Island of Fire

Alex looked over at Samheed, who knelt on the deck on the other side of the chair. His wild eyes were locked on Lani, and he clenched his fists. Finally he reached out his hand and brushed it tenderly over Lani’s bowed head.

Alex checked on Henry, who was crying in silence, and put an arm around the boy. Henry stiffened, then shrugged it off, shaking his head, and Alex nodded. “Sorry,” he whispered to the boy.

When Lani finally lifted her head, Alex was there. But she turned to Samheed, raising her arms like a child. He leaped to his feet and lifted her up to him, careful not to hurt her injured leg. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. Samheed held her close, eyes closed, saying things only she could hear.

“Take me home,” she sobbed. “Take me home.”

Samheed whispered to her, holding her tightly. Slowly he moved away from the others, giving her privacy to grieve.

Alex watched them for a long moment as the world wavered around him in a haze of pain, and then he dropped his gaze, resting his head in his hand. Beyond the pain, he felt almost like he’d lost something, or been defeated, but that wasn’t the right word or the right feeling to be having at a time like this. There was something in that one impulse—Lani turning to Samheed for comfort instead of him—that said more than anything else could have. That never would have happened before. Those two had always clashed, but there was something there now. Something strong. And even though Alex’s feelings for Lani had changed, he couldn’t help but curl inward a bit to protect the new emptiness he felt inside.

When he looked up again, he saw that Henry had silently followed his sister, certainly wanting to be near her. She pulled him in, needing him as much as he needed her.

After a minute, Alex took a few shallow breaths and leaned forward to use his hands, pushing his aching body to his feet. Hunched over, he took another searing breath and then straightened, his legs shaking. He reached for the back of the chair to steady himself, missing it on the first try but catching it with his fingertips on the second. He kept his head down, concentrating as a wave of black crossed in front of his eyes. He held himself there, willing his eyes to clear, and then he broke out in a cold sweat. His stomach twisted and he staggered to the railing once more.

Simber looked over his shoulder at his boy. His eyes flashed and he growled low and long, a mourning song in his throat.

A Sleepless Night

for the High Priest

Aaron paced the stony, lifeless halls of the palace. He’d tried to sleep but tossed and turned even on the comfortable palace bed. He had a lot to worry about. Artimé was back, or so he assumed based on Haluki’s escape and Alex’s subsequent rescue of that

woman from the Haluki house through that weird glass tube, which had reappeared in the closet. Aaron had fired Bethesda and Liam on the spot, sending them to the Ancients Sector.

But he was surprised that he didn’t get much joy from that. His father had ruined it for him, he supposed. Aaron snarled when he thought about his parents. At least he’d have their loyalty. That was something, he supposed, when he seemed to be losing Restorers faster than he was gaining slaves—er, Unwanteds, that is.

His mind turned to Gondoleery Rattrapp, and he willingly admitted that she was his biggest worry right now, for the sheer reason that he did not know what she was up to, and she wouldn’t talk to him. Add to that the strange things Secretary had seen her doing through her window, and it was all a bit frightening. He didn’t need another magical world to fight against. One was enough; that was sure.

Aaron pulled open the giant door to the driveway, startling the two sleeping guards posted there. “At least pretend like you’re protecting me,” Aaron said. He waved them off and strode to his new doorway to the sea. There was no breeze tonight, which was rather unsettling now that he’d gotten used to it.

He stared out over the water as the moon went behind a stray cloud, leaving the night as dark as it had ever been, excluding the lights of the palace behind him, of course. Just as he turned to go back inside, something caught his eye. It was light, moving across the water not far offshore. His eyes widened and he hastened back behind the wall, peering out. “What in Quill?” he whispered.

As he stared, he began to make out an outline made up of dots of light, and he could hear people talking, though the sounds were too muffled to understand what they were saying. It was a—a palace on the water, with strange flags pointing to the sky. It was nothing like that white boat that had belonged to the old mage. This thing was enormous. He stared as it passed, wondering if it used some sort of jalopy oil and tires that reached to the bottom of the sea to make it move.

He had never seen anything like it. As it passed out of his vision, he crept out through the doorway once more to watch it, fascinated. “Where did it come from?” he wondered. “And where is it going?”

And then his heart was stricken with fear. Could it be an enemy? One of the enemies Justine had warned about? He clutched the placket of his shirt. How could he have doubted her? There must be other lands, for that vessel obviously didn’t come from Quill, and he’d never seen it or heard about it in Artimé. He ran out farther, down the hill toward the water, watching it start to turn toward the island.

Blood pounded in his ears. His brain told him to run, to alert the Quillitary, but his arms and legs wouldn’t obey. He could only watch in horror as it moved closer to the shore somewhere beyond the Quillitary yard on the desolate side of the island. “What if they land?” he whispered.