Page 61 of The Isles of the Gods
“And now,” says Leander, so soft I can barely hear him, “don’t pay too much attention, and try to just…noticethe spaces between things. Don’t focus, just observe them out the corner of your eye.”
I almost blink my eyes open to protest—but the hoarse edge to his voice pulls me up short. He needs this. So instead I turn my mind to the sounds around me once more, sinking into the swish of the water, the flap of the sail.
“I’m asking the spirits to look out for you, too,” he murmurs. “They’re curious—they’ll do it.”
And then…what was that?
A shimmer.
A flicker.
Something not quite there, but not quite…not.
“Leander,” I breathe, worrying I’ll scare them away. “There’s something in the air.”
“Like fireflies?” he whispers.
“Almost. They don’t glow, but they do sort of shine sometimes. Like they’re reflecting the light. They keep moving.”
“You’re not alone,” he says, a smile in his tired voice. “Where are they most concentrated?”
Carefully I turn my head, and I know I’m not seeing anything, not with my eyes closed, but I’m definitelysensingsomething. “Around the sail,” I breathe, elation washing over me. “And around you. There are thousands of them in the air around you.”
After all these years, I’m amagician.Leander was right—here on the sea is where my magic makes sense to me, and with a royal magician beside me…it’s finally happening. I have to tell—
Not Kyri.
My father. I’ll tell Da when we get out of this.
“Air spirits,” says Leander. “Greet them gently.”
I’m trembling, my breath sticking in my throat, and for a moment I feel like theLittle Lizabetta,poised on top of a wave and ready to slide down it. But I hold myself in check, instead pushing my mind out toward the spirits slowly, showing myself to them as gently as I know how.
There’s a swirl and a flurry in the shimmering, flickering mass of spirits—they whirl in a quick eddy, and the sail flaps and strains as the gust hits it. The fabric of its rough triangle bulges, trying to pull away from its bonds.
“Hey, careful!” Leander says from somewhere very far away, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or the spirits, but I have to keep all my focus on them.
My hair blows around my face, strands pulling free of my braid as if the spirits are inspecting it, confirming the sacrifice came from me—others pluck at my clothes and whirl around me in the excitement of discovery.
Over there,I try to tell them, directing them back to the sail. I try to show them where they need to be—to picture in my mind and show them how the air should flow over the sail, how the boat should glide forward.
They’re not interested, and they abandon the sail, leaving it shivering and deflated, swerving toward me once more. TheLittle Lizabettaslews dangerously as her sail empties, leaning precariously to windward, and I reach out in a panic to push the spirits straight back to the sail.
No, there! Go there!
The wind gusts wildly as they rebel against the order, whirlsand flurries tugging us in every direction at once, and my eyes snap open as the sail rips away from one side of the boat.
TheLittle Lizabettatries to round up into the wind, and Leander fights the tiller because he doesn’t know any better, trying to wrestle us back on course.
The oar catches like a lever stuck into the sea, and the whole boat starts to tip back toward me. He curses, scrambling to act as a counterweight as the barrel of water comes flying at me. It catches me square in the gut, paralyzing me and leaving me gasping for air and trying to grab at the barrel, some part of my brain screaming that we can’t lose our water—but it bounces away and jams against the gunwale as seawater begins to spill in, washing around me where I sprawl on the low side of the boat.
Keegan’s nearly tipped straight into the sea, and I catch a glimpse of his white, terrified face as he wakes to find himself falling. The apples go flying past him, and he clambers up toward the high side as the sail flaps in his face.
“The water barrel!” Leander shouts, but the boat’s still listing, and if she goes over, the three of us won’t weigh enough to get her back upright, not with a bellyful of seawater.
“Keegan,” I shout, and his quick brain does what I need: he looks around, makes the calculation, and lets go of his side of the boat to thump down beside me. He catches the barrel before it escapes, pinning it to the boards with one leg, then uses both hands to shove me up to Leander’s waiting arms.
The boat is nearly over, and we both throw ourselves against the gunwale to lean out as hard as we can.
