Page 72 of Spar of Hearts

Would he see beyond her beastly side the same?

The captain’s head lolled against Anya’s shoulder, pulling her out of her awe. Sticky warmth soaked into her dress.

Blood.

“Ornella! Take the captain below!”

Ornella clambered up the slippery steps. Her eyes flared wide as she locked her sights on the captain.

“Captain!” Ornella hoisted him up with a supportive arm. Anya took over the helm and tugged it hard against the waves.

“We can handle this!” Roderick called over, holding Yomira’s snout. Ornella nodded and ushered the captain down the steps.

“Is Yomira all right?” Anya gritted her teeth as the rudder threatened to give in to the pounding waves. Rain pounded against the sails, whipping nearly horizontal.

The wyvern grumbled and shook her head up and down.

“She’s fine now!”

“Fantastic,” Anya growled. “Now—come help me!” The rod of the helm creaked in protest. Her arms did the same, shaking with effort. If the rod shattered, they would be at the mercy of the wind and waves, and lose precious days while a repair was made—if it could even be fixed.

Roderick ran up behind her, placing his hands beside hers. His breath was hot, heavy, and exhausted against her neck as he pulled westward, but with their combined strength, the rudder stopped wavering.

A tidal wave shattered against the ship, blinding them in its icy spray.

“Remind me why we’re worried about steering at a time like this?” Roderick yelled.

“We’re close to a passage to Aquillas!”

“How do you know?”

“Just trust me!”

The ship groaned beneath their feet as they tugged against the next wave.

“Roderick!” Sir Oshfeldt shouted from the main deck. “I think the storm is magic!”

“It’s bad, I know!”

“No, I think the storm is actually magic!”

“How do you know?”

“Blackbird! Let’s try it!” Sir Oshfeldt guided Lady Rowan up the steps to the stern.

“Blackbird! Get below deck, now!” Anya yelled.

“Please, Anya! You have to trust me!”

This was the time for Anya to take Blackbird’s words to heart—so she swallowed her protests and nodded.

Blackbird and Sir Oshfeldt pressed their palms against each other. Blackbird’s brows knit together as little flares of purple mana sputtered from her fingers. Anya had never seen her lady-in-waiting manifest such a strong energy. Growing up, Blackbird’s magic had only been a fun way to light a candle, maybe make a flower bloom on a good day.

Sir Oshfeldt’s mana came much quicker, in sleek, silvery streams like his hair. It wound together with Blackbird’s, forming a bright orb just above the tips of their fingers.

“Ah! I can’t keep going!” Blackbird cried. “It hurts!”

“You can do this!” Anya called. “I know you can!”