We meet for breakfast in the common hall, ready to assemble a plan. Arriel eyes me from across the low table like she knows something, but doesn’t mention it. It’s hard looking at her without thinking of our conversation yesterday. She’s glowing again. I’m no stranger to rejection, but I wish I knew why it bothers me.

  “What are we doing next?” Weekes asks. He’s nibbling a turtle salad and a bowl of rice.

  “I had another chat with Irminric,” I say, picking around fish bones. I spent the afternoon yesterday sitting by the lake, screaming. My throat’s raw. The drink burns more than usual. “I’m thinking that’ll get him out looking for me.”

  “Did everything go okay?” Weekes asks.

  “Oh, sure. It went fine.”

  “Something’s been bothering me,” Arriel says. “That ship was close, almost like they knew we were nearby.”

  I wave a hand. “They got lucky. I’ve been nondetectable since we left Takazaki. His scryer can’t find me.”

  “They can’t find you, no.”

  A beat of silence falls.

  She continues. “They may have heard what happened there. And who was with us.”

  We both turn to look at Weekes.

  “What?”

  “You’re giving us away,” I say, elbowing him. It almost knocks him over.

  “I had a mask on. You said it was working.”

  Arriel rubs her face. “That’s not how it works.”

  “So, we kill the scryer, then. Irminric keeps her close – or at least, I’d bet he does now,” I say.

  “If he keeps her close, it won’t be easy,” Arriel says.

  I pause, an idea coming to me. “You can scry, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you check on him? See where he’s at.”

  She nods, finishing a pork dumpling, sopping up sesame sauce. She rummages in her bag, pulling out an elaborate silver bowl and a vial of water. She pours it in. “Do you have something of his? It’ll make it easier.”

  “You’re looking at him.”

  “I –” she stammers. “I don’t… think it works that way.”

  I unsling my mandolin and set it between us. It’s mine, but for the purpose of the spell, I can swallow it for a few minutes. I tap a finger down on the table, and an image of Irminric appears next to it. She studies it. Weekes cranes his neck, looking.

  “Okay,” she says. “Give me a few moments.”

  She goes quiet and closes her eyes, clasping her amulet between her hands. I chew, watching her. The illusion shifts. It’s a blushing Irminric, knock-kneed and wearing a pair of sopping wet panties with massive tits. Weekes sputters into his food.

  Her eye cracks open. She glares at me.

  “What? You always assume it’s me.”

  “It is. Please let me focus, or I’ll need to start over. Dawn Lord, cast your light over my vision.”

  A few moments pass. Magic channels around her. Weekes and I play noughts and crosses in bright pink using my illusion. He’s terrible at it. I’m about to refill my flask when she opens her eyes.

  They’re pure white. I recoil. She stares intently down at her bowl of water.

  “Okay, I see him. He’s sitting at a desk, talking to someone. They’re discussing a timeline – about three days for something. He’s standing, going through a door. He’s… outside? He’s on a ship! They’re moving. They must be three days from us.”

  “They just left, then. Do you see another dragonkin?” I ask. “A red one.”

  “Yes. She was in the cabin.” I sigh in relief. That’ll make things easier. “Oh…” she stops. Her face scrunches. Her nose twitches. She gives something like a growl. “He dares to put the Wilderkeeper on his slave ship. That asshole.”

  I’m assuming she means the figure carved into the prow of the Black Tide. Arriel being ravening is an odd look, if a bit underwhelming.

  Her eyes turn back to normal. She blinks.

  “That was creepy,” I say. “I mean that in the best possible way.”

  She only throws me a look, siphoning the water back into the vial and tucking her things away.

  Weekes speaks up. “If they’re scrying on me, won’t that lead them here? Maybe we should leave.”

  That’s a good point. They might come around Sunai asking for me, as much as Irminric ever asks for anything.

  “If we kill the wizard, that problem will take care of itself,” I say.

  “You have an idea?” Arriel asks slowly.

