown up isolated, not part of a village. My great-great grandmother was still alive in my early childhood, fae blooded as she’d been, and I’d watched the shape of her knobby fingers as she’d summoned winds to command our family’s fish-craft.

I turned my back to the other passengers so they wouldn’t see me work magic, and called a stiff breeze with Kalcedon’s heat. I imagined if the others saw spellwork next to a fae looking man, they might jump overboard. As it was, we had half the ferry to ourselves.

“So. Tell me about it. Did you scry all the stones?” I asked as Kalcedon sat down on the deck. I squatted beside him.

“Only Sable-Pall,” Kalcedon said brusquely.

“Why? How’d you know…?”

“The wave came from that way.” He said the words like they were obvious.

I blinked at him.

“You could tell what way it came from?”

“You couldn’t?”

“No,” I said. It wasn’t just the business with the fire. The magic had been so overpowering I couldn’t tell anything about it. I’d just been crushed.

The ferry ride seemed to go on forever, even with the helpful wind. Kalcedon stood at the rail for most of it, cloak wrapped tight. I sat, hugging my own knees and watching as Rovileis grew smaller, and smaller, and smaller.

We were three hours in when a wave of magic crashed over us. The feeling of it took me right back to losing Eudoria.

I gasped for air as Kalcedon doubled over like he’d been hit.

It wasn’t like the first time the Ward broke. Three hundred years didn’t crash down, only a few days’ magic. But the wild frenzy of outland power rushing through the air was unmistakable.

“That was another one,” I said shakily. “Wasn’t it?”

“Buis or Nis-Iom,” Kalcedon said, straightening and pulling his cloak tighter. “It came from that way.” He pointed towards the right, a little behind us. Towards home.

Nobody else on the boat reacted. Nobody else was a witch. They’d get the news sometime after we docked, I figured. I wasn’t about to tell them.

“Is it back?” I asked, and peered up at the sky. For a moment I couldn’t see anything, just blue and a puff of cloud. I’d never known clouds had shadows like that, bulbous and contoured. Then there was a flicker again. The cloud blurred behind the Ward’s barrier. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“We have to figure this out,” Kalcedon said. “Before they all go.”

Seven stones total held up the Ward. Two that were—damaged, in some way. And five left to go. I tried to draw a deep breath through the panicked constriction in my chest, and failed.

“Do you think the stories are real?” I asked. “You know. The Sorrowing Lord taking away people’s will. Dancing for years and forgetting everyone you care about. Fae that eat people. All that?”

Kalcedon didn’t answer. He lay his forearms against the railing and stared grimly at the line of the horizon. I took deep, measured breaths, and tried to stay calm. We were alright. The Ward was back up. And soon, we’d figure out why it kept falling.

The ferry arrived at Olymrei just as afternoon shifted into evening. Kalcedon strode off with me close on his heels. When he stopped abruptly to peer around, I bumped into him.

“Watch it,” he snapped.

“Sorry.”

Olymrei wasn’t as big a city as Rovileis, but it was still large and hectic. The wharf area was lively, its typical mud-salt buildings draped in colorful banners. A great walled fortress, home of the Sable-Pall monarchs, leered imposingly above the city’s squat buildings. Not as many people seemed to notice Kalcedon. I supposed the fall of evening helped.

“Are you hungry? Maybe we should find food, and a place to sleep.” I itched to make it to the stone, but even I knew navigating an unfamiliar coastline in the dark was a bad idea. Besides, my stomach was tight with hunger.

“If you want.” Kalcedon looked tense, his eyes scanning our surroundings. I sighed.