She was so shocked she gaped at him.
He nudged her and she drank, water dribbling out the sides of her mouth because of the gag. The water tasted wonderful, and her body absorbed it like parched earth. When she’d drained the waterskin, the guard carefully tucked it back out of sight. His movements slow and gentle, he reached inside her tunic, pulled out some of the hard bread, and slipped it in her mouth. The gag was too tight for her to chew, but she managed to soften it enough to swallow.
She tried to catch his eye to give him a nod of thanks, but he refused to look at her. When he’d fed her all the bread, he took up his position again.
Eventually, she slept. And unlike last time, she knew when she woke up, she’d still be alive.
She stirred at the distant sound of thunder. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, then squinted into the distance. Black clouds rolled toward them, lightning leaving jagged images in her aftervision. She felt a change in the air—a heavy kind of expectation. A hurricane.
Through the link, Cord felt so close she knew he must be on one of the Caldash ships. She had the presence of mind to wonder how he’d caught up to her.
Closing her eyes, Senna listened to the Four Sisters’ songs—oppressive chanting that twisted the Sisters’ natural songs into something dark and sinister. The Haven Witches were trying to force the ships back. The Caldash Witches were countering the storm, creating unnatural pockets of calm for the armada to slice through.
The two opposing songs clashed, creating chaotic noise that grated against Senna’s ears until they felt raw. She clenched her teeth, trying to think past the shrieking cacophony.
The wind surged toward them. The ship scaled a wave as big as a mountain, until it seemed they were climbing to the sky. They slowed near the top. Senna was certain they weren’t going to make it. She imagined them sliding back, the craft rolling over.
The ship clung to the top of the wave at a standstill. Suddenly, they rushed down again, sending Senna’s stomach into her throat. They smashed into the trough. Spray exploded across the deck and slammed into her. It was so cold it stole the breath from her lips. She gasped, water streaming down her face and stinging her eyes.
Tarten sailors flashed in and out of sharp relief with each flash of lightning. A bolt shot through the sky, heading straight for their ships. But before it hit, another bolt cut into its path. The two collided with a percussion that shook the air and made Senna’s ears ring.
The war had begun.
For what seemed like hours, they fought their way through the storm. Helpless as the ship she’d been anchored to, Senna tipped her face to the rain, letting her mouth fill with water until she felt nearly normal. If only she could stop shivering.
And then, through the unnatural twilight, she saw waves shattering white against distant cliffs. Haven.
Senna wanted to scream at the Haven Witches to move the island. She could imagine the scene. Witchling messengers running everywhere. Witches singing in the Ring, firm in the belief the Tartens and their Witches could never cross their walls. The Haven Witches would see it as a siege, one they would simply outlast as the sea battered their enemy’s ships into pieces.
When the ships were in range, the captain shouted orders for them to turn the broadside cannons on the cliffs. Senna didn’t understand. Surely they didn’t think they could beat down sheer walls hundreds of feet thick with mere iron balls.
Cannon fire boomed beneath her feet, but instead of cannon balls, modified anchors arched through the sky, ropes trailing behind them.
A few anchors exploded in a deadly rain of shrapnel against the cliffs, and some bounced harmlessly to the sea. But a few caught hold. A wave hit their ship, pushing it away from the cliffs, dragging its anchors back into the water. The anchors were hauled back and fired again. This time they held.
Senna’s apprehension suddenly, inexplicably spiked.
Guns strapped to their backs, Tarten soldiers were tied to the ropes. They climbed hand over hand from the ships toward the waiting cliffs. There was no one to stop them. A cry left Senna’s lips, a warning the Haven Witches would never hear. If she hadn’t been tied to the mast, Senna would have fallen to her knees. The guard who had given her the water turned to look at her, pity in his eyes.
With a mighty crack, one of the anchors gave way. The guard’s head whipped back around. On deck, the sailors grabbed the rope and heaved it across the deck, hauling swamped soldiers back toward the safety of the ship. Before long, the half-drowned soldiers sprawled across the deck, gasping for breath. There weren’t nearly as many as had left. At least half of them must have drowned.
The cannons were fired again and the sailors started across it for the second time. The rest of the anchors held.