  “I’ve already teleported onto one ship,” I say, taking a drink. “Here’s the plan - we head there, kill the wizard, and get out before he can do anything.”

  “Just… teleport right to him?” Weekes asks.

  I point to him. “You can be invisible, right? I’ll keep eyes on me while you two take care of the wizard.”

  “I can only do it on me, though,” Weekes says.

  I turn to Arriel, leaning against a fist. “Have you got a potion tucked in your hole?”

  “I do,” she says flatly. Weekes snorts.

  “There we go. I bring us in, they’ll think it’s just me, you both kill the wizard, and we leave.”

  Arriel’s looking at me odd. Then, she nods. “Okay. Afterward, I think we should go to my estate – it’s the safest place I know. We can hide there a while.”

  A fancy estate in Carthesia isn’t my first choice, but she’s right. Irminric can’t touch me. “I’ll get us there.”

  “It’s in the High – the Ronchellard estate. Be careful, though, because there are wards –”

  “Sure, got it. Come on. I never miss.”

  She shares a glance with Weekes.

  “I can also teleport us out,” she says. “It’s nothing like what you can do – it’s only one way, and I can only bring us home. But it’s an option. Maybe even a preferable one.”

  I wave her away. “We’ll be fine. We’d best get going fast, while we know where that wizard is.”

  Weekes nods, stuffing down his last bite of breakfast, then stands. Arriel starts getting her armor on. I stand, slinging on my mail coat, belt, and mandolin.

  “Wait,” Weekes says. “Just in case, I can help us breathe underwater. I’ll just need a few minutes, though, so I can save my connections.”

  “Someone’s gotta finish first. But, by all means.” I pat him on the cheek. I sit back down, leaning against the table. It’ll be that fucking bubble again, but he’s right – it’s a good call if we’re in the middle of the ocean.

  “Okay, um…” He looks around and frets for a moment. Then, he raises his voice. “Hey, Dad?”

  With an ear-splitting boom, a djinn explodes into the hall.

  He’s a giant, muscled, light-blue man with a thick beard and sculpted mustache, eyes blaring with light. He’s wearing a vest and baggy pants, his legs disappearing into little vortexes of air. The room blusters, sending papers and dust whirling.

  I’ll admit, when I pictured Weekes’ dad, this was low on my list. I lock eyes with Arriel, who’s looking much the same.

  People dive for the floor, screaming and scuttling away. “Sorry,” I call. I lean back against my elbows. “Family business. No need to worry.”

  “LITTLE ONE!” the djinn booms. “WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?”

  “Sorry to bother you,” Weekes says. His ears are folded down. He’s wringing his paw-hands. He gestures at us. “Um, these are my friends that I told you about. Chouncey and Arriel. This is my dad.”

  “Absolutely charmed,” I say, tilting my head. Djinn are powerful beings from the air plane. They show up in old stories, usually granting wishes. They’re suckers for gifts, shiny things, and above all, flattery.

  The djinn eyes me. “I HEAR YOU’VE LAID CLAIM TO MY SON.”

  “Well, there’s nothing wrong with having two fathers. I've got two, myself.”

  Arriel rolls her eyes.

  I gesture with my flask. “Aside from that, I’m keeping an eye on him. I’m sure you can appreciate that, as busy and illustrious as you are.”

  He crosses his massive arms, looking down at me. He’s nearly brushing the ceiling. “I LIKE YOU. YOU HAVE SIGNIFICANT ARCANA ABOUT YOU. I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU’RE LOOKING FOR MORE?”

  I smile. It's good we're making this conversation extremely public. “That’s a kind offer, but I’ll respectfully decline. I take patron daddies of a different kind.”

  He nods, turning back to Weekes.

  “What about her?” I ask, tugging a thumb toward Arriel. She’s halfway through strapping her armor on. She shoots me a look.

  “SHE IS SPOKEN FOR,” the djinn says with finality. He turns back to Weekes. “WHAT DO YOU REQUIRE?”

