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She wiped her mouth with her hand, her stomach muscles on fire, then eased herself into a seated position on the top step. Although her feet were on the ground, her knees were weak, and her body shook—she didn’t trust herself to stand. Not yet.

The physician was busy making his way around the deck, tending to minor injuries, then headed towards her, a reassuring smile on his face.

“Are you all right, miss?” he said. “Here, drink this.”

She lifted her gaze to meet his. He proffered his uncapped flask.

With a thin smile, she accepted and pressed it to her lips, slowly drinking the cool, fresh water.

“Thank you,” she said. “How are…the crew?”

Forcing her attention on anything but her kidnapped husband, she gripped the railing, hoisted herself up, then descended the rest of the stairs onto the deck.

“As good as they can be after a storm, but the decks will dry soon enough under the sun. I could use your help in lighting fires for the men. The injured need to be kept warm and their wounds cleaned with boiled cloth and bandages.”

“I’ll get to it,” she said, then headed below deck to the berths, trying her hardest to ignore the dull yet lingering ache in the pits of her stomach.

Reflexively, she twisted the triple stack wedding ring on her left hand. She needed to get to Damir as soon as possible. Free him from whatever Filip had in store. Knowing all too well it was Filip’s way of luring her in, she clenched her teeth.

The ship would sail as fast as the wind could take it and there was nothing she could do until she reached the shore. She decided to keep herself—and her mind—busy with errands on board.

∞∞∞

Over the next two days, her idea to stay busy kept her mind from dwelling on Damir. She worked closely with Doctor Sullivan and kept an eye on the crewmen who were wounded in the storm as well as treating new injuries.

She flicked her finger and produced a small, bright flame in the lantern, which swung on a rope above her head.

Doctor Sullivan patted a damp cloth on a man’s bloodied forehead, having sustained the injury from getting into a drunk fight with another sailor on board .

“It won’t require stitches,” Doctor Sullivan said, then lifted the cloth. “See here? The wound isn’t deep.”

Adelina leaned towards him for a closer inspection. “It’s likely he’ll have a headache for a day or two.”

“Certainly.” He tutted. “Perhaps it’ll teach him not to pick fights when intoxicated with vodka.”

The crewman rolled his eyes. “Can I sleep now?”

“Off you go.” Doctor Sullivan waved him away. “Don’t be coming back to me tomorrow night with another cut to your head. And don’t touch the bottles!”

“You know, my sister was injured in a fire. When she escaped, she caught her thigh on broken glass and my mother treated her. I want to help people.” Adelina leaned against a support beam and crossed her arms. “This magic I have—Filip wants to use it for his own gain, but what if I can do more? What if I can prevent atrocities? I’m no healer, but what if I can learn to heal with my powers? ”

He smiled. “You’re a kind-hearted girl, for sure, and I’m betting anyone you offer your services to, will be happy to receive them. I must warn you, however—you cannot prevent everything from happening. Don’t use your magic in an attempt to act the way the gods might choose to.”

“Surely, you, being a physician, would do everything in your power to, say, stop an outbreak of disease?” She frowned.

“What I do is different. I tend to the sick with nothing but the skills of my hands.” He tilted his palms upwards. “You, on the other hand, have a connection to great power. Understand its limitations, like I have with medicine. Go get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

With a gracious nod, he left, heading towards his berth.

The ship lulled into silence as men went to bed. Limited light from the lanterns cast a warm, golden glow across the wooden floor and walls. Snoring men provided an oddly soothing rhythm to the ship’s atmosphere, and her heart turned cold.

She pressed her hand to her chest, the coldness stretching through her body, yearning for Damir’s presence—his touch, his warmth, everything he was.

Retreating to the silence of her cabin, her breathing shallowed and her heartrate thrummed.

She should never have retreated to the prism world, never let him get captured.

Resting her hand on a beam, she closed her eyes and puffed out a deep breath. When the thundering of her heart slowed, she wiped her hands on her thighs, then headed to her berth.

