Xheng stood up, his whole body rigid.

  “What was that?” Ylia said, rising. It sounded like something fell into the water, something huge.

  “Quiet!” Xheng said, and they did as they were told. While Qala was the heiress, the ship and the sea were Xheng’s domain, and they waited for his next instruction with baited breath. He closed his eyes and cocked his head, listening intently. Then his eyes snapped open.

  “Brace!” he cried. Then he ran to the door, opened it, and started to bellow orders in Qi’shathian.

  Ylia looked to Qala, who translated with a single word.

  “Tsunami!” she said.

  Ylia heard men and women screaming instructions above deck. Feet trampled back and forth. Portholes and trapdoors were sealed.

  Even though she was no expert, Ylia could feel the ship being dragged away from the harbour, the immense undertow of the rogue wave gathering power, feeding the colossal mound of water as it grew taller and taller. They were right in its path and would be decimated by its descent.

  “What do we do? Flee the boat?” Ylia said.

  “No!” Xheng said, turning back to them. “You’ll die on land quicker than here. But be prepared for us to be rolled over.”

  Ylia’s heart thundered in her chest.

  The captain grabbed all the tables and chairs and threw them out of the door into the corridor. He stared at the drinks cabinet.

  “No time!” Qala cried.

  The captain ran to the door and shut it tight.

  “Be ready!” Xheng cried.

  The wave struck with indomitable force. The galleon, built to withstand wild storms, was first toppled, then bowled over. Ylia and the others were flung headlong into the wall of the office. Urgal screeched and yowled, digging his claws into the wood to hold himself in place. The others were less fortunate, being tossed around like dice in a cup. The ship’s boards groaned as tons of water pressed down on them like the boot of a merciless raider. There was a splitting noise and Ylia heard water gushing into an opening somewhere. There was another crash that sounded like a spine breaking and she realised the mast had been snapped like a matchstick. Screaming was not even possible as she was flung head over heels, air crushed from her lungs, crashing against the magnificent Qi’shathian artwork and narrowly avoiding the descent of the weighty drinks cabinet, which shattered where it fell.

  “Hold on!” Xheng cried.

  The ship had been not only rolled over but also lifted, carried in the wake of the tidal wave and hurled onto the wharves. The docks were shattered like a house of flimsy cards. The wealthy beachhouses and marketplaces abutting the shore were obliterated as the wave fell upon them like a ravening army. The sea wielded the Dire Request like a hammer, flinging it against the ramparts of Wylhome.

  And then the doughty ship cracked open. Ylia finally did scream as seawater gushed in.

  But just as hope was about to depart—light blossomed. She heard Qala intoning a swift prayer.

  “Korozon, ye fickle Kwein Shin

  who bars the doors of Death.

  Ye who balances the Way,

  and keep the gates of hell.

  Close fast the door, seal us from Fate!

  Save us, if it be your will!”

  Ylia had three times witnessed Qala’s magical power. The first time, merely to dazzle the bouncer at The Drunken Dragon. The second time, to heal Jubal’s shattered arm. The third time, just recently, to reveal her royal heritage. But this time, it was different. This time, Qala unleashed the full force of her Art.

  Ylia knew very little about magic other than the snippets that Qala had told her. From what she understood, Sumyrian magic centred around illusion-craft. But what emerged from Qala was no illusion, could not be, for it met the water with the solidity of an iron wall and defied its passage. Translucent and gold, the sphere surrounded Qala, Ylia, and all the others. It shimmered and winked and shifted and yet held firm as the mountain of oceanwater battered it with titanic ferocity.

  Qala screamed.

  It was the scream of a woman on the torturer’s rack, the scream of someone tied to horses, about to be savagely dismembered. It was the scream of a body pushed to its maximum extremity of toleration. Ylia knew then that magic did not come for free, but there was a cost, albeit hidden from most people.

  The princess’s eyes glowed white like stars. Her mouth was wide open and pure light blazed from it. Her robes had flown open to reveal a vortex in the shape of a perfect human body, a female figure cast in ribbons of impossible colour, warping, dancing, spilling out, reinforcing the orb that enclosed them, resisting the press of the water.

  And still Qala screamed. The cords in her neck bulged to the point it seemed they would burst. Blood gushed from her nose. Her hands trembled as though she were holding the physical weight of the water, tons and tons all held in her tiny, delicate fingers.

