A veiled horizon wavered between the sea and the leaden clouds of the afternoon as the Potamians drew near to Northport. Despite the flurrying skura that hovered above the island, Erika’s ship glided to the pier without incident. Kairos’ apprentices and archers stood along the gunwale, assessing their enemy, and readying their munitions until the ship docked and sailors lowered the gangplank to an equally damp wharf. Drums on shore beat like an excited heart of a dying man, the charm keeping the beasts in the air, though it resonated more like a death chant than a vigil. Erika said nothing, but she and the wizard kept their eyes to the sky. She could see them in the clouds, black wings whipping furiously as the beasts struggled for control, and every so often a glower of a skura’s eye scowled down at her.

“Have the soldiers stay here,” she told the shipmaster. “Only I and the wizards need go right now. I’ll leave two of the apprentices with you, just in case,” she added. “Better not to offer more bait than necessary.”

The shipmaster bowed. “Thank you, Fairest.”

Erika wore her silver armor, her breastplate, shoulder guards and arm braces over her dresses. She buckled her father’s sword to her belt and adjusted to her side. The cloak she wore, as green as the pine on Mount Ream, with the Potamian coat of arms on its lower front emphasized her royalty. Her red hair trundled over her shoulders, braided at the sides and down the back tied with a leather lace. A small regiment of soldiers followed her.

Kairos took her hand and helped her down the gangplank. “Where to?”

She looked around and glanced again at the dark cloud of skura. “We could start right now ridding the island of those horrid creatures.”

“We could. Didn’t you want to see the king first, though? Shouldn’t you—I don’t know, ask permission?”

She shot him a grimace. “I’m sure the king won’t mind if we kill skura on his island. He did request help in his most recent letter. Why waste time, Kairos? There are thousands of the brutes up there and you do so well at annihilating them.”

Kairos waved for his apprentices. “As you wish, Fairest.”

Seven wizards, all in cloaks of dark silk and gold embroidery, pointed cowls and poulaine shoes, followed them down the pier and onto shore. King Tobias had chosen well in his selection of apprentices. They were a graceful group. Young men and women, frail in stature, but strong in spirit and extremely talented.

“Follow me,” Erika said and headed toward the sound of the drums. Oddly, she had no fear. Her confidence in Kairos had grown and being on the island with an army of support gave her buoyancy.

By the sound of the drumming that resonated over the waters, there was an army of natives chanting. However, only six men and two women kept vigil here. She recognized one of them. An elder. Abenda by name and she held her breath as she drew near, not certain what to do. Before she came close to the man, Kairos moved in front of her, and he and the wizards approached first. The drums didn’t stop beating, but Abenda stepped forward in his ceremonial garb. He also had a sword, drew it, and with two hands, held it in front of him. The blade shone, catching rays of sunlight, a threatening glow. His focus rested on Erika, and he lifted his head. The grimace and steel eyes seized her. Abenda’s desire to see her dead radiated in his eyes. Indeed, he was the reason the Cho Nisi had issued a death warrant against her.

“You defy our law,” he said.

Erika kept her fear contained. Her father reigned as king of a great nation. This man meant nothing to her, and she already paid her debt to the island more than they would ever realize. Her intentions for coming here were for their benefit. She should have nothing to fear.

“Law or no law, my wizards can take this curse away,” she said confidently, though her heart thumped.

The soldiers behind Erika also drew their swords, but it was Kairos who moved closer to her, and he fidgeted with something under his cloak.

Erika gave the soldiers a hand signal to stand down.

“There is a death warrant for you. I have legal right to take your life.” Abenda lifted his weapon, but Erika stood her ground. Kairos pulled a vial from his belt, dropped a potion on his hands, and rubbed his fingertips together, his dark eyes fixed on Abenda. He made no secret of his actions.

“And there is a death warrant for those skura you wrestle with. Let go of your hostilities and let us help.”

