Seas, thy troubles to cease,
Calm thyself and return to peace.
Winds rest, for weary ye be.
Gently, gently blow for me.
She listened for the music to calm, for something to change. After a half dozen repetitions, something did. She could hear herself over the gale. Blinking, she looked up at the sky. It was still raining, but the winds had slowed. The seas were troubled, but not raging.
“Keep singing, Senna,” Joshen said. “That’s it.”
Trembling, she staggered to her feet. As she sang, the seas settled like the scruff on a dog’s neck. Soon, sharp sunlight warmed her face. A rainbow glowed before them like an archway to safety. Senna looked back towards Nefalie, where the storm still raged.
Joshen inspected her. “Are you all right?”
Slowly, she lifted her hands. They almost looked translucent, but she thought it was just the cold. “I think so. You?”
Joshen brushed water from his face. His eyes were red from the salt. “Well, I’m not dead, which is better than I expected.”
“Master Carver, see to the ship.” Leaving the wheel in the care of his second, Parknel approached them, his pipe still clenched between his teeth. He tipped it over, and watery ashes spilled out. He shook it at Senna. “You and I, we have business to discuss.”
He turned his back on her and strode down the steps. She cast a nervous glance at Joshen before following. She pulled her heavy hair over her shoulder and wrung water from it, then shook droplets from her hands. Parknel opened his door and squared himself on the other side of his desk, his hands behind his back.
Everything that could be bolted down was, but there were still books, maps, and linens scattered across the floor. Shivering, Senna stepped carefully over them. Joshen came in behind her and stood to her right. Reden closed the door and stepped up to her left, his face pale.
The steady patter of dripping was everywhere. Senna was getting Parknel’s floor wet, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
“Do you know what that was, Senna?” Parknel asked softly.
Joshen angled himself a step in front of her. “A storm.”
Parknel’s gaze never left Senna’s face. “Do you know?”
Senna didn’t need Joshen’s protection. Not right now. She stepped up beside him. “It was a hurricane.”
Parknel leaned forward, his hands splayed across his desk. “I was a boy during the Second Witch Wars. Two groups of Witches were trying to destroy each other, and we were caught in the middle. The ship sank. Most of the crew was lost, including my father. Only myself and a handful of others survived.” He paused. “So tell me, Senna, why did the Heads send a hurricane after you? Why do they want you dead?”
Dead? Senna waited for the devastation to hit, but she only felt a strange sort of numbness, like the time she sang until she lost her voice.
Reden answered, “I don’t think they counted on her being able to set sail that quickly. They only meant to trap her in Corrieth.”
Parknel’s gaze swung to Reden. “Don’t take me for a fool, Leader. That storm was meant to kill someone. I almost lost the ship. My entire crew. Everything. You had better have a good reason for risking my men like that.”
Joshen’s hand tightened on Senna’s shoulder. “You didn’t hesitate when you helped us before.”
Parknel sank into the chair behind his desk. “Before, the world was at stake and Senna was our only hope.” He steepled his hands and looked at Reden. “You want my help, then I need to know what I’m getting myself into.”
Reden looked at the captain for several long seconds before responding. “There’s a traitor on the island. I believe it’s one of the Heads. My guess is they somehow manipulated the Circle into sending the hurricane instead of just a storm. Even if they were that desperate to stop Senna, they wouldn’t risk damaging Corrieth. They rely too much on trade with the city, and they need the people’s goodwill. Even more so after the earth tremor.”
Parknel seemed to collapse in on himself. He gestured to the chairs bolted to the floor. “You’d better tell me what this is really about.”
Senna remained upright—she didn’t want to sit in her own puddle. “The Witches believe they are untouchable on Haven. They’re wrong.” She took a deep breath and told Parknel the truth. All of it, even about seeking out Espen.
He scratched at his beard. “Why do you think Espen would reveal any secrets to you?”
“I promised to cut her down.”
Parknel’s gaze held steady. “And will you?”
“I don’t know,” Senna said quietly. Killing someone who threatened your life was one thing. Killing someone in the name of justice or mercy was another.