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The goddess once told me that death is not the enemy. I waited for her to elaborate, but she did not. Finally, unable to stop myself, I asked.

She told me there are many enemies. I asked for their names, and she gave me several.

“Greed. Fear. Anger.” Her eyes met mine. “Pain.”

from the unpublished papers of Rahvekyan High Priestess Omira

At first, the chaotic attack playing out before him filled Aleksi mainly with concern. These were civilians, for the Huntress’s sake. Villagers who had sought no quarrel with anyone.

Then he spotted the Kraken’s sigil blacked onto the marauding ships’ oilcloth sails, and his worry froze over, turning to solid, icy fury in the span of a heartbeat.

Someone was trying to blame this gratuitous violence on Einar , and they weren’t even doing a decent job of it. There was nothing elegant or believable about this. If Einar wanted to attack Gwynira right now, of all times, he knew better than to do it under his own colors. The rogue pirate was many things, some harsh and some beautiful, but sloppy did not rank among his traits.

And he would never, ever use a crew that was not his own.

Gwynira’s mount pawed at the stony ground, lowing and grunting as she slid from the saddle. “You,” she snapped at Naia, “with me.” She turned without waiting for a response, heading for higher ground.

Naia started after her, but stopped short when Einar grasped her arm.

“Be careful,” he rasped.

“To war again, Captain.” She smiled a little, as if sharing a private joke, then pulled free and hurried after Gwynira, toward a promontory that jutted out over the bay.

From there, they would have an excellent vantage point over the battlefield below. With Naia’s command of water combined with Gwynira’s mastery of ice, they would make short work of the vessels firing on the village.

Good.

Arktikos pulled a fur-wrapped bundle from the reindeer’s saddle pack. “You’re going to need this, my lord.” He tossed it to Aleksi.

The furs fell to the ground, revealing Aleksi’s sword as it sailed through the air. He caught it, his fingers wrapping around the hilt as if it had always been in his hand. “You have my thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” the man growled through a smile. “Just fight well.”

Then he hefted a battle-axe that looked too large for any man to wield, let out a primal cry of fury, and charged down the hill.

Blood pounded in Aleksi’s ears as he and Einar ran after him, joining the rest of Gwynira’s guard in a frantic thundering of boots. Villagers scattered out of their path, and Einar bent to sweep up a long spike tipped with a wicked hook. Steel met steel with a chorus of mighty clangs as they clashed with the invaders.

Aleksi swung his sword, channeling more might than skill into each blow. Another volley of cannon fire split the pale gray of the morning sky, and Aleksi gritted his teeth. The attackers didn’t care that their landing parties were already ashore and were just as likely to be hit as anyone else. It was expedient to keep up their attack by sea, and nothing else mattered.

He slid one of the pirates off his sword and watched as a projectile sailed overhead, only to bank sharply, head in a different direction entirely, and slam into a small shack with an enormous crash.

Magic.

They would not risk such an asset on land, where any rusty blade could kill it stone dead with a single lucky blow. No, their magic user—assuming there was but one—would be secreted away on one of those ships, lashing out with the safety of distance.

Up on the bluff, Naia and Gwynira stood side by side, their arms outstretched as they wielded their respective powers over water and ice to neutralize the magically directed attacks. Gwynira had taken a blunt approach, wrapping the heavy lead cannonballs in layers of ice until they lost momentum and dropped to the ground. Naia was more precise. She whipped tendrils of water into the air to block the projectiles, turning them back toward the sea.

Her hair undulated around her, drifting as if she were floating in the depths of the ocean instead of standing on dry land. The water danced for her, alternating between the soft intercession of defense and the hard thrust of attack. It bent to her will, giving her whatever she needed as she coaxed it to spinning, swirling life.

She was absolutely glorious.

