Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass #5)(98)

Then they were gone again, into that dark, hollow, yet squeezing space. Only a handful of heartbeats passed before the water and sky returned.

Fenrys grunted, arm tightening around her as he swam with the other toward the shore, shoving aside debris. His breathing was a wet rasp now. Whatever that magic was, it was spent.

But Rowan—where was Rowan—

She made a sound that might have been his name, might have been a sob.

Fenrys panted, “He’s on the reef—he’s fine.”

She didn’t believe him. Thrashing against the Fae warrior’s arm until he released her, she slid into the cold open water and twisted toward where Fenrys had been headed. Another small sound cracked from her as she beheld Rowan standing knee-deep in water atop the reef. His arm was already outstretched, even though thirty yards still separated them.

Fine. Unscathed. Alive. And an equally soaked Gavriel stood beside him, facing—

Oh, gods, oh, gods.

Blood stained the water. There were bodies everywhere. And Morath’s fleet…

Most of it was gone. Nothing more than black wood splintered across the archipelago and burning bits of canvas and rope. But three ships remained.

Three ships now converging on the ruins of the Sea Dragon as it took on water, looming like thunderclouds—

“You have to swim,” Fenrys growled beside her, his sodden golden hair plastered to his head. “Right now. As fast as you can.”

She whipped her head toward him, blinking away burning seawater.

“Swim now,” Fenrys snapped, canines flashing, and she didn’t let herself consider what was prowling beneath them as he grabbed her collar again and practically threw her ahead of him.

Aelin didn’t wait. She focused on Rowan’s outstretched hand as she swam, his face so carefully calm—the commander on a battlefield. Her magic was barren, her magic was a wasteland, and his … She had stolen his power from him—

Think of that later. Aelin shoved through and ducked under larger bits of debris, past…

Past men. Rolfe’s men. Dead in the water. Was the captain among them somewhere?

She’d likely killed her first and only human ally in this war—and her only direct path to that Lock. And if news of the former spread—

“Faster!” Fenrys barked.

Rowan sheathed his sword, his knees bent—

Then he was swimming to her, fast and smooth, cutting between and beneath the waves, the water seeming to part for him. She wanted to growl she could make it herself, but—

He reached her, saying nothing before he slipped behind her. Guarding with Fenrys.

And what could he do in the water with no magic, against a gaping maw of a sea-wyvern?

She ignored the crushing tightness in her chest and hurtled for the reef, Gavriel now waiting where Rowan had been. Beneath her, the shelf of the coral at last spread, and she nearly sobbed, her muscles trembling as Gavriel crouched so she could reach his outstretched hand.

The Lion easily hauled her out of the water. Her knees buckled as her boots steadied on the uneven coral heads, but Gavriel kept his grip on her, subtly letting her lean against him. Rowan and Fenrys were out a heartbeat later, and the prince instantly was there, hands on her face, slicking back her soaked hair, scanning her eyes.

“I’m fine,” she rasped, her voice hoarse. From the magic or the goddess or the salt water she’d swallowed. “I’m me.”

That was good enough for Rowan, who faced the three ships now bearing down on them.

On her other side, Fenrys had doubled over, hands on his knees as he panted. He lifted his head at her gaze, hair dripping, but said to Rowan, “I’m out—we’ll have to either wait for it to replenish or swim to shore.”

Rowan gave him a sharp nod that Aelin interpreted as understanding and thanks, and she glanced behind them. The reef seemed to be an extension of the black rocky shore far behind, but with the tide out, they’d indeed have to swim in spots. Have to risk what was beneath the water…

Beneath the water. With Lysandra.

There was no sign of wyvern or dragon.

Aelin didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.





Aelin and the Fae males had made it to the reef and now stood knee-deep in water atop it.

Whatever had happened … it had gone horribly wrong. So wrong that Lysandra could have sworn the feral, wild presence who had never once forgotten her had ducked into her long shadow as the world above exploded.

She’d tumbled off the coral, the current cleaving and eddying. Wood and rope and canvas rained onto the surface, some plunging deep. Then bodies and arms and legs.

But—there were the captain and his first mate thrashing against the flotsam that tangled them, trying to drag them down to the sandy floor.

Shaking off her shock, Lysandra swept for them both.

Rolfe and his man froze at her approach, reaching for weapons at their sides beneath the waves. But she ripped away the debris surely drowning them, then let herself go still—let them grab on to her. She didn’t have much time…

Rolfe and his first mate latched on to her legs, clinging like barnacles as she propelled them through the water—past the now-scorched ruin. The work of a minute had her depositing them onto a rocky shelf, and she emerged only long enough to gulp down a breath before diving.

There were more men struggling in the water. She aimed for them, dodging debris, until—