Her sword is in her hand the instant she lands. She lunges at me. I’m so surprised that all I can do is throw my hands up in defense. My powers lash out desperately at her, seeking to wrap her in an illusion of pain. For an instant, it seems to work—Maeve shudders mid-attack, then drops to her hands and knees. Magiano whips out a blade of his own and slashes at her. But another blast of wind from Lucent forces him back. At the same time, Maeve glances up at me with clenched teeth, fighting to tell herself that the pain she’s experiencing isn’t real.

“You little coward,” she spits at me. Then she manages to come for me again. Her blade glitters.

Another cannon explodes near us, hitting our balira’s other wing, and it careens wildly out of control. Suddenly I feel nothing beneath me but rain and air, and all I can see is a blur of sea and sky. I reach out blindly to grab for Magiano’s hand, but I don’t know where he is.

I hit the ocean hard. The icy water knocks the breath out of me, and I open my mouth in a vain attempt to scream. My hands grapple for the surface. Cannonballs and arrows streak through the dark water, leaving trails of bubbles in their wake. The muted sound of explosions sends tremors through my bones. My lungs scream. This is the Underworld, and I will meet the gods on this dawn. The fear trapped inside me bursts free, and my powers veer wildly out of control. For an instant, I remember what it felt like to stand within an inch of the burning wood at the stake, an inch from death. I feel my power intensify and the whispers ignite in my mind.

Then I see the flicker of fire and light overhead, and turn my face in its direction. I kick out as hard as I can. The sky draws closer.

I break through the surface of the sea. The muted sounds around me turn deafening. I turn my face up to the sky to witness the terrifying illusion I’ve painted across the stormy night—a monstrous creature made of ocean and storm grows, covering nearly the entire expanse of sky, its eyes burning crimson, its fanged mouth so wide that it stretches from one end of its face all the way to the other. It lets out an earthshaking shriek. I feel the call from deep in my bones. On board the ships closest to me, Inquisitors and Beldish soldiers alike drop to their knees, shielding their faces in horror.

Suddenly, a curtain of wind pushes me up out of the water. Lucent? No, there is an arm around me, strong and sturdy. It’s Magiano, mimicking her. I see wood debris, then the massive hull of a ship. The queen’s ship. He sends us surging over the side of the ship. His arm wraps tightly around my waist.

We soar over the railing and land hard against the ship’s deck. The impact knocks me down. I roll a few times, then come to a stop. Immediately I try to struggle to my feet. I fight for air. Nearby, Magiano pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, then leaps to his feet. Soldiers and sailors are everywhere, manning the cannons and firing flaming arrows in the direction of Kenettran ships. My tether trembles. Enzo is already here, crouching on the ship’s deck. Michel is up in the rigging, and Raffaele stands at the bow, his eyes turned right on us.

Another balira soars over our heads. An instant later, Teren lands in a flurry of white armor and robes, his Inquisition cloak fanning all around him in a soaked circle. His eyes glint with the light of insanity, madder than I’ve ever seen.

A curtain of water splashes down on us, and I look up to see Maeve leap from her balira and onto the deck in a graceful crouch. Lucent follows behind her, carried on a curtain of wind.

“Surrender,” Teren shouts at Maeve. “And give your navy the order to retreat.” It is a strange sight, seeing the Inquisition standing with us. Rain drips down Teren’s chin. “Or this bay will be your grave, Your Majesty.”

Maeve laughs. She nods toward the ocean, where Beldish warships continue to push steadily forward. “Does this look like we should surrender, Master Santoro?” she shouts back, her voice raw and harsh. “We’ll sit on your throne by noon.” Then she nods at her youngest brother, and Tristan lunges forward. He moves with terrifying speed. One moment, he is rushing toward us with sword drawn—the next, he has reached Teren and slashes at him with the blade. I’m suddenly reminded of Dante, the Spider, my first kill, and the memory sends energy rushing through me. He will cut Teren in half.

But Teren wastes no time. He draws two blades from his belt, lowers his head, and smiles at Tristan. He blocks the prince’s attack—the sound of metal against metal rings out.

Beside me, Magiano whirls and launches into the air. His braids are swept behind his shoulders by gusts of wind, soaked through and glittering with rain and ocean, and in this instant, I do not see a mortal, but the angel of Joy, his wild ecstasy permeating everything around him, his power overwhelming. I can see him taking in a deep breath of air. He is surrounded by Elites. His power has reached its height.

He sends a blast of wind hurtling at Maeve. It knocks her clear off her feet. At the same time, he sends a column of fire racing toward her. Lucent manages to move in time, carrying Maeve on another curtain of wind out of danger—but only barely. Magiano rushes forward at them, daggers drawn, and hurls one at Maeve.

The dagger unwinds before it can ever reach her. It reappears in Michel’s hand.

He sends another dagger hurtling in Raffaele’s direction. This one nearly hits him straight in the throat. Enzo is the one who saves him this time—the prince is a blur of motion, leaping into the path and deflecting the dagger with his own sword. He shoots Magiano a deadly glare. At the same time, Raffaele hurls something in my direction that glints in the darkness. A glass vial. It shatters at my feet.