Power filled Aleksi, and the world bloomed into sudden, vivid color. No longer was the blood that painted his blade dull and muted, like burnt mahogany. It was red , hot and burning bright. Time slowed and sped, the battle around him whirling and crawling, all at once. This was the sole exception to his determination never to pry into the souls of others. He would not sacrifice innocent lives to protect his principles. If he would do such a thing, he might as well not have any in the first place.

No, necessity would always override his comfortable scruples. Here, he would do what Naia was doing—fight their magic with his own.

A shudder rocked him as minds and hearts opened to him. He could sense the villagers, the invaders, those still on the ships out in the bay. If all was quiet instead of explosions and screams, he could have heard the secret whispers of their innermost desires, tracked them all by feel alone.

He spun just in time to block an attack aimed at his unprotected back. Disappointed frustration exploded from his opponent, though it quickly gave way to shock, fear ... and pain.

Aleksi embraced that pain. He had caused it; he should feel it. He drank it in along with all the other emotions curling up with the smoke from the wrecked village. There were hints of distasteful glee and even pleasure lurking amidst the anger and agony, but most of the invaders were flat, emotionless.

Professionals.

Aleksi swung his sword again, and an arm still clutching a deadly mace hit the sandy rock beneath his feet. Deep pride and determination joined the mélange of emotions surrounding him—the villagers, armed mostly with tools and other weapons of opportunity. They were availing themselves well, fighting with a ferocity matched only by their bravery as they used gutting knives and huge hooks to defend their homes.

An old man cried out. He cowered against the side of a small shack, shielding his head with his arms, as two men bore down on him, their gory blades raised. Aleksi intercepted them, deflecting their daggers with the flat of his blade before shoving them back.

“Run,” he urged the old man, who did not linger.

One of the pirates stumbled and fell. Aleksi focused on the other, who kept his footing and launched an immediate counterattack. He shimmered in a cloud of deep, aggressive red as he drew a second blade from his belt and charged, bending low as if to come in beneath Aleksi’s guard.

But the deep red gave him away. This man was too hostile for subtlety—he wanted death, but he also wanted pain . To get close, to stare into someone’s eyes while the life slowly drained from them. So when he reared up at the last moment for a headbutt, Aleksi sidestepped the attempt. His attacker hit the wall hard and reeled wildly back.

Aleksi ran him through.

Though it had taken only moments to dispatch the angry man, his companion had already recovered. Aleksi pulled his sword free and faced his second opponent.

Out of nowhere, a spear whistled through the air and skewered the man. Its momentum carried him forward, pinning him to the side of the shack like a missive nailed to a door.

Einar stood there, his chest heaving. “Are you all right?”

For a heartbeat, Aleksi’s vision blurred. It was as if he was seeing double, only worse , his brain scrambling to process a million images, all superimposed over one another.

He blinked, and the blur cleared. Einar turned, swept up an abandoned oar, and bashed another pirate across the back of the head with it. He continued swinging until the oar had been obliterated, then grabbed another weapon of opportunity.

He fought as fiercely as the villagers. In fact, he could have been one of them. He throbbed with the same energy, a ferocious pulse of righteous anger streaked with something unexpected.

Sheer, unadulterated hope.

A deafening explosion cut through the cacophony of the battle. The ships had stopped firing their cannons on the village ... and had turned them toward the bluff where Naia and Gwynira had taken up position.

Einar breathed a choked sound of protest and started forward, as if the need to go to her overwhelmed everything else. Aleksi caught him, held him back, even though the same urge gripped him, too.

“This is her fight,” he rasped. “Our little nymph isn’t about to let a handful of pretenders defeat her. You know this.”

Einar shuddered and nodded, his gaze still fixed on Naia’s distant form.

A huge wave lifted as it receded from shore, rising ten, twenty, then fifty feet high. It held for an interminable moment, shaking just like Naia’s arms, then dissolved even as it froze. The ice shattered into projectiles, some wickedly sharp and others large and round like cannonballs themselves. Gwynira screamed, a primal sound of fury that carried over the shore like a vengeful wail, and the bits of ice flew toward one of the ships.