  They rolled over, span. They were a pearl in a dark ocean. Currents sucked them from the rent in the Dire Request and they were amidst the black penumbra of the Winedark Sea as it spilled over the city.

  And finally, they saw sky. They bobbed to the surface of the ebbing waters, which had now thinned to the depth of a river as they coursed uphill, into the wide avenues of the city. Qala could hold the bubble no more, releasing the spell and collapsing face-first into the waters. Ylia splashed into freezing seawater, which was still coursing furiously like blood, albeit its momentum was now stalling.

  She picked herself up, nearly fell again as the water tried to sweep her legs out from under her. Jubal and Xheng were doing the same thing, albeit Jubal was much sturdier than any of them. Urgal, despite hating water, was a strong swimmer, and had paddled over to a nearby stone poking its head above the water. He sat on it, looking immensely disgruntled, his dripping wet mane making him seem rather smaller and less intimidating.

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  Ylia ran over to Qala, tripping several times on unseen obstacles. Finally, she hoisted the princess from the waters. Qala was out-cold. Light no longer shone from her. She looked paler than death.

  “Gods…” Ylia whispered. “She’s hurt.”

  “We get her somewhere safe,” Xheng said. “Let’s keep going uphill. The momentum of the wave has been broken now. We must hope there is not another.”

  Ylia’s mind raced with questions. As a child, she had been taught that Aurelia’s coast was more susceptible to storms than other lands, yet there had been no storm brewing, and usually, thunder and lightning and rain were what came down from the heavens, not a two-hundred foot tall wall of water. She had heard of rogue waves out to sea, but never of a tidal wave striking a coastline like that, and especially not with so little warning.

  But there was no time to be thinking of meteorological matters. Xheng was right that they needed to get to safety, for Qala’s sake and their own.

  “Allow me, Ylia,” Jubal said, taking Qala from her. Ylia wanted to object, but when she saw how easily Jubal carried Qala, she changed her mind. The theront was insanely strong, so they might as well make use of such strength.

  Trudging through the knee-deep waters, they slugged uphill. Debris surrounded them, flowing both up and down as the waters began to recede, even while the momentum of the initial charge was still in play. The procession of objects was like some strange parody of a day at the market. Barrels of food and wine, tables of wares, urns and vases and jewels bobbed past them, their owners lost.

  There were bodies too. They saw the first as they rounded a corner, reaching an avenue of wealthy manses made of stone, their walls overgrown with artfully arranged ivy, their porticos upheld by pillars and adorned with classical sculptures from the dawn of the Imperial Age. A peasant woman had been drowned and washed all the way here, only entering the dwelling-place of the wealthy in death.

  “My crew...” Xheng whispered, seeing the woman lying face down, bobbing in the water.

  “Some of them may have survived,” Ylia said.

  Jubal looked at Ylia, then at Xheng. It was clear he thought otherwise, but held his tongue.

  Something flitted across the rooftop, catching Ylia’s eye. At first, she thought it must be Urgal, tired of making his way through the water, but Urgal was by her side, doggedly keeping her company despite his evident annoyance and discomfort.

  “Wait…” she said. There was a noise like air released, a fut fut. A dart flew through the air and struck Xheng. He yelped, slapping at his neck as one might a mosquito.

  There was a long wooden dart buried there.

  He swayed slightly, then went cross-eyed and toppled over and fell to the wet ground.

  Another dart had lodged itself in Jubal’s chest. The theront frowned, searching the buildings for sign of the piper. Ylia saw shadowy figures scampering over the rooftops wearing the cloaks, boots, and leather armour of assassins.

  “Run!” Ylia cried.

  But running was almost impossible as their legs were slowed by the thick, coruscating waters.

  Another fut fut. Two more darts lodged themselves in Jubal’s chest. The theront grunted, but did not seem to be suffering any ill effects. Ylia heard whispered voices. Another fut. The dart lodged in Jubal’s neck. Jubal released a growl. Fut fut fut. The theront had a face and chest full of needles but did not seem to be slowing in the slightest.

  “That was my last dart,” Ylia heard someone whisper.

  “Idiot, do not say so within earshot!”

  “It’s true, boss.”

  Ylia heard a deep sigh. Then the shadowy figures were leaping down from the roof. Six men surrounded them, three before and three behind.

