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The ship’s roll turned convulsive; black water sluiced upward, drenching the table and chair before splashing downward.

Fear sloshed through my veins like the water. “Did we hit the reef?”

“An attack, rammed from the side,” the prisoner said. “Behind you, Senaria.”

The impact had dislodged the door. I dove for the edge, gripping the wood, sliding as we rocked in the opposite direction.

Roughly, the prisoner ordered, “Get out. Don’t stop. Go over the side. Swim as far as you can and find something that floats. They won’t be looking for you in the confusion.”

I braced with my feet to keep the door from closing. “Who won’t?”

“Priests. The King’s Guard.” The ship juddered again.

“Pirates or rebels. They’ve crippled the ship, stopped the momentum.

They’ll be using grappling hooks and boarding lines, burning pitch.

Swarm over the railings. Hand-to-hand combat.

Move now before they board. Stay low, out of sight.

Jump into the water. Don’t get tangled between the hulls. Can you swim? ”

“Yes.” The ship rocked upright and settled enough for me to reach into the corridor and drag a loose pike back. The heavy point thudded against the wood planking. I shoved it to brace the door and said, “We’re both going over the railing. I’m not leaving you.”

“Senaria,” he warned, but I had the knife in my hand.

“Regardless of who you are,” I said, sawing at the rope tethering him to the bulkhead, “no one deserves to drown while tied to a wall.” And cutting him free would be one more mercy that the king could misinterpret.

But I wasn’t setting him free, even as I flinched at his hiss of muffled pain. He was still a prisoner. My prisoner. Proof to the king that I was loyal.

Water gushed around my knees as I helped him to his feet—Kion Abaddon. Named after a dragon lord dead for over two hundred years. What dreams did his parents have when they chose that name? Did they remember the glory or the shame?

In the flooded corridor, the mage lights darkened into nothing.

Loose ropes uncoiled and dropped like tree snakes.

Debris swirled in the icy water, sharp enough to pierce flesh.

Through the open hatch, rain splattered on my face.

I reached for the steep ladder. Footing was treacherous, but climbing was our only choice.

Wet hair stuck to my face. My arm curled around Kion’s waist when he leaned against my side.

I counted each labored step. As we emerged on the deck, I reached with the hand that gripped the knife, ready to strike.

Or at least threaten a strike. I doubted my ability to fight an armed pirate. Or a red priest.

Madness descended as the storm unleashed its violence. The wind tore at what wasn’t tied down. Men raced in every direction, and the noise of their struggle battled with clashing iron against wood until the sounds blended into a wild havoc.

A sob snarled in my throat. My eyes burned from the acrid fumes of burning pitch. Fiery orbs arched through the night sky, crashing into the railings, splintering the deck. The explosions of yellow flames meant it was mage fire—invincible. Consuming everything.

Mage fire even burned in the water, and the few orbs that missed the ship fell into the black sea with a scalding hiss.

A vivid scarlet glow lit the sails. Flames exploded with a greedy whoosh ! Smoke clouded until men became apparitions, battling with broadswords or wicked iron poles. Some wore red cassocks. Others wore rough clothing. Not the King’s Guard here to rescue me.

My mind closed to what I was seeing: body parts, rivulets of glimmering burgundy.

Ruby-tinted rain. In a tangle of rope, an acolyte lay sprawled, his gray cassock now a blackish crimson; I told myself it was rain that changed the color and the body was not Wilem’s.

I refused to look at the acolyte’s face, but I cursed the red priests for more than their crimes against the condemned.

This was the mage magic I hated—the power wielded with brutality. The cruelty in those who believed in the virtue of their goals and nothing else .

How could the king not understand the callousness of priests who asked boys to fight their battles? Who conscripted anyone with enough magic to make the effort worthwhile? Was it because Tarian needed them and blinded himself to reality? For the sake of the realm?

Tarian Ardalez had always been fair-minded.

