The place he’d gone—she couldn’t reach it through the link. Bending down, she pressed a kiss to his forehead, and this time, she thought only of him. When she pulled away, the link between them was gone.
Thunder boomed. A flash blinded her, but she didn’t blink.
Collum started beside her. “By the Creators, that was close.”
Senna cradled Cord in her arms. He had betrayed her. He had saved her. In his own way, he had loved her. How could she leave him? But the Guardians couldn’t keep the Tartens back forever. There had to be less than two hundred of them—no match for Tarten’s thousands.
If the Witches’ songs were added to the Guardians’ guns, they might be able to slow them long enough to move the island. Senna couldn’t help Cord, not anymore. But she could still help her Witches.
She looked up at Collum. “You won’t leave him alone?”
Collum shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”
Gently, she laid Cord’s head down. “Goodbye, my friend. I hope to see you again someday.”
His eyes averted, Collum held out his cloak.
She remembered her sopping wet, nearly transparent shift. Embarrassment seemed such a small thing compared to men dying. “No. Cover Cord with it.”
Collum didn’t move. “I’ll find a blanket.”
When she didn’t take it, he took a deep breath. “He doesn’t need it, Senna. Not anymore. You’re freezing.”
Grudgingly, she took the cloak, shivering at the lingering warmth. “You’re not going to shoot me?” She was banned from Haven after all, and he had his orders.
He pursed his lips. “I trust you.”
She almost wished he didn’t. Men who trusted her ended up dead. “You’ll keep him safe?” It was a futile question. Nothing could ever hurt Cord again. But she had to ask.
Collum nodded. “I will.”
Forcing herself not to look back, Senna left the smoky light of Velveten for the murky light of the storm. Lifting the bottom of her cloak, she ducked her head against the onslaught of rain and ran through the island. She heard all the Witches, their song so well matched it sounded like a single voice. The choir stopped and Senna recognized Chavis’ forceful voice as she released the combined power of their songs.
Heat and light and power,
Strike the ships beyond our bower.
Lightning bolts to turn aside,
Waters roll back the enemy tide.
Senna reached the Ring of Power as Chavis finished the song. Light and sound exploded around her, throwing her to the ground and knocking the air from her lungs. Unable to draw breath, she watched as arcs of electricity shot across the barrier. They diminished before stopping altogether.
In a handful of heartbeats, dozens more lightning bolts streaked across the sky and shot beyond the cliffs. Some were intercepted and arched harmlessly across the clouds. Others seemed to hit their marks. Thunder shook the world.
As Senna struggled to her feet, Chavis was already singing another song.
A counter song rose from beyond the cliffs.
Chavis paused to draw breath, and Senna shouted into the expectant silence, “The Tartens are on the island!” Over two hundred pairs of eyes riveted on her. A few days ago that much attention would have paralyzed her. But shyness seemed another silly thing in the face of men dying. “We have to move the island now.”
Stunned silence followed her pronouncement. Drenelle waved her hand, her rings flashing. “Pah! The Tartens are just men. It’s the Witches we have to fear.”
Dozens of women erupted into speech at once.
“How did she get on the island?”
“What makes you think you have the right—”
“It’s a lie!”
Above the cacophony, Senna’s mother cried out, “Brusenna?”
Their gazes locked for a moment, long enough for Senna to see the relief and regret on her mother’s face.
“Silence!” Coyel shouted.
Drenelle said, “We’ve been over this. All we have to do is sit tight while they beat their fists bloody against our walls.”
“Tarten soldiers have nearly reached the cliffs—too many for our Guardians to hold off. You have to move the island.”
Chavis stroked the butt of the pistol strapped to her chest. “That’s impossible.”
As if to punctuate Senna’s words, musket fire bloomed along the cliffs. All the Witches’ minds were linked, so they moved as one to turn and see the battle illuminated by spills of lightning.
Prenny gaped at Senna. “By the Creators, she’s right.”
Like snake eyes, the gems on Drenelle’s fingers flashed with a lightning strike. “It’s a moot point. Our song isn’t strong enough to move the island. Not anymore.”