Endril knocked aside the peasant’s spear and drove his flaming sword into the man’s armpit with two quick motions. The man simply grunted, and Endril fanned the flames inside of him. He then withdrew the sword, leaving the now dead man’s blood to boil on the deck. For the first time in several minutes, no enemy stood directly before him.

 

The deck fighting had rapidly degenerated to a wild pandemonium. Groups that had come over the fallen bridges had pushed far into the sides of those that had gotten stuck against the lines, and by the back stairway more Minuans had come up to surround them. Spells whizzed over the decks as often as speartips and arrows, though there was no rhyme or reason towards their aiming. Some nobles gathered their men around them and tried to hold lines, while others had given themselves to the bloodlust and fought personally with great enchanted swords and spears. A dull whistling wind rode through the air, and lightning cracked in the distance.

 

This is nothing at all like a normal battle. Endril grumbled to himself. There’s no flanking or cliffs or colg flights on a ship.

 

Randin had spoken of bringing the fleet together to act as a huge battlefield, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that such a plan wouldn’t work. Not that it hadn’t been obvious before, of course. Endril had suspicions that such a play would just invite the Ostipers to simply ram or focus their fire on the lot of them while they stuck together or perhaps just degenerate the battle into as confusing a mess as this was, but he had not been able to think of a better strategy in the moment. The centuries of naval doctrine had failed them, and they were in shadowy waters.

 

The prince idly countered another assassin’s spell as he glared over the ship. Shouting, screams, and the sound of clanging metal filled the air, but he ignored them. His guard still grappled with foes to the left and right, but he felt like he was missing something important in the chaos. 

 

But how had the ship shields gone unnoticed? Saphry was right, this was too huge of a difference for it to slip underneath, and these ships had been created years ago. Endril frowned. Have we really had peace for that long? A peace I’ve now broken?

 

The thought bothered Endril, and he lingered at the foot of the command deck for a second before he realised why.

 

“Saphry?”

 

He wheeled his head to and fro, looking for her long hair and finding that there was no sign of her. Smoke and glinting steel obscured the deck, and he could not hear her over the din of the dying. His sword felt heavy in hand, and a dreadful thought took over his mind.

 

What a time to send the drake away. Endril thought. But Amelia had to be properly warned…

 

“Saphry!” He shouted through cupped hands. “Saphry!”

 

There was no response, so he dashed over to the nearest of his guard and the Ostiper he fought. He twirled his sword around in an arc as he approached, and there was a sound like breaking glass as his sword’s magic overwhelmed the shield and clove deep into the man’s neck with a great burst of fire.

 

The guard stared wide-eyed at the prince’s sword as his foe fell to the ground in a gurgling pool.

 

“Finish this up, and quickly.” Endril demanded. “Take your men to the farthest bridge, see if you can find Miss Astrian. Alive, preferably.”

 

If he was honest, it would not surprise him to hear that Saphry had not made it. Distressing, yes, but not surprising. He knew that she hadn’t been ready for a fight like this, not in any way that mattered.

 

“My lord, the bridge… they’ll catch up.”

 

The prince glanced towards the melee again, seeing that the closest bridge belched yet more men onto their ship. Some Minuans had gotten back around to stop them from just charging over and into the flank of the other defenders, thank the Star, but they didn’t seem to be having a good time of it. Worse, he could see that they had lost speed since the boarding had begun and the rest of the Ostipers were quickly gaining on them.

 

“I will take care of that. Find Saphry.” Endril stepped towards his struggling crew before faltering. “Ah, and have you seen Admiral Randin?”

 

The soldier grimaced and jerked his thumb behind him. Endril looked back to find the admiral slumped against the railing with two grey-feathered arrows in his throat.

 

Endril sucked in a breath.

 

Well, what in the abyss now? Should we continue with his plan? Or try something else? I didn’t expect to be put in command of a fleet so quickly…

 

He shook his head.

 

“We’ll worry about that later, take the guard and find Saphry! I’ll help the bridges! Go!”

 

“But…” The soldier looked at his sword again and quickly saluted. “Yes, my lord!”

 

He dashed off with the others, taking them off into the chaos. Endril watched him go, and then he knit his brow at the breaching Ostipers ahead. Somehow, he managed to push down his worry and feel calm as he jogged over to join the line, but it was only surface deep. It was a difficult thing to control one’s passions in the middle of battle, and he didn’t intend to lose himself here, not again. He wasn’t proud of what had happened outside Minua, nor what he had become during the massacre in the capital.

