Page 6 of I Summon the Sea

So why are these two guards talking about Eosphors and dragons as if they are a plague?

“Fine,” Pale-Hair says, “but what if Phaethon?—?”

“We don’t even know whether he’s in touch with them.”

And who is this Phaethon?

“She’s listening to us,” Tru, the pale-haired one suddenly says, warning in his voice. “Stop talking.”

Arkin clears his throat. “Well. You can’t speak, but you like listening in, huh? Eavesdropping on other people?”

I give him a little shrug.

“Look, as I said earlier, little human,” he says, and I can hear the smirk returning to his voice, “I’d share my dinner with you for some company, if you get my?—”

“I said, stop talking!” Tru barks. The thumping of his steps on the hollow wood of the barge has me uncurling from my fetal position. “Shut up and listen. There’s something in the water.”

“We’re almost at the outpost,” Arkin says, and as I sit up, I find him chewing on some jerky. “No way are we getting attacked so close to?—”

The barge rocks in a violent heave, sending the two guards stumbling sideways.

“By Zuma’s balls,” Arkin breathes as he finds his balance, though he takes the time to put the jerky away inside a cloth bag. “What was that?”

Tru shakes his head. “Look.”

Shouts and the sound of running steps fill the air. The guards are amassing at the front of the barge before me, lifting their spears.

Oh-uh.

Carefully, I turn to face what they’re facing, moving to a crouch, unsheathing and pulling out my dagger from the folds of my wet gown.

A dagger. Which is a long, sharp knife, even if it’s imbued with the salt of sea magic.

Against a water monster.

I laugh without mirth or sound.

Good thing nobody’s expecting me to fight. I’m not sure I could tackle any finnfolk creature now. Not sure I should even try when I’m without magic and saving myself for a far more important fight.

The water around the barge churns, rippling and frothing. Dark shapes swim under the glass surface, sleek and fast as a blink.

You need magic to fight magic. I hope the fae guards thought of that. Unless they have a giant hiding in one of the barges, or an Eosphor fallen from the sky, perhaps. Or a drak, huddling below deck.

This convoy crosses these dangerous wetlands every year for the Pillar Festival, so they must have appointed someone able to fight and protect the precious human cargo, they must have?—

“Make way!” a bass voice roars. “Move aside! Athdara, the King’s Sword, is here!”

Athdara.The title means Lord of the dara. Dragonlord. How strange.

Anyway, here we go. I was sure they had brought someone powerful along. It would have been monumentally stupid not to have done so.

The deepening pink-and-gold of the evening sky dims momentarily, as if a huge shadow has swept over it.

Shadows.

The shadows are real, I notice with a thrill. They slither and curl over the deck like snakes, preceding the tall figure of a man.

He steps in front of me, giving me his broad back.

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