It takes three days on Leo’s butterfly before Polemistés appears over the horizon.
The island is bathed in sunlight, as if it comes straight from the golden tufts of sand that scatter around the island’s border. Even with dusk ready to sweep across the world, Polemistés isn’t touched by night. The fortresses of the great barricade are a shining wall of silver, made from a thousand sparks of lightning caught in their strike and tethered to the earth to create an unconquerable wall.
It’s a surviving thread of wonder in a world where the king tried to stamp out any that’s supposed to exist.
“Down below!” Micah yells.
I break away from the skyline to look at where he’s pointing.
The waters curl and surge in a way that makes it look as though the ocean is dancing.
The whirlpools spring out from the sea like they’ve sensed our arrival. Six giant mouths ready to devour us.
“What are those?” Selestra asks.
Her fingernails turn white as she grips the edge of the basket.
“Those would be the whirlpools I warned you about,” I say. “But don’t worry, we’re safe up here in Leo’s butterfly.”
The balloon rocks in the sky, mocking my words. I feel the shift in an instant, watching as the skyline gets higher and we only seem to get lower.
We’re descending.
The whirlpools are sucking us straight from the sky.
“You just had to say it, didn’t you?” Micah chides. “We’re safe up here.” He repeats the words back to me with a scowl.
I pick up one of the many inferno pouches Leo supplied and throw it into the fires, trying to fan the flames and lift us higher into the air.
They spit blue, but rather than the balloon picking up speed and height, it continues to be dragged down.
The whirlpools are too strong.
I spin around to face Selestra, who stares down at the waters with dread in her eyes.
“You have to do something.”
She jerks her focus to me. “Do what?”
“Siphon the energy from the pools, or manipulate their currents somehow,” I suggest, gripping on tightly to the edge of the balloon.
Selestra shakes her head. “I can’t do that, Nox.”
“I bet your mother could.”
Selestra scowls. “She’s the witch,” she reminds me, as though I’ve forgotten.
“Well, you might want to try.”
We are dragged faster toward the whirlpools.
Selestra looks truly panicked.
“I’ve seen what you can do,” I remind her.
“You saw me float a paintbrush,” she says dismissively.
“You saved us from falling from the Floating Mountain.” I hold my gaze steady against hers. “You saved me from those people in the tavern. And you threw that Last Army soldier from Garrick’s ship.”
Selestra still looks uncertain.
“We’re not supposed to die here, remember?”
I rest my hand against the ship’s rails, just inches from hers. A spark of warmth fills the air between us, tickling at my fingertips.
Souls, I wish I could touch her for real. No visions, no death.
“You have power,” I say, firmer this time. “I’ve seen it. I trust it. Now you have to trust in it as well.”
Selestra’s breath is shaky as she turns toward the whirlpools.
She clenches her jaw, determination set firmly on her face. Her hands clench at her sides, steadying herself and her nerves too.
She closes her eyes, taking in a long and slow breath. The gusts of the sea air grow more ragged as we descend, but Selestra is unmoved.
When she opens her eyes, the balloon shudders and starts to climb.
The wind whips more fiercely around us now and Selestra barely blinks, keeping her gaze on the balloon steady as we rise.
I catch sight of her eyes and they are so bright, almost golden, like their own little fires. She pulls us up from the whirlpools’ grip, higher into the air and closer toward the safety of Polemistés.
As soon as we’re clear of the deadly seas, she blinks and lets out a punctured sigh.
“I did it,” she says, breathless.
She presses a hand to her nose like she’s expecting blood. I am too, but I don’t see any, and when she pulls her arm back, it comes away clean.
Selestra told me that using her magic without practice hurt, but she doesn’t look injured or weakened.
She looks strong.
“Nox, move!”
I’m pushed to my knees as Micah shoves me out of the way of a rogue arrow.
Its point misses me by mere inches and then sails through the air and into the sea.
“Can death give you a bit of a break?” Micah says.
“This isn’t death,” I tell him. “It’s our welcome party.”
A bevy of yet more arrows follows, shooting up from the island below and aiming right for us.
The Polemistés warriors are here. And they’re trying to shoot us out of the air.
“Selestra, get down!” I say sharply, pulling her from sight and to the floor beside me as another arrow sails past.
Their points are deadly sharp, gleaming gold and sparking off the sunlight.