 

Now if only that damn girl didn’t have to make everything so pitching difficult. Endril thought.

…

The shouting and combat seemed far away in the signalling room of the Ostiper ship, muffled and wobbly like the voices from some distant world.

 

Blue and white lights played in colourful aquatic patterns on the walls, and brave schools of furred fish swam frantically just outside, the light of the lamps reflecting off their scales. I could see the sandy floor of the lake just a dozen metres below, and it swarmed with rocks and greyish plants. If I looked past the rudder just above the window, I could see the roof of the sky was distorted through our wake overhead, though the fragments of ice and snow that floated on top appeared to me as clouds and islands. We were in a fantastic aquarium under the waves, far from the fighting up above.

 

My limbs ached in numb pain as I ripped my eyes away from the strange fish and watched the signal mage, and he seemed uncomfortable to have me there. The room was only just big enough for us and some leg room, and he was almost touching me as he watched the window. They had taken my weapons and tools, but had left my coat and cloak because of the cold that permeated under the deck. Apparently it was still freezing down here, and they didn’t have any blankets on hand.

 

Nor a guard room, in fact. After taking me aboard and lifting my supplies, they had just bound my hands and feet with cloth and locked me in the only room with a functioning door. I still could not make any noise due to the Ligan spell, but the pain had mostly left me. They must’ve thought that I’d be harmless enough in this state to not need a dedicated guard. Or maybe they just disliked this signal mage. I know I did.

 

Still, it was pretty [fucking] humiliating to be down in this situation again. A real gut punch, in multiple ways. Like, what was this, the third time? The fourth? Was anyone counting at this point? I almost would have rathered they kill me so I wouldn’t have to get rescued again. Or at least I hoped it would happen again. That much was still up in the air, as was the fate of the rest of our fleet. 

 

The signal mage glanced at me again.

 

“Could you stop that?”

 

I tilted my head and pretended to think about it for a second before shaking my hands to flip him off more violently.

 

“This is why I don’t chase Summarkan girls.” He muttered. “You’re all so pitching rude.”

 

I nodded in agreement.

 

Ligan was probably the worst spell a thaumaturge could be put under in battle, as it completely blocked every way I knew of casting a spell. There were stories of mages having the ability to cast without speaking, of course, but there had never amounted to more than that, and I had never read about a credible theory that didn’t sound like complete fiction. As such, I was practically a neutered dog while under its effects, especially while bound and in such a small space. 

 

There were countermeasures, of course. Ligan was blocked by even the basic shield mask, and it required a mage to keep some semblance of focus on it to keep it up. Those practically made sure that it only saw use after one side had already been defeated, or if one side was overwhelmingly better than the other. But those couldn’t help me now. The soldier who had cast it was somewhere else in the ship, and the remains of my shield mask had been taken from me. That left only an impossible physical solution or help from outside.

 

Where had Gideon gone, anyway? He should’ve been able to message me at any point in this battle, so why was he staying silent? It wasn’t like we had disengaged from the ship either, so we were definitely in range. Had he just forgotten somehow? Or had he…

 

I shook my head. Gideon wouldn’t die on me like that. He was a goddamn dragon, after all, and faster than spellwork to boot. And more than that, a gut feeling told me that I would just know somehow if he was gone. Whenever that was a part of the bond between dragon and man or purely a coping mechanism on my part I didn’t know, but it felt right.

 

But if that wasn’t the case, where was he?

 

Another flash of light strafed the ship, and the signal mage responded by flipping his own lantern open. It shot forth a solid beam of light as he clicked it open and shut, and I noticed that he was whispering something into it as he did so. Faint embers floating off his skin, barely visible even in the darkness left afterwards.

 

Despite the situation, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the system. It looked like morse code to me, but the fact that they did it underwater instead of above was a feat in and of itself. The idea of having a window like this under the water in a pre-industrial society and not having constant ship sinkings was a testament to their shipbuilding skills that I wouldn’t have expected from a people who lived in a frozen mountain plateau. Granted, there was a giant lake up here, but it still seemed somewhat off-brand for their level of material science.

 

I watched him as he did the next signal back, seemingly without instruction from above. Again, the embers floated off of him, evaporating as they met the invisible magic-cancelling shield just an inch from his skin.

 

An idea came to me, and I quickly concealed a smile.

 

The shield masks blocked all magic from getting inside, right? Embers, firebolts, freezing spells… it seemingly held back most everything that was made of magical energy. And what was Ligan but a magical spell? Surely it needed some kind of magical connection to the mage using it to work, right? So wouldn’t it be interrupted if I got inside the bounds of a mask? Then I could snap my bounds and get out of here. 