  Weekes clears his throat again. We might need to put a couple new ears on him. “Um… we’re going onto a ship to get that money. Could you give us a spell to breathe underwater? We’re in a hurry, and I want to be able to help as much as I can.”

  The djinn grunts. “HARMLESS ENOUGH. RESPIRATE.” He flicks a finger. A bubble closes around my head. I hate it already.

  “Thank you,” Weekes says. “We’ll hopefully have some gold soon.”

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Cheeks, I don’t think you’ve told us how you met your patronly father,” I say.

  “Oh,” he says. “I was little – maybe five or six. I grew up in Port Nakanai by myself. I was poking around the port when I found this lamp a trader brought in. I touched it, and my dad popped out.”

  “AN ADVENTURER TRAPPED ME THERE,” the djinn says. “IT HAPPENS TO MY KIND MORE OFTEN THAN YOU WOULD THINK.”

  "Did they do a switch on you?" I ask. It’s maybe a djinn’s only trick, swapping places with you in their lamp so you’re stuck and they’re free.

  "YES."

  “He offered me three wishes.” Weekes is suddenly fascinated with his paw hands. “I, um… I wished for him to be my dad because I didn’t have one. I also wished to be able to do magic.”

  “And the third?” I ask, brow up.

  The djinn chuckles and rattles the common hall. “HE WISHED FOR ME TO BE FREE. I COULDN’T ARGUE WITH THAT.”

  I share a glance with Weekes. That's cute.

  “That necklace you so generously gave him,” I cut in. “I don’t suppose you could give him a few more hours in it? It’s sure nice hanging out in there, all us friends.”

  He peers down at me. “YOU MAKE A GOOD POINT.” He snaps his fingers.

  “Okay, that’s it. Thanks,” Weekes says. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  The djinn reaches down, ruffling his ears. The one Arriel grew back still looks a bit bare. “BE GOOD AND STAY OUT OF TROUBLE.”

  Then, with another thunderous sweep of wind, he vanishes. My ears are ringing a little. I fix my hair back. People come out of hiding.

  Weekes turns, scratching his baby ear. “Okay. I think we’re ready, then. Conceal.” He vanishes in a swirl of gray wind. I feel his fur brush against me a moment later.

  I turn to Arriel. She slings on her shield, looping her mace in her belt. She produces an empty potion bottle. She uncorks it, throwing it back like she’s drinking air. I wonder how many of those she's accidentally thrown away. She vanishes. “Let’s go.”

  I stand, checking my swords. I take a deep breath, slugging from my flask. Then, I tuck it away.

  I clap my hands, rubbing them together. “Make sure you’re both touching me. The further down the better.” They both grab my arms. I grasp a ley line and sing:

  I’d rather swim the ocean wide

  But, gods help me, I’ll take the Black Tide

  And with stomach-wrenching inertia, we’re ripped through blackness.

  I’m on the deck of the Black Tide.

  It’s moving, raiders hauling ass against the oars below. Spray whips by. The cabin is behind me, the door closed. The thick mast strains with sails. I’ve no clue where Weekes and Arriel are, but they came with me. Something brushes me. Then, it’s gone. I breathe. I hate this ship.

  “What a beautiful day for being on the sea,” I say.

  Everyone turns.

  Irminric is standing near the bow. He’s wearing a suit of plates over leather and mail, baggy pants around his shouldered waist. His greatsword is strapped across his back. He’s wearing his leather headband. He growls, then snorts and turns away.

  “Getting bored without me?”

  I step closer, clasping my hands and balancing against the bucking of the waves. There’s four raiders, including the captain. They all watch me, but only put hands on weapons. I’m lucky I’ve made a habit of showing up as nothing but an illusion.

  I scratch beneath my eye, stroking a magical connection. The mandolin hums in response. “You know I can’t stand a second apart.”

  Irminric turns back, the briefest flash of pink across his eyes. The four others, too. He steps closer.