The moment froze, the elder ready to strike, Erika poised, daring him. The sound of drums and the low groaning of the ship broke the silence as the world held its breath. Abenda did not move his head, but he eyed the wizard, the apprentices, and the soldiers.

After Kairos flicked a spark of magic into the air that popped and sizzled, Abenda took a step back, his hands still grasping his sword upright. He wouldn’t dare try to kill her now with so much at stake and Kairos’ magic hot in the wizard’s hand, would he? Perchance his thoughts mirrored hers, for his eyes darted between her and Kairos. Anger burned in his cheeks, but finally, he withdrew and pushed his sword back into its sheath.

When Abenda exhaled, he bowed—slightly—with no expression on his face, but he did bow. Erika swallowed, glad Kairos didn’t have to bluster him. She would help Cho Nisi, despite the elders.

“Where is King Arell?” she asked, holding her breath, dreading the news. If he died, she would shatter into tiny fragments and sail on a gust of sorrow to the depths of the sea.

“In the castle.”

Erika nodded a thank you without revealing her relief.

“The wizards will take care of the winged demons. Please, just let them do their work.”

She wet her lips and looked up at the terror in the sky. A mass of evil, black as night, the skura flew against the wind in circles, squawking. Their horrid human faces contorted, their mouths open wide, fangs showing. She despised them and despised the one who created them.

She turned to Abenda. “You must stop drumming.”

That brought a disturbed countenance and a worried glance. He looked at his drummers, she at her wizards. Kairos stood more confident than she’d ever seen him, and he had a look of pride. She smiled and spoke to Abenda.

“Never fear. They know what they’re doing. And there’s an army here to oversee any strays that might slip by Kairos.”

She nodded to the soldiers and stepped away toward the castle.

Before she got up the rise, though, she looked back. Already Kairos had taken over, ushering the drummers to a safe overhang on the beach. He silenced their drums by laying his hand on one and holding his finger to his lips. The drumbeat stopped.

The apprentices formed a circle under the ring of skura, rolled up their sleeves and pulled their vials from their robes. Kairos rushed back to them and snapped his wrist at the sky. The skura dove, and then the explosions began.

Sudden puffs of black smoke dotted the atmosphere as one by one the skura burst. The individual eruptions multiplied until the entire sky filled with sparks while thunder shook the earth. Smoke mingled in the clouds, and red ash fell. There were many more skura to contend with, but Kairos seemed to enjoy himself. He dared the beasts, waved at them, while sporting that grand smile of his.

Pleased and proud of her wizards, Erika continued her trek. The narrow path wound up a rolling hill and, in the distance, through a mist, she could see the towers of the castle.

As she moved away from Kairos and the wizards, an eerie chill rushed through her. More than skura hovering over the island, this odd sensation reminded her of the trip from Tellwater Valley. The same premonition she had in the forest when she saw the misty fingers of a mountain giant for the first time plagued her now. The same heavy ambiance she experienced in Canyon Gia. That couldn’t be right, though. In his letter, Arell said they had chased all the mountain giants away. Maybe they did, but tonight there were no fires along the hillside as there should be. The Cho Nisi had become too engaged in keeping ten thousand skura from attacking to worry about tending fires.

A grey sky and low clouds drifted over her head. She could see the palace now, its ashen walls covered with moss, and the towers lost like islands in the mist. The dankness sent a chill through her. The troublesome odor of discord lit her senses. She tightened her grip on her sword and hurried to the gates. A Moaton sentry greeted her.

“Fairest,” he bowed.

“I’m here to see the king,” she told him.

“And you are?”

“Princess Erika, daughter of King Tobias.”

“Fairest,” he bowed and when he rose, he looked over her shoulder. “I’ve heard your name on the lips of the elders. And you escaped the native’s death sentence? Did you have any trouble on the beach?”

“We took care of the trouble at the beach.”

He took an on-guard stance, and his hand went to his sword, though his expression showed confusion. “You threaten our king?”

“No, soldier, I come in peace.”

He relaxed as he studied her. “The king has mentioned your name and always with compassion.”

