Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass #5)(94)

And why Aelin had insisted on getting inside Brannon’s temple. Not just to see the king, not just to reclaim the city for the Mycenians and Terrasen, but … for Lysandra to study the life-size, detailed carvings of those sea dragons. To become a living myth.

The two of them … Oh, those crafty, scheming devils. A queen of legends indeed.

“How … how…” The sentry turned toward the others, babbling among themselves. “It’s gonna defend us?”

Lysandra approached Ship-Breaker, still lowered under the surface, twirling and arcing, banking along rocks as if getting a feel for her new form. Getting a feel for it in whatever little time they had. “Yes,” Aedion breathed as terror flooded his veins. “Yes, she is.”





The water was warm, and quiet, and ageless.

And she was a scaled shadow that set the jewel-colored fish darting into their coral homes; she was a soaring menace through the water that made the white birds bobbing on the surface scatter into flight as they sensed her passing below.

Sunbeams streamed in pillars through the water, and Lysandra, in the small part of her that remained human, felt as if she were gliding through a temple of light and shadow.

But there—far out, carried on echoes of sound and vibration—she felt them.

Even the larger predators of these waters flitted off, taking to the open seas beyond the islands. Not even the promise of water stained red could keep them in the path of the two forces about to collide.

Ahead, the mighty links of Ship-Breaker sagged into the deep, like the colossal necklace of some goddess leaning down to drink the sea.

She had been reading about them—the long-forgotten and long-dead sea dragons—at Aelin’s behest. Because her friend had known that strong-arming Rolfe with the Mycenians would only get them so far, but if they were to wield the power of myth instead … its people might rally around it. And with a home to finally offer them, among these islands and in Terrasen…

Lysandra had studied the carvings of the sea dragons at the temple, once Aelin had burned away the dirt on them. Her magic had filled in gaps the carvings didn’t show. Like the nostrils that picked apart each scent on the current, the ears that unraveled varying layers of sound.

Lysandra swept for the reef just beyond the parted lips of the island. She’d have to retract the wings, but here … here she would make her stand.

Here she would have to unleash every wild instinct, yielding the part of her that felt and cared.

These beasts, however they were made, were only that: beasts. Animals.

They would not fight with morals and codes. They would fight to the death, and fight for survival. There would be no mercy, no compassion.

She would have to fight as they did. She had done so before—had turned feral not just that day the glass castle had shattered, but the night she’d been captured and those men had tried to take Evangeline. This would be no different.

Lysandra dug her bone-shredding, curved talons into the reef shelf to hold her position against the current’s nudging, and peered into the silent blue stretching endlessly ahead.

So she began her death vigil.





35


Perched on the rail of the Sea Dragon, gripping the rope ladder flowing from the looming mast, Aelin savored the cooling spindrift that sprayed her face as the ship plowed through the waves. Once the ship was clear of the others, Rowan had let his winds fill its sails, setting the Sea Dragon flying toward the mammoth chain.

It was hard not to look back as they passed over the submerged chain … and then Ship-Breaker began to rise from the water.

Sealing them out of the bay—where Rolfe’s other ships would wait safely behind the chain’s line—to guard the town now silently watching them.

If all went well, they would only need this boat, she’d told Rolfe.

And if it went badly, then his ships wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

Tightly grasping the rope, Aelin leaned out, the vibrant blue and white below passing in a swift blur. Not too fast, she’d told Rowan. Don’t waste your strength—you barely slept last night.

He’d just leaned in to nip at her ear before sliding onto Gavriel’s bench to concentrate.

He was still there, his power letting the men cease their rowing and prepare for what swept toward them. Aelin again looked ahead—toward those black sails blotting the horizon.

The Wyrdkey at her chest murmured in response.

She could feel them—her magic could taste their corruption on the wind. No sign of Lysandra, but she was out there.

The sun was blinding on the waves as Rowan’s magic slowed, bringing them into a steady glide toward the two peaks of the island that curved toward each other.

It was time.

Aelin swung off the railing, boots thudding on the soaked wood of the deck. So many eyes turned to her, to the chains spread across the main deck.

Rolfe stalked toward her, descending from the raised quarterdeck, where he’d been manning the wheel himself.

She picked up a heavy iron chain, wondering who it’d previously held. Rowan rose to his feet in a steady, graceful movement. He reached her when Rolfe did.

The captain demanded, “What now?”

Aelin jerked her chin toward the ships near enough to make out figures crammed onto the various decks. Many, many figures. “We draw them in as close as we can. When you can see the whites of their eyes, you shout at us.”