  I continue. “I’ve been thinking about our time together. You know, if you were open to having a mage around, all you had to do was ask. It’s a bit upsetting you missed such untapped potential right underneath your fetching black snout all that time.”

  His eyes narrow. They’re locked on me. “I hardly trust you to talk, no less give you free rein to do magic.”

  I wave a finger at him. “And yet, you did just that. Did you think I was only having a threeway with a couple of no-shows down in that cellar? I mean, I’d not go check under that bed, but you gave me a magical artifact and privacy – what did you think was gonna happen?”

  The slightest creak of a door comes behind me. They don't seem to notice. They’re riveted. I keep talking.

  “The point is, I learned a thing or two, and had nobody to share it with. Were you really not interested? Maybe we were missing each other’s expectations. And now, you’ve got somebody else. It’s a bit hurtful.”

  “I don’t care –”

  “See, that’s the problem. When this shithole boat dragged me there, I thought you’d really seen me for all my talents, not just bringing sweet music to your lovely ear holes or giving you a soft home for your fist. I thought one day I could trust you to know who I really am: a bard at heart. But here we are again. I’m right under your nose, and you’re still not seeing it.”

  A scream echoes from the cabin behind me. It’s cut short.

  Their eyes snap over to the door. Irminric growls. “What? How?”

  I draw a shortsword, tapping it against the mast. It clanks. “As I said. I’m right here.”

  A few things happen at once. The door flies open behind me. A crackling arrow soars past, slamming into one of the raiders. She’s carried over the rail with a squeal. Irminric roars, drawing his greatsword. He heaves it at me. I duck. It hums overhead and scores into the mast. Wood sprays. I draw my other sword, spinning back out of the way, flipping them and readying.

  He comes at me again. I dodge and weave, his massive greatsword sailing past me. Malevolent magic hums off it. I’ve seen him use it plenty of times. Once it draws blood, it absorbs it and pays it back tenfold. I cross my swords in front of me, blocking. A clang splits the chaos. I nearly keel over. He hits like a fucking dreadnought. My blood’s thrashing. He’ll kill me. Another arrow sails into a raider, spearing his leg. I whirl and open a new mouth in his neck.

  I take my opening. I slash three times, raking across Irminric’s armor. One cuts his leg. I duck around and leap, sinking a sword into the base of his tail. He roars. His greatsword comes at me.

  It nearly hacks me in two.

  Blood sprays. It’s sucked into the blade with an ominous pulse. I hardly feel it. I’m numb – I have to be, or I’ll lose everything here. I stumble. The pitching and tilting of the deck aren't helping.

  I slash again, leaping and stabbing. I spear inside an arm. A black fist comes at me. Stars explode in my vision. I swipe out. He bats it away.

  My shortsword slips from my bloody grip, skimming into the ocean. I stand there a moment, watching it go.

  A crackling arrow pounds into his back. He stumbles. He roars, whirling. There’s Weekes, knocking another arrow to his bow. His ears wilt at the sight of Irminric fixing on him. Heat sears through me.

  I unravel my whip.

  I turn, snapping it at a raider behind me. It snaps against his thigh. He shrieks, clutching himself. I hum a low note, pointing with my sword and throwing a ley line behind it. Pink flashes in front of his face. He gasps, stumbling backward. He drops his weapon, shrieking and panicking. I turn and flick the whip at Irminric. It coils around his ankle.

  I pull.

  He doesn't move. He glances down, then at me.

  “Where’re you going?” I ask. “We were having a thing here.”

  He brandishes his greatsword, coming at me again.

  His greatsword slashes across my shoulder. Blood geysers from me. It burns like a motherfucker. My insides shrivel, a feeling like deathly blackness pulsing. I groan. It comes at me again. I barely skitter out of the way. I flick the whip out, snapping it against his shin plate. I slash with my sword, glancing off metal.

  Where’s Arriel? We’ve gotta get out of here. I’m getting dizzy. Blood’s pouring down the front of me. I can’t look at it.