“Throw another pouch into the fire!” I command. “We have to get higher and out of their scope.”
I’ve survived far too much to die here at the hands of a few arrows.
Micah nods and reaches for one of the last of the fire pouches on the floor, but just as he’s about to throw it in, the balloon jolts sharply.
I look up and see a large tear rip its way through Irenya’s mended fabric.
An arrow hangs from the broken threads.
We careen toward the land, the winds flapping through the new hole in Leo’s butterfly.
“Now this would have been handy to foresee,” I say.
“This is hardly my fault!” Selestra protests.
“Relax, princess. I was just trying to get the last word in before we die.”
Selestra glares at me and then clenches her hands again. She closes her eyes and I can see her trying to use her powers to siphon the wind once more and save us.
But it’s no use.
The balloon only picks up speed the closer we get to the ground.
Selestra curses.
“Brace yourselves!” I yell, wrapping an arm around the balloon ropes.
We hit a cluster of small forestry by the beach land and I’m nearly thrown from the basket as the balloon fabric knots in the arms of a large tree.
It suspends us in the air.
“Everyone okay?” I ask.
“That’s three times now,” Selestra says. “Three times you’ve made me drop from the sky.”
I shrug by way of apology. “At least we’re still alive.”
“Speak for yourself,” Micah growls, pushing himself up to standing.
He helps Irenya to her feet and she peers over the edge of the basket. “How do we get down from here?”
“We climb,” I say.
I use my sword to sever the edge from one of the balloon’s many ropes. I tug it, to be sure it’s steady, and am relieved when we don’t move.
The balloon is well and truly jammed in this tree.
I sling the rope over the side. It doesn’t quite touch the ground, but it’ll bring us close enough.
I hurl a few of our bags over the edge, letting them fall onto the soft tufts of sand below. Then I hitch myself over the side.
“Come on,” I say to the others. “We have to climb down before the warriors that shot us from the sky find where we’ve landed. I don’t fancy getting one of those arrows to the face.”
“Can it take our weight?” Selestra eyes the rope cautiously.
“It’ll be fine,” I say. “Now hurry.”
She follows my lead and slips over the edge of the basket, gripping on tightly to the rope.
“If this rope snaps, I’m using you to break my fall,” Selestra says through gritted teeth.
“If we hadn’t cut your hair, we could’ve used it to climb down,” I tease her.
“Don’t make me push you off.”
I laugh, and when I’m close enough to the ground, I let go of the rope to jump down.
I land on the blush of pink sand the color of unripened cherries. As the sun slips from the sky, the light scatters a glow of oranges into the calm waters of the nearby shore, making it seem like I’m standing by a pool of sunlight and burnt coral, on a beach of petals.
I’m energized with the beauty of this place and the knowledge that my father once wanted to walk these shores. It might be stupid to think, but I feel like the sand holds the potential of him, the idea of his footprints buried somewhere deep inside.
“We actually made it,” Selestra says, coming to my side.
Her voice is filled with warmth and wonder.
Neither of us pays any mind to the shipwrecks on the far edge of the shore; bones of the vessels that came before us who couldn’t penetrate the whirlpools from above like we did.
Irenya jumps down onto the sand. “Impressive,” she says as Micah follows. “Not sure it’s quite beautiful enough to risk our lives for though.”
Micah picks up one of the bags I threw down from the butterfly. “Only I fit into that category,” he tells her.
I point over to a small mass of trees. “We should make camp somewhere before nightfall truly hits. We’ll head in that direction, far enough from the crash site to keep us safe until morning. Then we can think of a plan to find the sword.”
I’m about to pick up one of our bags, containing some of our food supplies, when I hear the crunch of leaves underfoot. The tree branches behind are brushed aside.
Before I can draw my sword, we’re surrounded.
Over two dozen Polemistés warriors rise up from the island. From the trees and from the sand and from the waters we’ve just soared above.
From nowhere and from everywhere.
They’re dressed in suits of slim gray-white armor, covering their chests and arms. Gold markings break at the joints, a bronze arrowhead in the center of their hearts and a large set of metallic wings on the backs of their shoulders. An ashen cape ties loosely around their necks.
“Last Army,” one of them sneers.
His voice is low and wolflike.
He looks to Selestra, taking in her hair and then her eyes, still alight with magic. Something in him shifts as he recognizes who she is.
