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“About?” he asks jovially, and once more I am struck by his alien beauty.
His hair is damp with sea mist, and his storm colored eyes are sparkling with mischief and light.
“About us. About what this bond really means. I need to know if?—”
Before I can finish, a sentry bursts into the circle of firelight, chest heaving, eyes wide with panic.
“My Lord!” he gasps, bowing hurriedly. “A breach in the Tidal Lands. SoulTakers have crossed the borders! They are almost here!”
The joy of the festival shatters like glass.
Kael’s head snaps toward the shore, his face going hard as steel.
My stomach does a somersault, and fear burns inside my throat like acid, killing my next words before I get a chance to speak them.
And just like that, whatever answer he might have given me is swallowed by the roar of duty—and the rising tide of war.
Chapter 21
Kael
From Fifth Shoreto the Lord of Water’s Ceremonial Ship
The wordsSoulTakers have crossed the borderslam into me like a blow to the chest.
The night air, moments ago filled with firelight and laughter, turns heavy with dread.
Phoebe is still clutching my arm, her eyes wide, her lips parted as if she’ll demand answers I cannot give her now.
My instinct screams to hold her close, to never let her out of my sight—but duty snaps its jaws tighter.
I turn to her, cupping her face in both hands.
“Telya, listen to me. Go to your cabin. Stay inside until you reach Castletide, then Amber or I will come for you.”
Her brows knit, stubbornness flashing in her blue eyes. “Kael, wait?—”
“No.”
My voice comes out sharper than I intend, but the scent of danger already taints the air, acrid and wrong.
“Please. I need you safe. For me.”
She swallows hard, her lips trembling, but she nods.
That nod costs her something—I can feel it.
I press a fierce kiss to her forehead before I force myself to let go.
“Amber!” I call, and the maid appears as if summoned by the sea itself, pale but resolute. “Take her. Guard her with your life.”
Then, I wave my hand across the air, reaching inside the pocket of magic I reveal, and I draw my trident from within.
The weapon hums the moment it touches my palm, alive with stormlight, eager to be wielded.
All around us, the festival is dissolving into chaos—elders herding children, warriors grabbing weapons from racks, the drums replaced by the blare of warning horns.
“Send word to the others,” I call to Aloysious.
