By the time the Haven Witches realized their peril, it would be too late.
Senna pictured Haven as it had once been, shining and filled to the brim with Witches and Guardians who were lauded for their power and skill. If Tarten succeeded, Haven would be a burned-out ruin of ash and rot.
She couldn’t bear it. She pulled at her bonds. They cut into her chaffed wrists, but they wouldn’t give. She sagged against the ropes, letting them take all of her weight. It was hopeless. She’d done everything she could, and it hadn’t been enough.
Suddenly, lightning struck the side of the ship. Electricity jumped across the water-soaked deck, sending a shock through Senna. She could smell burning, hear shouting, and feel the tremble of dozens of running feet, but she couldn’t see what was happening.
A soldier shot past her, his fist colliding with the man guarding her. She tried to wrap her mind around the idea of one Tarten soldier attacking another. But the man who turned to her wasn’t a Tarten soldier.
It was Cord, the too-small soldier jacket half-buttoned over his chest. With his dark features, he could easily pass for a Tarten in this chaos.
Kneeling over the semiconscious guard, he yanked a knife free of its ankle strap.
“Don’t!” Senna cried through the gag. She couldn’t bear for Cord to kill him.
With a grunt of exasperation, Cord reversed the knife and hit the guard on the temple. He pulled the unconscious man out of sight, then pressed up against her and peeked past her. The warmth of Cord’s body suffused her with beautiful heat.
His breath stirred across her mouth as he spoke, “I don’t think anyone noticed.” His face twisted as if the sight of her pained him. “I’m so sorry, Brusenna.”
He cut the gag from her mouth. Her jaw trembled as she closed it for the first time in two days. His sharp knife cut through the ropes holding her hands. Her arms dropped down in front of her, so heavy she couldn’t lift them, but the skin on her wrists wasn’t black, just a lurid purple. At least the tissue was still alive.
“How?” Senna had to shout to be heard over the storm.
“Did you think I wouldn’t come for you?” Cord cut through the bonds tied around her waist. The knife sliced into her skin and she didn’t care. With a sudden burst of ropes, she was free. Unable to support her weight, her legs buckled.
Cord guided her to the deck, where she collapsed in a wet heap. Kneeling before her, he braced her up and pulled the rest of the ropes off her.
The feeling in her arms and hands was coming back, thousands of white-hot needles wheedling into her skin. “How did you catch up?” she asked through the pain.
Cord ruthlessly rubbed the circulation back into her hands. “The Composer went into a fit when I told her you had escaped. She put me in a smaller, faster vessel and made sure I caught up. Krissin and I watched you from our deck. She even sent a bolt of lightning to hit this ship—nice distraction, huh?”
“But how did you get onboard?” Senna’s voice sounded broken and disused.
He brought out another waterskin and held it up for her to drink. Lukewarm, rich broth filled her mouth. The taste brought her out of her stupor. She grasped the skin and chugged greedily.
He watched her, guilt at letting her slip away from him seeping through the link. “I swam.”
She choked, wasting the wonderful broth. She caught some in her hand and slurped it up without shame. “Through this?”
He nodded.
In these freezing, thrashing waters? Just to save her? That’s what must have caused her spike of apprehension earlier. She’d felt his fear when he jumped into the water. She dropped her gaze. “You shouldn’t have. It was too dangerous.”
He peeked around the mast and watched the Tartens. “We need to get out of here.”
Senna felt stronger than she had in days, but she still couldn’t seem to get warm. She looked past Cord, at the sea rolling as if a giant, invisible hand stirred the surface. “How? I don’t think I can swim in that. I don’t know how you did.”
He pulled a vial from his trouser pocket. “With this, we can make it back to the Caldashan ships.”
She recognized it immediately as Ioa, the potion that allowed a human to take the shape of a seal. She took the topaz-colored potion from him, the glass slick under her fingers, and studied the hundreds of soldiers dangling over the open waters like laundry on a line. They were almost halfway there. “I have to warn Haven.”
His arms on her shoulders, he pushed her back against the mast. “You can’t stop this. No one can. All you can do is help the survivors.”
“There won’t be any survivors. Grendi doesn’t care if her lands are restored or her ships sunk. My mother’s in there, Cord.”