Casting a glance at the empty cot where Damir had slept, she slid on to her own bed and squeezed her eyes tight shut.

∞∞∞

The rest of the week passed, and by the time the ship docked in the Hastehill Isles southern harbour, Adelina was itching to get herself onto another ship and make her way back to Damir.

“Thanks for all your help on board.” Doctor Sullivan lifted his hat from his head and gave her a polite nod. “I hope you have a safe trip back. Here is the money I owed Damir for his services—and a little for you, too.” He handed her a pouch of jingling coins.

She accepted it, smiling as he turned to disembark from the boat onto the worn wooden planks of the dock.

A crewman dumped her and her husband’s bags beside her feet. While she waited for the civilians and crewmen to unload the cargo, she leaned against the rail, scanning the harbour for a decent sized ship suitable to make the month-long journey back to the coast of Temauten.

“Your horses will be brought up next,” Captain Burchard Brown said as he approached her from the helm.

“I’ll help secure your belongings to their saddles, then you’d best hurry—there’s a vessel further along the pier, about five minutes’ walk, called The Sundial , which usually makes its rounds back and forth the isles and the mainlands. You might be able to secure passage.”

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it. “I wish you the best on your travels.”

“Aye.” He nodded. “You too, miss.”

As he turned to leave, he paused, then glanced at her over his shoulder. “I hope you find your husband.”

Swallowing a new-found lump in her throat, she returned the curt nod, grasped the handles of her bags, then hauled them down the plank.

When a crewman guided her horses off the ship, she stroked their noses. The brown mare—the one her husband had ridden—nuzzled closer to her. She leaned into the horse’s side, feeling its warmth against her.

“You’re not going to like this, but it’s time for another sea voyage,” she said soothingly to the two mounts.

With both reins in hand, she led the horses along the length of the quiet dock—a cool morning breeze fluttered through the shadows cast by tall buildings as the sun slowly rose behind them. It was barely dawn, and the scent of baked bread made her stomach grumble.

“Maybe a quick stop for food,” she muttered.

She hobbled the horses to a post outside the bakery, then slipped into the shop, unable to resist the hearty scent reminding her of home.

“Good morning to you, miss.” The baker glanced up at her while he kneaded a batch of dough and smiled. “What can I do for you?”

Eyeing the counters in front of her, her mouth watered. Five varieties of bread were laid out, ready to be purchased. Some loafs were dappled with poppy seeds, others with cinnamon, sugar, herbs, and even chilli.

“Which do you recommend?” she said.

He placed his fingers to his lips. “It all depends on what you fancy. It’s early hours, so you won’t be wanting any chilli flakes, right?”

She stifled a laugh. “Probably not.”

“Perhaps...this one.” He leaned across the counter, grab a toasted loaf, then popped it into a brown bag. “Tomatoes and mixed herbs. Down the road, you’ll find the best dairyman this Isle has to offer. Ask for his goat’s cheese—a bit of this with my bread...simply delightful. ”

“Thank you.” She exchanged a couple of coins for the bread, then left the shop.

Once she purchased her cheese, she guided her horses towards the edge of the pier where The Sundial was docked.

Fastening the horses to a nearby post, she perched on the low stone wall, then drew her loaf from its brown bag and squished the goat’s cheese on top.

It wouldn’t be enough to barge her way back to Kirovo Palace without a plan. She needed to be at her strongest if she was to free Damir from Filip’s clutches unscathed.

She forced herself to bite a chunk of her bread and swallowed it. Nostrils flaring, a flurry of emotions spun around inside her like an unhinged tornado. Gripping on to the edge of the wall, she clung to the fire burning within her.

If she was going to fight Filip for Damir, then she needed to understand his power, the way he used nether magic, and she must be prepared to go up against whatever he threw against her. If she could plan for any obstacles and strategise ways to overcome them, she’d stand a chance.

I’m going to do this.

With fresh bread-fuelled determination, she rose, grasped the horses’ reins, then tugged them in the direction of the boat.