  A black fist comes at me again. It lands in my gut.

  It punches split chainmail into the canyon he already hacked into me. I stumble, seeing white. Then a black claw closes around my throat.

  A long time ago, he did this when I didn’t have half the muscle I do now. Then, it was probably nothing to pick me up. Somehow, it still seems like nothing when he picks me up.

  I clutch at his hands, feet dangling. My skin crawls. My hammering pulse thumps in my head. He’s closing around me hard. I can barely breathe. I need the cold burn of whiskey, inches from his scaly, spiky face. The tang of unwashed ass somehow drifts past the blood and sweat.

  “I’m going to hang you and your friends for the gulls,” he growls.

  I pry his fingers away for some air. “Just… a bit harder… I’m almost there.”

  He frowns, glancing down.

  I bash a fist in his eye.

  He reels, roaring. He doesn’t let me go. I’m running out of air. I’m seeing spots. I can’t even laugh about it all the way to the nine hells, suffocating with a water-breathing spell on me.

  “By the Dawn Lord, heal!”

  Warm light pulses over me.

  I gasp around his clenched hand. Magic knits me back together. Things come back into focus. New energy hums in my blood.

  We both turn as Arriel steps out of the cabin, glowing mace in hand. Her blonde hair is plastered to her sweaty, red forehead, her brows locked together in focus. I’m speechless. I’d thank her for stepping on me right now. She meets my eye. She nods.

  Something flutters in my stomach. This is one hell of a time and place to realize why it bothers me that she turned me down.

  Irminric’s black eyes narrow. He growls.

  “I see you’ve met my wife.”

  “By the light of the Dawn Lord, cease!”

  He freezes, gold light coiling around his feet. His grip loosens. He’s utterly rigid. I pry myself off his hand, landing hard on the deck. Another raider screams as Arriel's mace thwacks him upside the head. She bowls him off the ship with her shield.

  “Come on!” Arriel calls.

  That's right — we had a plan. I scramble to my feet, glancing at Irminric. He’s stuck there. It’s too good an opportunity.

  I stow my weapons, then bring my mandolin around. I hash some chords, grabbing the nearest ley line. Power surges. A pink square appears in my vision. I slap it on the deck below him. It opens up.

  I thrust the hole down, all the way out the bottom of the ship.

  He careens, still frozen. He plunges into the dark ocean. Water cascades into the lower deck, raiders yelling and scrambling over tangled oars.

  I whirl as Weekes appears beside me. “The wizard is dead. Let’s go!” he says.

  I pause. Everything comes at me at once. My guts are churning. I’m shaking, saturated in sweat. I look at him, his big rabbit eyes and his bare ear. For a brief flash of a moment, I see him split open and strapped to a rock for the tide, waves roaring in my ears. Arriel, too, while I watch. They’re both here, in proximity to the worst person I know. I swallow dryly. Irminric won't spare them. It’s one thing if he catches me. It’s another thing if they suffer for it.

  Five years on that island was too many. I don’t want that for them. I don’t want it for anyone. I’ve got a chance here. I could finish this. I could kill this abhorrent fucking wyrm.

  I grab Weekes. “Both of you get out of here. I’ll catch up. First, you’ve gotta do me a favor.”

  “What?”

  I point. “Use that spell of yours. Put me down there.”

  He falters. “Are you sure?”

  “Chouncey, we have to go!” Arriel yells. She’s cracking more heads as they scrabble from the deck below. They’re breaking against her like waves on rock.

  “Go on!” I say, patting him on the cheek.

  “Okay,” he says, stepping back a bit. His voice wavers. “You swear?”

  I point at him. “I swear it. I’ll see you there.”

  He nods. Then, he incants. “Disperse!”

  My stomach whips around in a swirl of wind. Suddenly, I’m underwater.

  The sound of fighting vanishes. Water presses down. It roils and churns with the sinking of the ship above me. I’m utterly soaked.

  Except for my head.