  Urgal growled, but Ylia placed a soothing hand on his head, holding him back from violence. If ever there was a moment to keep their heads, then this was it. Ylia did not know what the darts were coated with, but she suspected it was not lethal, because she could hear Xheng breathing where he lay, albeit slowly and heavily. If the assailants had wanted to kill the party, they would have used bows and arrows.

  The leader of the six stepped forward. He removed his hood. His face was of Qi’shathian mould and bore a scar across the eye, but other than that, was totally unremarkable. Certainly, she did not recognise him. He gave a slight cough, as though the situation were terribly embarassing. Jubal just glowered, riddled with darts like an oversized pin-cushion.

  “We had not counted on theront constitution,” the assassin said, as if by way of apology. His voice was only slightly accented in the Qi’shathian fashion, and clipped, as though every word were measured and weighed.

  Jubal snorted.

  “Then you hunted in ignorance of your quarry. A grave mistake.”

  “Our quarry is that woman you bear in your arms,” the leader said, pointing to Qala. “Leave her here, and you shall be unharmed.”

  “Never,” Ylia and Jubal said, at the same time.

  The leader nodded.

  “Loyalty is admirable, but in this instance foolish…” He made a hand gesture and the five men at his heel all produced glittering knives, coated with some purplish ichor that Ylia was certain put one to sleep in the rather different sense than the darts. “I am not an assassin by trade. I prefer things to be done without bloodshed.”

  Urgal growled and several of the men flinched. Ylia smiled with satisfaction.

  “You should have saved your darts for my felidae—if they could have even subdued him,” she said. “You might kill us, but how many of you will be reduced to tatters before you do? Urgal hasn’t eaten in a while…”

  The cat licked his lips. Ylia saw several of the assailants shift their weight uneasily. The leader with the scar, however, looked unfazed.

  “If you think a little kitten like that will stop us, you are mistaken,” he said, a slight smile quirking his lips. “I was born on the slopes of Wuzin, where felidaes like this are commonplace, and far less frightening than the Yellow Hands. I killed my first one at seven years old.”

  Ylia gritted her teeth. She scanned the men again, saw the array of weapons. They were unarmed. Qala’s magic was of no use to them while she was out cold. Jubal was a strong fighter, but he had no weapon, and tough as he was, she doubted even he could survive a stab from one of those poison blades. Ylia knew she could throw a punch if she needed to, but she was no fighter. She did not know whether the leader was bluffing about knowing how to kill felidaes, but the confidence of his demeanour was ironclad.

  She saw no way out, and she suddenly felt a pang for Telos. She was sure the witty thief would have produced some ludicrous, zany plan just when all hope was lost.

  The leader cocked his head. Ylia frowned, wondering what he was listening to. Seconds passed and she realised that things had fallen dreadfully silent. What’s more, she was no longer stood knee-deep in water. The sea had withdrawn unnaturally.

  She risked turning, looking out beyond the shattered port, and her eyes widened with horror.

  “A second wave!”

  This one was greater than the first, high enough to topple even the lighthouses and towers of the dragonports. The dragons and their riders were fleeing, in fact, the largest of them—which might have been Pandora—taking to the sky like a startled crow amidst a flock of panicked starlings.

  The wave loomed, growing, growing.

  “Climb!” Ylia cried.

  All enmity was forgotten as the assassins sprinted to the nearest house, gripping the ornaments of stone and the ivy for handholds, and clambering up to safety. Ylia would have followed them but she remembered Captain Xheng. She ran back, lifting the sailor’s deadweight off the ground. Thankfully, being such a short man, he was relatively light. But his sailor’s cloak was waterlogged and dragging. How can this be a sensible thing to wear at sea? She stripped it from him, thankful that the clasp undid easily, then threw him over her shoulder. Without the water at their feet, they could move more easily. Jubal beckoned her over to a wall. He still had Qala in his arms. As she made her way over, Jubal suddenly fell down, slumping against the wall. Qala fell from his arms, groaning. His eyes looked glazed.

  “Y-Ylia…” he murmured. “The darts…”

  The theront collapsed, unconscious. Ylia shivered, a chill passing through her as though a spectral hand had touched her soul. She felt suddenly alone, painfully alone, even though Urgal was still by her side, yowling and growling as he registered the desperation of the situation.

  There was no way she could carry three people up the wall.

  And the wave was coming.