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Dead, dead, dead.

A whisper of life.Another whisper.

I stumble out of the boat with a splash and heave two aklos onto the queen’s side of the canal. The clashing of shields and wyverns is louder here; the scent of metallic magics and blood punches into my nose. Colours flash in the sky above.

I place a hand on each aklo. Again, no internal shredding. But the poison is working fast; it’s more potent. I call up the antidote and funnel it to their inner organs.

Not enough. They need five, six times that dose.

I’ll be drained of the essential herbs soon.

How many others need help?

I scrunch my eyes shut and pour magic into their bodies. One life at a time. I still have my Poison Halting Miracle; still have my mask.

The aklos wake simultaneously, hauling in hard breaths, coughing. Their coughs turn into sobbing gags as they see their dead comrades.

“Take the boat,” I order. With wyverns congregating at the gala, the scholars’ quarters will be safer. “Bring as many bodies as you can to the apothecary.”

I press onwards. Dozens of abandoned stalls line the top of the bank. Help any wounded. Stay on the periphery of the fight, safe as possible. Being dead won’t help anyone.

Wind howls, carrying the metallic tang of blood. Magic collides in bursts of crackling light, each impact shaking the ground.

And beneath it all—the frightened cries of children.

They’re close. I creep around a row of stalls—

A group huddles under a table. Florentius stands protectively in front of them, one hand pouring healing magic into a bloodied child sprawled on crimson-streaked grass; the other struggling to maintain a flickering shield against a lone water wyvern.

My heart rams against my ribs.

He must have—

His shield sputters.

The wyvern soars upward, wings slicing the air. It twists mid-flight, then plunges with lethal precision.

His protection won’t hold.

I don’t know sentinian spells. But...

My eyes dart around the surrounding stalls. Brooches, scarves, umbrellas.

I lunge for an umbrella with a sharp metal tip and hurl it, spear-like, with desperate force. It pierces the liquid body of the wyvern and snaps open as it bursts apart.

It won’t stay gone for long.

I sprint toward Florentius and the children. “Focus on the shield,” I shout. “I’ll help the boy.”

He barks out instructions and my magic funnels seamlessly into the child as Florentius extracts his and thickens his shield.

The boy needs stitching up, urgently, but his poisoning is just as urgent. I keep my spell steady. Carefully pluck out my poison halting miracle. Pop it into his mouth.

The spell floods through him, freezing the poison.

Florentius grunts at another hit, buckles under the force of it. “Not strong enough. Can’t last much longer.”

I sweep my gaze around the stalls, the queen’s palace a hundred yards away. The canal is thirty. But I can’t be sure the boat is there, or that wounded wyverns aren’t recovering in those depths.