I trusted him, but what did I understand when I lived within the castle walls, unable to leave my room without a veil covering my face?

My life, Nikki’s life, had been desperate before Tarian intervened.

I wanted to be grateful. Needed to be grateful.

Momentary doubt shouldn’t make me question the king’s decisions.

If I doubted, I risked my life and Nikki’s future.

I would not have my brother handed over to the red priests because I’d failed.

It took effort to break through those desperate thoughts and focus on the marauding men. They stumbled across the deck, charged up the steps toward the captain’s cabin. Battled in the helm, even the stern, with swords and knives or spiked clubs.

Men grunted and struggled for footing as they wrestled against each other, and my heart raced as I searched and failed to find even one man who wasn’t fighting desperate emotions.

One man susceptible to my magic and in control enough for me to push past the fury and self-preservation. To convince him to help us.

“There.” Kion pointed toward the wooden railing.

A section had broken away, leaving a gaping hole where two men clashed with broadswords.

One fell, his body disappearing over the side and into the night.

The victor turned—he was a red priest, with eyes glazed and wild.

His broadsword swung upward in a rage as he searched for another enemy.

“Go.” Kion pushed me aside, then bent to retrieve an iron pike from the deck, balancing it in his hand. The mage shackles allowed for three feet of chain from wrist to wrist, giving him the ability to maneuver, to fight well enough if he didn’t lose his balance.

But the priest charged toward me, not the prisoner.

I ducked and spun away, landing on my knees.

The dress had tangled around my legs and I cursed at it, jerking at the skirt that wouldn’t tear.

Behind me, Kion had the pike in both hands as he blocked the downward plunge of the sword.

With a wicked twist, he disarmed the priest and slammed the pike through the man’s chest.

The priest dropped to his knees while a wave of battering mage magic whipped out.

Kion fell backward, but before the dying priest attacked again, I was in the man’s head, in his tortured mind, turning his attention away from Kion and toward the rushing rebel who screamed with an eerie sound.

Seconds later, the priest lay dead, and I’d jumped my magic into the rebel’s mind, convincing him Kion was a friend and to pull him to his feet.

The man extended a hand. Kion grasped it.

The ship lurched again, sliding down a wave into the trough.

Overhead, men tumbled from the masts and crossbeams, some still tangled in ropes.

The burning red sails fluttered like wounded, dying creatures, and I thought of dragons…

how their wings must have burned like that as they fell into the destruction they’d caused .

My heart wrenched. Soot and ash were gritty on my lips. The sounds devoured all sense: straining ropes, splintering wood, men screaming or crying. My hands shook, and I thought, I can’t drop the knife.

Time slowed. Embers flew like flakes of red snow in winter. I held out my palm as if I’d catch them. As if I danced beneath the stars and the embers danced with me.

“Senaria!” Kion had both hands on my shoulders; he shook me hard enough to get my attention. “Go over the side. Do it now.”

I walked to the edge and peered down at the churning water. Then I turned back, wanting Kion Abaddon to be the last man to see my face.

To see me .

His eyes narrowed. Something like regret crossed his face.

And then I took one step over the edge and fell.

What I didn’t expect was how cosseted I felt beneath the water. I could hear the sounds, muffled and thumping, but not threatening. The Pelagios Sea was numbingly cold, but after the first shock, I sank with a comforting detachment, staring at my arms, outstretched and floating.

The knife was still in my hand. The material of my gown ballooned out like an odd sea creature.

On the ocean’s surface, white foam marked the turbulence, while the yellowish glow of mage fire tinted the water, lighting up the bodies of falling men, the bits of wood and sections of railing.

The two dark hulls of the clashing ships loomed above me, turning into the shape of something menacing.

Then another shadow, moving, growing larger.

I stared, mesmerized, as a broken mast crashed through the water’s surface with coils of rope and sail still clinging.

The mast sank, coming closer and closer until, with a jerk and pull, the gown’s hem snared a protrusion and we were sinking together, that mast and I.