“I’m no threat, I promise.”

“King Arell is in his quarters. He’s not expecting visitors. On the contrary, he has ordered everyone except the warriors to shelter in Moaton? There are only a few of us keeping watch on his behalf.”

“Shelters? I don’t understand?”

“The skura, haven’t you seen? They overrun the island. We’re defeated. The Cho Nisi grow tired, and it is only a matter of time before the drumming ceases. Osage leads an army along our shores, but we are small in force. The homes in Moaton have cellars, and that’s where most everyone is. I suggest you take refuge there as well. We’re hoping Skotádi will have mercy on the common folk.”

“If you’re hoping for mercy, why isn’t the king in a shelter?”

“King Arell has accepted death. He asked us to let him pass this life while in his chambers. It is his intent to slay as many skura as he can before he dies.”

Erika’s heart skipped a beat. Death? “King Arell is dying?”

“He’s in a bad way, having been ravaged a few days ago by the skura. They say he will die the moment the drums cease. With so many skura, and with the mist hovering over the island, there is little hope for any of us. When the attack comes, Osage will return here with his troops and King Arell will raise his sword in the castle’s defense. A ceremonious end, for I don’t believe he’s extraordinarily strong.”

“Let me see him.”

He hesitated for a moment and then stepped aside. “As you wish. No more ill could come to him than what we’ve already expected.”

The sentry opened the door to an unusually dark and empty palace. The stone walls were lit by torches, rays of gold light reflected on the polished floor, beckoning her inward. She took a torch from its bracket. The hollowness of the fortress made her edgy, so she hurried.

Erika followed the hall past closed doors to the servant’s quarters and the pantry. Several women worked near the hearth, but they didn’t see her, and she didn’t recognize them, and so Erika moved on. She hurried up the spiral staircase to the second floor where Arell’s chambers were. The doors to the grand hall were open, the room empty but for the dining table, now unadorned.

A shape outside the window caught her eye. A figure in a dark cloak. At first, she thought a wizard had followed her, but when she saw the mist swirling around his feet, and hollow darkness under his cowl, she panicked.

“No,” she gasped and then ran. Her feet were silent on the wooden floors, but her heartbeat loudly. Each room she passed she looked out the sheer bone panels to see the mist outside coagulating, thicker and thicker, and it rose as if traveling up to Arell’s room with her.

She sped faster, out of breath, her lungs hurting as she flew up the spiral staircase, down another hall until she came to his room. She hesitated for only a fleeting moment and then drove the door open.

Shutters rattled. Mist filled the room, nebulous fingers stretched to the bed and coiled around Arell, seizing him from the covers and thrusting him up against a wall. The mist pressed the king. He woke, his eyes wide. His arms bound in vaporous rope tightening around him.

Erika held out her torch, and the mist sizzled away but then resurfaced. The cloaked figure materialized, his face shadowed under his hood. Darkness menaced the room as if she’d been transported to some sort of chasm and now faced the devil. The sickly sweet smell of death pervaded the air. The mist strengthened its grasp around Arell, the mountain giant’s shoulders slowly manifested with his gritty arms clutching the king. Arell gasped for breath. Erika lunged forward with her torch, but the robed figure held out a hand, and a flame of heat shot at her. She recoiled in pain.

“Skotádi!”

The phantom held his other hand up toward the giant, and the mass of vapor loosened its hold enough for Arell to breathe. The king wheezed.

“Leave him alone,” Erika cried.

Skotádi strolled up to Arell, grabbed his chin and inhaled deeply next to his mouth. Arell rolled his eyes back, breathless. The phantom turned to Erika and released a hollow laugh. When Arell looked at Erika, he wrestled against the phantom’s hold, too weak to free himself. But how could he against a stony giant? His old wounds bled as he fought.

“What do you want with us?”

The phantom turned to Arell, his face hidden under his cowl, but a glimmer from his teeth revealed a snarl. “Where is it?” he asked, and when he spoke the room vibrated like pools of water.

