How soft the sound of the sail on a glassy sea as silky-smooth waters took them near the island. A slight breeze picked up and soon turned to a moderate wind, which rushed them through the waters.

“Time to pull the sail,” Rory called out, his voice competing with the gust. “The currents will bring us to shore, but the wind’s a spinning. Can’t really work it.” His voice tapered off as the skiff rocked and white caps spat into the hull. Erika held onto the guardrail with both hands.

“Whatever you need to do. You’re the sailor.” She trusted Rory knew how to handle a boat, even in turbulent waters.

“Can’t you do anything about this insidious rockeen—?” Kairos’ words turned into a choking sound. He leaned over the rail and emptied his stomach, and his hat blew into the water as he did. He grabbed for it but heaved again.

“Curses!” He muttered as his topper spun across the whitecaps and disappeared under a wave.

“Honestly, Kairos.” Erika turned away from the sight to avoid getting sick herself.

The skiff pitched from side to side. The sea sent swells at them, and Rory turned the keel, meeting the rising waves.

“I believe we’ve encountered a squall,” Rory tied the sail, but could do no more in such a small craft and with such high winds.

“What have you done, Fairest?” Kairos asked.

“Me?”

“You knew these natives wielded sorcery. Why did you come here?”

“Because I must! As far as sorcery, you’re the magician. Do something!” she commanded, amazed that he accused her of their predicament.

He heaved again.

“I cannot.” He wiped his mouth with the hem of his robe.

“All we can do is hang on,” Rory told her. “It’s a wicked flurry, but I’m a powerful swimmer, Fairest, and if we capsize, I’ll swim you ashore, sure as anyone’s promise.”

His offer did little to relieve her terror. The dark sea waters and wild skies pressed on, churning them in circles, thrusting them into the air and slamming them against the angry waves. Her hair clung to her face, wet from spray, and every time the skiff dipped into a swell she screamed, afraid the approaching surge would drown them.

But they didn’t die, and the waters grew calm.

“We’re almost to shore,” Rory mentioned.

Erika wiped the wet hair from her face and blinked her eyes dry. Seeing land and natives on the beach, she pushed back her cloak, adjusted her leather armor, and brushed her wet hair back over her shoulders.

“Have your weapon ready, Rory. We aren’t sure what they’ll do.”

Stunned by an arrow that landed in the boat, she gasped. It could have been a warning for it simply dropped, doing no damage. Erika picked up her bow and nocked an arrow of her own.

“Kairos, are you with us?”

“What do you expect me to do, Erika? I’m a wizard, not a god.”

“Shield us or something.”

A spray of stones fell into their boat, slapping against her cloak, her arms, and if she hadn’t turned her head, they would have hit her face. Rory ducked and Kairos raised his hands to protect himself. When the volley stopped, Kairos stood, fire flaming from his hands. He sent a streak of energy toward the group of natives. The fire would have burned them except the warriors weren’t there any longer, but off to the right. Another volley bombarded them. The arrowheads embedded their skiff.

“You see?” Erika turned to Kairos, her heart thumping more from anger than fear. No allied nation should attack a craft with the King’s standard. “Already they’ve gone lawless. They are in want of a king.”

The skiff reached sand, so Rory jumped out of the boat and pulled it ashore, ducking to avoid projectiles.

As he shoved the boat onto the sand, Erika unlocked the mast, pulled it down, and pushed it into the water. She jumped in after it, still holding her bow, and helped Rory to ground the craft on the beach.

“Kairos help turn this boat.”

An arrow spun past her face, another grazed Kairos’ cloak. They rocked the dinghy on its side and ducked behind it just as a row of arrows hit. Erika peeked over the top, aimed, and released her arrow, but the man she aimed at disappeared.

“Kairos, strike them with your magic again.”

“I don’t think I can do any damage.” He rolled up his sleeves and pulled a vial from his belt pouch. Dripping a yellow ointment onto his fingers, he rubbed them together, stood up over the boat and threw liquid fire at the archers. The men ducked.

From up on the hill, an enormous stone soared at them. It twisted and turned in midair and came crashing down. Erika ran back into the water, Kairos and Rory followed. The rock landed on the bow of the skiff, crushing it.

“Wondrous thing I ever saw,” Rory exclaimed. “They’ve got a catapult!”

“Who’s running it?” Erika crept to the skiff, her skirt soaked. She pulled off her shoes, threw them on the sand and peered out from behind the guardrail of the upturned boat. A young man, taller than the others, stood on the hill with his hands on his hips. He wore a decorated doublet, a feather in his hat and a smile on his face. Who in the world is that?

“Hallo, there beautiful!” he called. “What brings you to our lovely island?”

“Restrain your archers!” Erika demanded.

“I already have,” he said.

Another large rock came whirling at them. They ducked as it hit the boat, this time punching a hole in hull.

“Curses. Now we’re trapped here,” Kairos complained. “You’d better friend these people and negotiate passage home.”

“Friend them? They’re savages! And the man ordering them is a rogue. How can you make friends with insolence? Clearly these are rebels bent on taking the island themselves. They must be stopped if civilization is to have a foothold here.”

“And you’re going to stop them?” Kairos asked.

“No. But my father’s name might awaken their senses. If they think King Tobias has come to claim the island, perhaps they’ll end their coup.” She stood.

“Erika!” Kairos tugged on her skirt, but she moved away from him.

“Stop your attack, I command in the name of King Tobias.”

“King Tobias? Who’s that?” the man asked.

“He’s to be your king, you impertinent mutineer! I command you to stop by threat of death.”

“Death?” The man’s feather quivered as he laughed. “And who are you to command me?”

“I am Erika, daughter of the king, and your impending ruler, for I come to negotiate the throne of Cho Nisi for my father.”

The man whispered to the native next to him. Kairos rolled his eyes and sunk further behind the boat. Rory crouched low.

“Well, you can’t have the throne this day,” the man said. He waved to the natives, who slung their bows over their backs and returned their arrows to their quivers. They climbed up the hill toward him.

“I will occupy this land until the Cho Nisi council negotiates with my father!” Erika repeated, blood rushing to her head. She’d never been so angry.

“You will occupy this land until you build another boat!” The man chuckled. He and his warriors walked away, laughing.

Erika growled.