The destructive volley tore through sailcloth and wood, flesh and bone, as it hit the ship broadside. Bits of wood and cannons and even crew members exploded from the deck as the vessel began to list. Its stern dipped under the bubbling water, and the entire front of the ship rose before sliding down into the depths of the bay.

A roar shook the ground beneath Aleksi’s feet. He nearly jumped back as a massive polar bear bounded past him. It charged toward a cluster of pirates who were attacking as a group, swiped at them with a gargantuan paw, then closed its jaws on one invader’s head with a sickening crunch.

“What the fuck ?” Einar growled.

The bear raked its claws through another group of pirates, and Aleksi looked—really looked, beyond the shaggy white fur and the impossibly large teeth to the familiar aura that wreathed the animal.

“It’s Arktikos,” he told Einar.

“ What? ”

Naia cried out, drawing Aleksi’s gaze back to the bluff. She was raising another wave, this one even higher than the first, absolutely colossal , tall enough to dwarf the attacking ships. It arched over the nearest one, forming a perfect cresting curl over the vessel’s bulk. As it crashed down, it solidified. Instead of rushing off the deck, washing away armaments and crew, it sat, heavy and deadly. The hull of the ship creaked and popped, then imploded under the weight of the ice.

The crew of the third ship raised sail to beat a hasty retreat, leaving their comrades stranded on land. The few that remained fought even more viciously. Aleksi’s blade dripped with blood. Arktikos stampeded across the village, his roar scattering the attackers before him. Einar used a fishing net to snag a battle-axe and rip it from a pirate’s hands, then turned the man’s own weapon against him.

Then it was over.

But the emotions lingered. Aleksi closed his eyes against the riotous color and fought to steady his breathing. Everything was so loud , the sound so thick he could touch it, curl his fingers through it and squeeze it in his fists.

When he opened his eyes once more, Arktikos had resumed his human form. He was dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing before, much as Ulric always was when he let the Wolf slip away after a battle.

Arktikos nudged a fallen invader with the toe of his boot and scoffed in disgust. “I recognize mercenaries when I fight them.”

“I suppose they likely do have a distinctive taste,” Aleksi observed blandly. “You’ll be picking hired killer out of your teeth for a week.”

The bear eyed Aleksi, squinting in assessment, as if trying to determine whether a member of the High Court was mocking him. Finally, a smile curved his lips. “At least. But it’s a small price to pay for victory.”

Gwynira and Naia joined them, both a little dusty and disheveled. Sir Jaspar accompanied them, his armor pristine. Untouched by the battle.

“See to the survivors, Jaspar,” Gwynira ordered. “Find out what they need, and give it to them.”

Aleksi allowed his gaze to roam over Naia, but he saw no injuries. No clouds of pain hung around her, just an almost feral triumph that glowed even in the midmorning sun.

Einar did not content himself with merely looking. He slid his hands up her arms and tilted her head from side to side, until she clasped his hands in hers to still their frantic searching.

“I’m fine.” Her voice was hot. “You and Aleksi?”

“Not a scratch, darling.” Aleksi turned to Gwynira, whose brow was creased by a troubled frown, and pulled her aside, lowering his voice. “You must realize that Einar was not responsible for this attack.”

“I do , my lord. Captain Einar is considered many things across this Empire, but he is not known to be a fool.” Her frown deepened. “No. This was an attempt to drive a wedge between me and the High Court.”

“Which means you have a noble problem.”

She sighed. “When do I not?”

Naia gasped and rushed toward Aleksi. “You’re bleeding!”

Someone had managed to land a knife across his ribs. The slice was shallow, but it had not yet healed, and Aleksi intercepted Naia’s questing hands.

“It’s nothing, little nymph,” he assured her. “Already a memory.”

A lie, but only a little one, and he offered it gladly as the pain began to rise and the color receded from his vision, casting the world into the same muted shades he’d already come to know. In fact, everything seemed just a tiny bit dimmer than before.

Everything but Naia and Einar.