“A Somniatis witch,” he whispers.
It’s not an accusation or an insult.
He speaks as though it’s a miracle.
Selestra looks to me in panic. I can see the fear inside her threatening to spill out onto the surface. Her hand goes to the blade I gifted her, which is hooked to her belt.
“We’re not here to fight,” I say quickly.
Polemistés warriors are unmatched. Near unkillable. I may be good, but I don’t want to risk starting a fight when we’re so unprepared. And especially when we don’t need to. We’re on the same side, after all.
If I choose to ignore the part where they shot us out from the sky, that is.
“I’m not your enemy,” I say.
The laughter courses through them and surrounds us. The birds fly from the trees and the waves crash against the shore and then quickly retreat, dragging the mottled pink sand back into its waters and away from the warriors.
“Last Army are everyone’s enemy,” the warrior who spoke first says.
I can tell he is the leader of this pack.
He must be in his midtwenties with a square face and muscles that bulge against the fabric of his sleeves. With a large metallic breastplate and a gleaming sword, he looks every bit the warrior as he stalks toward us.
“I’m not with the Last Army.” I raise my hands in the air as a sign of peace. “Not anymore.”
“We’ll see about that.” He turns to his warriors. “Escort them to the Forgotten Forge.”
“Lucian,” one of them says, eyes wide. “Are you sure that’s wise? We can’t trust them.”
“We know what we’ve been told,” the lead warrior—Lucian—says, nodding to Selestra. “What must come to pass is now beginning.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, stepping protectively in front of Selestra. “What must come to pass?”
“That doesn’t concern you, soldier,” Lucian growls, pointing his sword at my throat.
I have half a mind to rebound the hilt back into his nose.
“You’re not taking her anywhere,” I say.
I draw my sword, but in a flash the dozen Polemistés warriors who didn’t seem to think we were worth threatening with weapons moments ago now whip their blades and daggers from their belt loops in response.
They advance closer, their eyes narrowing to vicious glares.
“Nox,” Selestra says. She places a soft hand on my wrist, lowering my sword. “Stop. We didn’t come all this way to die.”
Her voice disarms me quicker than any of these warriors could, bringing me back to my senses and reminding me of why we’re here. It isn’t to fight the king’s enemies: It’s to help them by getting the sword and using it to defeat him once and for all.
Selestra moves in front of me, putting herself between me and Lucian’s sword. His eyes widen and he lowers his weapon quickly.
They all do.
I watch them curiously.
Selestra squares her shoulders and tilts her chin up, steadying her breath as she meets the warrior’s gaze.
“If we must go, let’s get it over with,” she says.
I smile at her bravery, facing off a dozen Polemistés warriors without blinking.
The warriors lead us onward, away from the beach and into the shallows of the trees. Lucian leads the way, but the others linger behind us and to our side, making sure we have no exit if we change our minds and choose to run.
Or at least that’s what they think.
Escape is my specialty.
It doesn’t take long for us to reach the Forgotten Forge Lucian spoke of. The trees soon part, the ground turning from sand, to mud, to tufts of evergreen grass with bulbous pink flowers and large circles of fruit that drip from them like brightly colored raindrops.
As we approach, I ignore the dozens of other warriors who turn to watch us with suspicion and curiosity. I focus instead on the figure, hidden partially by the shadows, standing at the archway of the forge.
A woman, cloaked in a dark hood and surrounded by soldiers.
I can’t see her face fully, but I can see the soft glow of her smile.
“Your Highness.”
Lucian kneels devoutly before her and the other warriors follow.
“Your Highness?” I repeat, confused.
“I thought the Southern King was dead,” Micah says.
I stare at the woman before us.
“He is dead.”
The lady smiles. “But I am not a king.”
Her voice is dulcet and raspy.
“He had no spouse.” My eyes narrow, discerning. “Who are you?”
The lady takes off her hood and I see her green hair fall across her collarbones. She steps closer toward us and into the fading sunlight.
Her eyes are aglow.
Yellow, just like Selestra’s.
“I am the Lady Eldara,” she says. “The Once Queen of Thavma and ward to these great lands.”
That can’t be.
“The Queen of Thavma is dead,” Selestra says in a whisper.
I turn to her, because if this woman is telling the truth, then that means—
“Hello, niece,” the old queen says, smiling. “I’ve been longing to meet you.”