Erika shuddered.

Skotádi stretched out his hand and pointed his scrawny thumb downward, a signal to the giant to kill, all the while watching Erika. Arell moaned. The tighter the misty form gripped Arell, the more the giant became visible. He was huge! His head bent under the ceiling and his shoulders were as wide as the bed. Dwarfed by the ogre, Arell had no chance of escape.

“Tell me where it is!”

The giant grunted as he squeezed. Erika heard bones snap. Arell cried out and blood drained from his wounds. Sickened and furious, Erika lunged again with her torch, screaming as Skotádi’s flame burned her. The wind from his blaze pushed her back. She fought against it, coming near enough that she caught the giant’s elbow and then seared his arm. The giant’s limbs vaporized, and Sol disappeared. Arell fell to the floor.

Skotádi raged when his giant vanished into vapor, and the phantom’s flame grew fiercer. He stood over Erika, scorching the hand that held the torch, and then the hand that held her sword. She dropped both. Skotádi stomped out the fire she held while pinning her to the ground with his blaze. He whistled loudly, and a skura flew to the windowsill—its hyena howl vibrated the room. It opened its mouth and spat fire.

“Demetri, kill!” Skotádi commanded and stepped back as the skura, a smile on its dreadful face, dove for Erika, giant talons extended, mouth open wide. Flames scorched her face and her hair. Fangs came at her throat. She screamed.

Its talons grasped her armor, its body pinned her to the floor. But before it could sink its teeth into her throat, its head sailed across the room, severed from its body like a cannonball, crashing into Arell’s vanity and breaking a mirror, a stream of smoke and embers trailed from it into the room. Skotádi vanished instantly.

Erika gasped. The dead skura’s headless body lay at her feet, and Arell—propped up against the wall, pale, barely breathing—held her bloody sword in his hands.

She settled where she had fallen, exhausted, her heart racing. Arell sunk to the floor. Erika listened to his gasping as she, herself, recovered. Her hands still burned, leaving red marks that blistered.

“Why is he doing this?” Her voice trembled. “What is he looking for?”

Only forced breathing from Arell answered. She crawled next to the pale and bloody king. He’d been staring at her. Despite his wheezing and his wounds, he pulled himself to his feet while leaning on the wall, and offered her his hand, though he seemed not to have enough strength to help her up. She accepted but used her own weight to stand.

He drew her close to him and then as if it should have been happening all along, their mouths sealed together. Their tongues spoke a language there were no words for. She heard the sword drop. He caressed her hair as they kissed—massaged her head and rubbed her neck—she, his back. If she hadn’t armor on, they would be closer still.

She pulled away. “You’re bleeding.”

Arell squinted as she helped him to his bed.

“They need to be wrapped again. Let me dress your wounds.”

“Why did you come back? They want to kill you.”

When she unwrapped his lesions, she moaned in sympathy. He’d been pulverized. “Those skura really did a number on you.”

“I got a few in return. Not enough.”

“One man cannot kill ten thousand demons. Someone should have helped you.”

“They did, eventually. Serena keeps the dressings in the vanity.”

“Serena’s in a shelter?”

“I made her go. She wanted to stay, but I wouldn’t have it.”

“What’s this I hear about you dying?”

“I’m a king. I must take a stand, even if it’s my last one. We don’t have a chance. You shouldn’t have come. You should go to the cellars. Find safety there.”

She pulled the soiled bandages back and got him fresh ones, poured water from the pitcher into a basin, and returned to the bed. He winced, though she washed his wounds as gently as she could.

“Why did you come back?” Sweat beaded on Arell’s face, and Erika could see the pain in his eyes, and hear it in his voice.

“I heard rumors you were hurt, and your island invaded.” She smiled at him and wiped his hair out of his face. Death had been too close. If he had died, she may have given up on life herself. Her passion for Arell far surpassed her love for her family. This is where she longed to be—by his side. “Besides, I missed you.”