∞∞∞

When she was aboard the Sundial and safely inside her cabin, she lay out her collection of candles she’d gotten from a crooked cabinet beside the cot. With a swirl of her finger, she lit them—their wicks popped with the orange and red colours of flames.

The books she’d taken from the palace were placed open on the floor in the centre of the candle circle. One had contained a blank chapter, a shimmering layer over the pages. It’d piqued her interest, but she’d look at it closer another time.

She hesitated for a moment, contemplating the prism world. Perhaps it would’ve been best for her to practise the spell first, in a safe environment. But she needed to trust in her own power, strength, and connection to both the Zorya sisters. She was made for this.

Flexing her fingers, she monitored her breathing, keeping it level and in time with her heartbeat.

Kneeling inside the ring of lit candles, she read the spell aloud. “ Rinaenelen trilriiel .”

At first, nothing happened, except a soft breeze stirring through the cabin. She took this as a good sign, seeing as the small, circular window was closed.

Clearing her throat, she focused on the elegant sounds of the spell, familiarised herself with the shape and feel of the words as they slid from her mouth. “ Rinaenelen trilriiel .”

A gold wisp of light spun out from the centre of her lower arm, weaving its way around her wrist, hovering an inch above her skin. It rotated like golden embroidery, delicate, yet strong and vibrant.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please work.”

With her left hand, she swirled her fingers through the air, encouraging the golden magic to continue its weave until it locked itself into place. A thick, beautiful vine of astral power .

Trying to swallow her excitement, her gaze darted back to the spell book, pressing her fingertips onto the edge of the page.

“A spell which will draw on the eternal power of the Sun God, strong enough to combat ancient magic. A practitioner of astral may wield it.” Adrenaline bolted through her core. This was it. She’d manifested her power, encouraging it into a weapon only she could hold.

Rising, she flexed her right arm—her gaze locked on the swirling vines. A bolt of fire shot from within the golden embroidery, collided with a mirror hanging crooked on the far wall, and shattered it.

Grinning, she lowered her arm and disengaged the magic. “Perfect.”

∞∞∞

Adelina spent the three-week journey back to the mainlands jittery and eager to press on with her mission.

She practised and harnessed her new weapon—learning what it was capable of.

After a matter of a few days, she’d discovered its defence capabilities—a golden shield sprung from the embroidery swirling around her arm, defending her from oncoming attacks inside the Prism World.

Using the Prism World was her chance to configure scenarios in which dark magic targeted her, and she could strengthen her ability to fight back.

Resting on a wooden box, she unravelled the bandages on her arm. Using the astral embroidery each day for long hours cut gashes into her flesh—blisters festered.

Her skin was red and puffy, but the blisters hadn’t popped. Reapplying the ointment she’d been given by the former ship’s physician, she sighed as the cool gel relieved the relentless itch. Once she’d readjusted the bandages, she shifted her focus back to the spell book.

Her fingers traced the etched, golden calligraphy on the cover.

A Practitioner’s Guide to Ancient Magic, Astral Edition, Volume I.

She’d read other texts about astral magic while in training with Yelena, but there was something compelling about this book—the one chapter with enchanted pages especially interesting.

The titled begged the question of whether a twin book existed for nether magic.

Did Filip own it? Surely, he did if this version was from the Kirovo Palace library.

The fact it was volume one suggested there were more.

Stomach fluttering with anticipation and the desire to learn as much as she could, she flicked to the introduction.

A being, pure of soul, is chosen by the Sun God, bears the sun mark, and holds an unwavering connection to the Zorya sisters.

Through this, the practitioner wields an equally unwavering connection to astral magic.

More so, at its core, astral magic is nature’s perfect balance to the unruly magic that is nether.

A yin-yang entity, two souls forever bound either in unity or in discordance.

In power and magic, there must be balance.

Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she fixed her gaze on “in unity or discordance”.

If Filip hadn’t tricked her with false promises and deceit, she could imagine them working together in perfect harmony.

But such an outcome was not possible for the man who wanted permanent power over the three countries and held her husband prisoner.

“In discordance, it is,” she said, “and I’ll be ready.”