How odd, when the drag downward interested me more than the burning in my lungs and the need to breathe. But then fear hit and I struggled. Yanked on the dress.

I had little strength underwater. No way to gain leverage.

My cheeks bulged with the effort to hold in what air I had left, to not blow it out and try to gulp in more.

With my fingers clawed around the knife, I started cutting at the gown, jerking.

Tiny bubbles floated upward to be lost in the madness above.

Below, the water held bluish shadows. The darker shapes of those already deeper than me, the cassocked body that swirled in a macabre dance, arms and legs outstretched.

And then Kion Abaddon was there, gripping my head, pressing his mouth to mine. Blowing in precious air between my clenched lips.

He pulled back, nodded while his hand slid along my arm to the knife, never letting go of my other arm while we sank. And I was relieved that I would not be going into the dark alone because he would be with me.

Then he was cutting at the dress, shredding the material, the ties at my waist until I was free. I kicked toward the surface, but Kion held me underwater, pressing another kiss of life to my lips. The air flowed into my lungs as I held him, my fingers hard against his arms.

We rose to the surface slowly, and when my head broke above the waves, with Kion beside me, it hurt to breathe. My throat spasmed; I choked each time the waves slapped my face. My eyes wouldn’t focus no matter how hard I blinked.

He had rolled to his side, this prisoner who, moments before, had been an enemy tied to the wall. I’d wanted to interrogate him. Condemn him for his crimes. But he was towing me, swimming with a powerful stroke despite the mage shackles and their ominous vibrating energy.

This enemy…was saving me.

I kicked with my legs and feet; the thin shift I still wore was far less cumbersome than the lost dress.

Looking back, the burning wreckage of the Davinicus ship had become a dwindling candle in the midnight sea, still visible, a beacon rising and falling on the waves.

“Here.” Kion grunted as he pushed me upward onto a raft-like piece of floating debris—what had once been part of the deck.

I dragged myself along the tipping surface, spreading my legs and arms to balance the weight.

Strands of hair slid across my face, another version of a veil when I looked for him.

My teeth chattered. “C-climb on.”

“There’s only room for one.”

“No.”

The water was frigid, lifting with rolling swells, and he had to be exhausted. His arms were out as far as the shackles allowed. The waves dragged at his body and I scrambled forward. The raft tipped. Water sloshed, threatening to overwhelm the planks, but I grabbed his wrist.

“You’re coming with me,” I insisted. “You’re my pr-prisoner. I didn’t free you. I saved you from drowning and then you saved me, so there’s no debt between us.”

Faint amusement curved his mouth. “But I’m not a free man?”

“No. I have to t-take you back to the king.”

“Why?” he asked.

I bit my lip to stop the teeth chattering. “I…have to.”

“What’s so important that you’d risk the red priests?” he persisted. “Tell me.”

“Nikias. My brother.” The prisoner’s hand turned until his fingers wrapped around mine, and I held on too tightly, afraid that he’d slip away. “He’ll be punished if I fail.”

“I promise, Senaria.” There was great sadness in his voice. “No harm will come to your brother.”

“You can’t possibly promise that,” I insisted. “You’re the prisoner. The enemy. You have no power.”

Kion’s hand shifted, and I felt the slow withdrawal, losing the warmth as he released me. I grasped the chain connecting his mage shackles and held on despite the shocking pain.

“No,” I hissed. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

Water washed across his face while the silvered hair floated outward.

He was the Angel of Death in that moment—or how I imagined a dragon lord with that name might look.

A beauty like the cold purity in steel, cast in moonlight, unbending.

A man who was impossibly strong, beyond what I’d ever witnessed.

Able to withstand torture. Fight with blinding skill.

A man who might have magic like mine.

But as the sea surged, the raft rocked. Nothing else penetrated until dawn, when I opened my salt-crusted eyes and realized that, during the night, the raft had marooned itself on a black sandy beach.

And I was alone. No prisoner in sight.