He only stared at her. Perhaps she had no right to confess her feelings for him, but she didn’t care. She nursed his wound tenderly as she spoke.

“I couldn’t get you out of my thoughts. Remember that day on the beach? How we laughed together. How gentle you were, and kind. At home I thought of you every morning and in the evenings, I would lie on my bed and wish…” She shook her head and he frowned. “I wished I had not shot that arrow that killed your father.” She wrapped the last of the surrounding dressing.

His hands were warm and gentle when he touched her cheek, and his eyes searched her soul, making her heart race. He moved toward the center of the bed, and she found a place next to him.

“I wished things had been different as well. But they aren’t,” he whispered. “I wrestled with my feelings toward you after I found out what had happened. I didn’t want to love you, Princess Erika.”

The look in his eye melted her.

“I thought it more appropriate to hate you. You had ripped my heart in two. I tried to despise you, but I couldn’t. So, I hid my feelings from the elders, too ashamed to love you for my father’s sake.” He sat upright on his pillow and reached out to her. She tingled at his touch, his fingers so gentle as they ran along the side of her face, behind her ear. He brushed her hair over her shoulder. “Take your armor off,” he whispered.

As she unlaced her breastplate, he continued.

“When Silas told me not to write to you after you sent that warning—which saved the entire island—then I knew I’d have to yield to the truth.”

“The truth?” She set her armor on the floor and loosened the ties to her bodice. He moved further to the center of the bed, and she lay in his arms, careful to avoid his wound. He lifted her chin.

“The truth is, I care for you.”

She shared the same air with him as they sealed their mouths together—warm and sweet—a delicious salty dampness. His tongue set her heart on fire, and she pressed against it with hers. He moaned a deep and resonant sound that vibrated through her body. He moved to his side and then groaned. Their lips parted, and he fell back on the pillows.

“You’re in much pain. Lay down. Heal,” she said and sat up again, her heart beating rapidly.

“How can I feel this way about you? You killed my father,” he murmured. The elders will speak against it.”

Her head flamed. She stood and pulled herself away from the bed. There were ethics to adhere to, moralities, protocol. She’d forgotten herself. Being this close to him felt both wrong and necessary. She tied her bodice with trembling hands.

“I came to save your island. That will help to make amends for your father’s death. War is raging. You must get well. This evil Vouchsaver sees the union of our nations as a potent force against him. We can do him damage if we treaty with one another.”

“Did you find your brother?”

“Yes. He’s home now, but not well. The mountain giants imprisoned Barin and some of my father’s soldiers. Skotádi is manipulating Barin’s thoughts and had him lead a siege against my father’s castle. We stopped him by kidnapping him. He is no better off than a madman right now. Kairos subdued him, but the wizard can’t remove the curse, he says.” She glanced at him to see his reaction.

“Perhaps the chief and his elders could have helped,” he said.

“Could have?”

“Things have changed, princess.” Arell sighed. “We cannot send anyone to Prasa Potama. We can’t leave this island unprotected. The Cho Nisi will end the vigil soon. They grow weary and won’t continue forever. We’re hanging on to life by a thread until then our drummers weaken and they release the skura. You received my letter?”

“There are ten thousand skura circling your island?”

He nodded, despair in his red and weary eyes.

“Kairos and his apprentices are ridding your island of the skura as we speak. He’s found the spell to obliterate them, and it works well. I think that’s one reason Skotádi is so angry at us.”

“Kairos? You’re ridding the island of skura? Completely? Now?”

Erika nodded.

He sighed as he stared at her, disbelief in his eyes.

“It’s true. Can you hear the explosions?”

She stood by the window and fell silent. The thunder of the battle came into his chamber.

“I hear it. We’ll survive after all. You are a remarkable woman, Erika Tobias.” When she returned to his bedside, he touched her face again, his voice affectionate. “Such a beautiful lady, and warrior. Strong, clever, loving, and full of fire. If only you—”

“Yes. I know. If only I hadn’t killed your father. I’ll never live it down. It is the shipwreck of my soul.”