Fynn sank against the helm, his knees buckling underneath him. He could not contend with the sea, he could not save his crew. He was no master of the tide.
They would die here, that wave would drown them. There would be nothing left for even the bounty hunters to find.
“Sol, no!”
Fynn nearly hung himself on the wheel. He turned so sharply that his boots slid through seafoam, and he careened between the spokes of the helm. Sol Rosebone was standing on his deck, her curling hair swept back into a messy braid. She’d shoved Riel aside, the Quartermaster still panting as if they had both put up a fight, and Sol had bested her in the end.
The Princess looked at Fynn, her hazel eyes boring into his own even with the distance between them. He shook his head, horror lancing up the length of his spine. “Sol,” he rasped, but he knew that she could not hear him, knew the wind and rain and roiling waves had smothered his voice into silence.
Sol blinked, her focus shifting to the towering wall hurtling for the Refuge. Fynn knew what she would do before she raised her hands, before she yielded a step back and flung out her Magic in a devastating wave of her own. He felt it from the quarterdeck, the swell of power that blasted from Sol into the Emerald.
“Fynn, stop her!” Amael screamed, hacking at the rope he’d twined around his wrist with a knife. “She doesn’t have the power to stop it! She’ll get herself killed!”
But the Captain could not move, could not tear himself away from the helm. His own Magic rooted him to the planks, trapping him in a suffocating vice where he could not breathe despite gasping air into his lungs.
Sol grunted, yielding another step as she kept her hands held in front of her. She was trembling, either from the freezing rain or the devastating strain of her Magic, the Captain couldn’t be certain. Her eyes fluttered, and it wouldn’t be long until her water dragged her away.
“Please,” Fynn whispered, to Sol, to Thymis, to any of the Gods who were listening. “Stop.”
And stop it did, indeed.
Sol screamed through gritted teeth, and that was blood dripping from her nose. She thrust out her hands until her arms would stretch no further.
Amael severed through the rope around his wrist and dropped to both knees against the mast. His eyes opened wide, his mouth falling slack as if unhinged, and he pointed a shaking finger beyond the stern of the ship.
The Captain reeled, mindful of the seafoam lest he kiss the planks at his feet, and again the air whooshed from his lungs. The tidal wave roaring for the Refuge, looming over the masts and reaching skyward like wrathful hands seeking vengeance…
It stopped.
Soaring above the quarterdeck, the chaos stood still; should it fall, it would crash over the ship and wash it away to the deepest depths of the sea. But it lingered, foam trickling from curling rivulets of saltwater.
If only the Captain dared, and Sol had grown fond of daring him, he could stretch out his hand and dip his fingers into the sea.
She had done this—the Princess of Sonamire had stilled the force of nature, had stilled the Emerald and held the weight of its current. Fynn had never seen anything like it, and Sol Rosebone had stilled him, too.
A sharp cry escaped from her, and Sol thrust out her hands one more time. The wave reared up higher, higher, higher until the crest of the wave toppled back the way it came, furling away from the Refuge. It thundered back down into the sea, and the ship did not move in its wake, did not move even an inch as the force of the flood dug deep, deep below the ocean’s surface and splitting the Emerald in two. Fynn glimpsed the coral-obscured seabed.
Sol’s Magic finally gave out, or she succumbed to such power in her veins, to Wielding such devastating strength. She collapsed to the deck as the Emerald settled beneath them.
A dull roar filled the Captain’s ears.
Sol Rosebone had done what he could not and have saved his ship and crew.
CHAPTER THIRTY
FYNN
He took the steps in twos and threes, slid through seafoam until there was nothing left but air and consciousness separating Fynn from Sol. The Captain dropped to his knees, bending over the Princess and touching his hand to her cheek. He wiped the blood from her face, the consequence of Sol’s hidden Magic, his trembling fingers stained red.
“Sol,” he whispered, finding solace in the warm breath that brushed against his palm. Fynn gently tapped her cheek, her shoulder, reached for her hand and squeezed. The Princess did not stir, her eyes did not so much as flutter. A whimper cracked out of Fynn, his frenzied heart lodged in the back of his throat. “Sol.”
Luca joined him on the deck, kneeling near Sol’s head and cursing quietly beneath his breath. Saltwater gathered in his palms, and Luca pressed his fingers to Sol’s temples. Fynn held his breath as Luca’s brow creased, as his mouth tipped with a frown. “She’s fine.”
Fynn blinked at him. “Fine?” he repeated. “She’s unconscious.”
Luca flinched at the break in his Captain’s voice. “Unconscious because she exerted herself,” he provided. “Because she—”
“Did what she shouldn’t have done.”
Riel hovered behind Luca with her arms crossed, concern dimming her eyes despite her frigid tone. “Shouldn’t have been able to do,” she revised. “She stopped a wave that would have flipped this ship. She stopped the storm.”
Indeed, the sea had gone silent, still, and so had the skies above. Only thunder rumbled in the distance.
Fynn drew a ragged breath. “I know.”
Luca released his Magic before pushing up his spectacles. Water splashed over the planks. “I saw it,” he said quietly. “From the stairwell. I tried to stop her when she came up, but she heard Riel yell for you. She thought you were in trouble.”
“I was,” Fynn said numbly. “We all were.”
What she’d done, the way she had faced the Emerald… Fynn could not fathom it. He could not wrap his mind around the power she’d exuded just to save them.
“Your Princess has been holding out on us,” Riel sniped. Fynn lifted his head and glared at her, at the nerve and lack of gratitude from his Quartermaster. “Seriously, did you not see what she did? I’ve never seen a Water-Wielder that powerful, Fynn. Or any Wielder for that matter. If she could do that this whole time—”
“She saved your life,” Fynn snapped at her, then dragged a hand through his hair. “Who gives a damn if she was leashing her Magic.”
“I do,” Riel said. “And so should you. I’m tired of all these secrets, especially when it comes to her Majesty. I thought we were past this.”
It was Amael who spoke before Fynn could come to Sol’s defense, the boatswain shuffling behind him. “I don’t think she knew that she had this kind of strength.” Amael rubbed his jaw as if to relieve some tension that was building there. “Her biggest threat was Thane, not her Magic. She had no reason to keep it hidden.”
Riel snorted. “So you think she rallied that much power because our beloved Captain was in danger?”
Amael leveled a look at her. “Yes.”
Luca hummed his agreement.
Fynn pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. He could not do this, could not deal with Riel while Sol was unconscious between them. “Think what you want,” he said, allowing his frustration to dwindle. Riel could draw whatever such conclusions she desired, and they could have it out later when the Princess was back on her feet. “I’m taking her to my cabin to rest.”