Page 78 of Hymn of Breath and Bone

Moreover, I had realized, somewhat unconsciously, that the only way to convince the selkies that I wanted peace—that I craved the end of our war—was to save their king. Yes, it would be easier to rule at Marina’s side if she stood alone to take the crown, but it would not forge trust; would not build the fragile bonds I was trying to create between our people.

“You’ll join her soon,” the Stormcrow growled, going on the offensive and swinging his sword in a series of precise attacks that had me parrying desperately.

I was a skilled fighter, but the Stormcrow had always been better, and he knew it. He had not lost any of his skill in fifteen years of exile, and the grin that stole across his face as he began to wear me down told me he knew how this would end.

I slashed and stabbed and deflected, all the while sensing that Ilya was merely toying with me, waiting for the wound in my side to either render me dead, or injure me enough that he could deal the killing blow.

I heard Marina shouting my name faintly in the background, the sounds of battle and metal clashing against metal, and the roar of the sea in my ears as Ilya began to wear me down.

It would end here, on this beach with blood soaking the sand, the Silent Isles once again a place of bloodshed—of betrayal.

I was right back where I had been fifteen years before—fighting for my life before a male who had made me feel small and weak. Then, I had barely escaped with my life against my father’s blade and skill.

Nothing had changed.

No. That wasn’t right.Everythinghad changed.

I wasn’t just fighting for my people anymore. I was fighting for Marina’s people. For the Silent Isles. For my friends. For my mate, whose life and future were now tied irrevocably to my own.

I could not lose to the Stormcrow.

Ilya stabbed, his blade piercing the skin just below my pauldrons on my chest, another slash disarming me. Astraios’ blade splashed into the sea, the surf pooling around my boots as I sank to a knee and grabbed the wound with my opposite hand.

The sea dragon scale was sharp against my fingers as Ilya approached.

“It ends here, boy,” he growled. “You, on your knees, before your rightful king.”

Marina’s voice came to me then, cold and shivering from a dive she had taken what felt like weeks ago:When he asks for our help, we will answer. We protect our own.

My hand clamped over the scale on my shoulder as I reached my mind to our shared magic. To the sea.

I had beaten the Stormcrow once. I could do it again. And this time, I had help. I had Marina’s strength—her love and her magic—and I had the sea.

“I have to say, it’s been a disappointment.” Ilya raised his blade. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

“Always happy to disappoint,” I gritted out as the seven sea dragons I had called rose as one behind me, their needle-like teeth bared in feral snarls.

Ilya’s screams were cut short as blood painted the sand, spattering across my face as I rolled out from under the sea dragons’ bodies. They writhed in a killing frenzy, and Ilya was reduced to bloody meat and a discarded sword.

I lay in the shallow surf, side aching and heart thumping madly. I vomited on the sand as the sickening sounds of sea dragons feasting added to my misery, the world going black around the edges.

“You reckless idiot,” a familiar voice scolded as gentle hands closed over the wound in my side.

“It’s nothing, Urchin,” I croaked, lifting a bloody hand to cup her cheek. “Just a scratch.”

“You’re a shit actor,” she sobbed, the joke making me laugh and more blood burble from my wounds.

“He needs a healer,” another voice murmured. Sereia perhaps? It was becoming difficult to focus, and I let my face turn toward the sand as bodies and hands scrambled around me.

From my haze of pain, I saw the Selkie King, a look of horror on his face unlike anything I’d ever seen.

“Caspian!” Marina shouted, slapping my cheeks gently. “Don’t you dare pass out!”

“Get him to the keep,” an unfamiliar voice commanded. A female who both was and was not Marina swam in front of my vision, lighter skin and darker hair, her voice a deeper alto than Marina’s tinkling soprano. Marina’s mother.

“Hold on, Cas,” Marina whispered, pressing a kiss to my nose, then scrunching hers in distaste and spitting into the sand. “Seas, you’re covered in blood.”

“Ilya,” I rasped. “The sea dragons—”