  It’s odd, still being able to breathe, my chest pushing against deep water. It’s awfully cold down here. Far below, the water melts into a bottomless void. In the midst of it, Irminric is plowing for the surface, no longer frozen.

  I bring the mandolin around and strum the three chords. Somehow, it still works underwater. The water vibrates around it. Magic gathers behind me. I grab him, working fingers under his plates. My skin grates numbly against scale. His black claws lock against me. Tucked in a strap near his neck is a pale blue potion. I can't let him use it.

  I rocket downward with him.

  He thrashes and struggles. Bubbles and black water rush past me. I scream. I’m gonna bring him to the bottom of the fucking ocean. I can be freer than ever if he’s just bones underneath countless tons of black water. It’s freezing – I’m shivering like I was the day I left that island, looking for any way to make it stop. The ship is far above us. It’s almost too dark to see. I close the magical hole. Are Arriel and Weekes gone yet?

  A fist slams into me. I see stars. I taste blood. I wrestle him closer. He’s strong. But so am I. I knee him in the stomach. He grunts, bubbles escaping. He clutches me, grabbing a clawful of hair, throwing his spiky head forward. White pain explodes in my vision. I’m stunned. He writhes, trying to get free. A black fist pounds into me again. Something cracks in my face. Another hits my diaphragm. I gasp, air leaving me. I will strength into my hands, clutching fast. He tosses, trying to shake me off. I push downward, clinging to the spell with every ounce of focus. This is the only justice I’ll get – just the two of us, broken and bloody at the bottom of the ocean, a slaver and his property. My blood’s roaring in my ears. I can only scream and hang on, propelling us both down.

  Another fist. And another. I gasp in air. My throat is raw. I’m getting weak. It’s too dark. I'm spinning. I can’t feel my limbs. The water presses down, squeezing me. It’s bone-chillingly cold. But I freeze for a different reason.

  This is horribly familiar.

  It hits me like another bash of his fist. He thrashes, scrambling for air. It’s like the worst moments I find waiting for me at the bottom of my flask – alone, suffocating at the bottom of the cold, black, bottomless sea, my name and everything I was lost forever. I’ll die, and Arriel and Weekes might mourn me, moving on to the rest of their lives. I’ll be just a poor, whiskey-soaked slave they befriended until he was dense enough to get himself killed. A short life that never really mattered, not for all the talent and life and magic and music I could offer. Nobody will care that I lost five years to that island, to this man intent on killing me, the gem of his hoard. Nothing will change. If I die, who’ll tell my story?

  I can hardly see. There's only a spiky black face emerging from the depths, something terrible etched on it. And yet, Arriel’s voice trickles through me, the loveliest music I've ever heard.

  There won’t be a happy ending if you don’t try to make one.

  I wish she were here, if only so I could tell her I’m in love with her.

  Spots dapple my vision. But for a moment, I see Arriel’s face, laughing, I the cause of it. And Weekes, looking at me with big rabbit eyes, telling me we’re best friends, high on a charm. My throat swells. I can barely suck in breath. I'm streaked with tears. I might’ve lost everything on that island. But I might’ve gained some things since I left it.

  Here, careening toward the bottom of the black ocean with only a demon in dragon's blood, I realize I don’t want to die in the dark. I want to live in the light.

  Another fist hits me. I’m gonna die. I’m losing touch with my body. I’m losing sense. I drop the spell. I peel myself away from Irminric. He fumbles for the strap near his neck, slugging back the potion. A magic bubble wafts around his head. He growls at me, lunging. For an odd moment, I realize what I’m seeing on his face. It’s not rage or hate. It’s fear. I smile. I laugh. I have to go now.

  I have to keep my word.

  The Ronchellard estate, Arriel said. The High in Carthesia. I have to go there. I fumble for a ley line and sing:

  Take me far from this hater

  To a place I’ll tell you later

  Pink swirls around me. I’m ripped away by my insides, and I’m sucked through darkness. Then, I hurtle into something like a concrete wall. And then there’s nothing.

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