 

The ship shook suddenly, and the shouting got louder overhead. Outside the window, I could see the rudder begin to move, and I felt the ship turn.

 

“They must’ve been pushed off.” The signal mage said to himself, and then to me: “Looks like your traitor friends are as good at slaughter as they are at assassination.”

 

I flipped him off again.

 

“Yes, yes, keep that spirit for the baron.” He turned back to the lamp and flashed the light again. “Not everyone is as well-mannered as I am.”

 

You know, it was kind of impossible to banter when you couldn’t speak, wasn’t it? That was probably the worst part of all of this.

 

But if we were already leaving, I didn’t have time to escape. Though perhaps the chances of me fighting off the ship had already been as low as possible. But what now?

 

I glanced out the window again, and the rudder caught my eye. It was connected to the boat through a hole just above the water line, but the actual paddle part was fairly close to the roof of the signalling office. I could probably reach it with a freezing spell if I put enough rin into it. And if I did that as we turned, I could lock us into a circle. And this ship had a ram, right? If I timed it right, I might even be able to do a ton of damage.

 

There was a knock on the door, and a man popped his head in. He briefly glanced at me in confusion before turning to the mage.

 

“Captain says we’re-”

 

“Running away, yes. I’ve already notified the fleet of that. Did we get him?”

 

The man in the door sighed.

 

“Bastard was stronger than we thought. Don’t know how he knew it, but Lord Nann’s right. There’s no way he isn’t a pitching-”

 

“So I’ll tell them we failed then.” The signal mage eyed me. “I suppose we’ll leave you as a surprise.”

 

“We didn’t lose, we killed just as many of them, if not more.” The messenger protested. “Pretty sure we got their admiral too. Damn fools kept him on the same ship.”

 

“But not the person we needed.” The mage said. “Message received. Ah, and tell Sir Bennet the fleet’s spotted the Summarkan slipping his moors. We should be done before they arrive, but it doesn’t hurt to be aware.”

 

The messenger nodded and closed the door behind him, but all I could think about was what he had just said.

 

Gelarin was coming out! Surely that would push the tides in our favour, right? Gelarin was a Summarkan, a born naval commander. And he had experience, too, so we would…

 

I frowned.

 

Wait, Gelarin had experience. He’d fought and raided this very fleet several times by now. But that would mean he had knowledge of the strength of their ship’s shields. 

 

Why hadn’t the soldier he sent told us? He had spoken of the raids and the battle when he’d first gotten to Minua, but he’d never mentioned anything about the ships being nigh on invincible. Wasn’t that an important detail to omit? It was almost like he hadn’t wanted us to know.

 

But why? Did he not think we would come if he told us about them? Or could it be that… that he was a spy? An Ostiper agent? It did seem almost too miraculous that he was able to cross the mountains like he had. I’d have to ask Andril if we both made it back. When we both made it back.

 

I watched out the window as the ship turned, as the bright lights of the Ostiper fleet disappeared from view. As they did, the signal mage let out a contented sigh and kicked his feet onto the table next to the lamp.

 

“And that’s my job done. Connis can deal with this mess now.” He snorted. “Though I’ll feel better once we rejoin the fleet.”

 

I suppressed another grin as I thought about what was coming up. If I somehow managed to take down the enemy’s flagship, wouldn’t that earn me another name? ‘Saphry the Boatbane’, maybe. 

 

Wait, why was I getting excited to sail back into the enemy fleet as a hostage? This was dangerous as hell, and more so if I failed. Or if the mask idea just didn’t work. Have I already forgotten how I fared was against actual soldiers like ten minutes ago? How could I think this was going to go any different?

 

Suddenly, a flash of bright orange appeared above the water behind us. It passed like a tank shell over the water, and soon the sky was obscured under a curtain of smoke. The water shook and rippled with the impact, and the lantern shuttered against the desk.

 

“The hell was that?” The mage said to himself. “Are those idiots still pissing away their sobriety?”

 

Another flare of fire shot over the water and exploded against our shield. I felt the ship sway slightly in the disturbance, and shouts of alarm sounded overhead. After watching the rest of the battle unfold, I wasn’t too concerned about the ship sinking or the shield breaking, but it infact found it a little confusing that they’d chosen now to start shooting again. What’d changed? 

 

I smiled. Andril had probably just discovered my truancy. That had to be it. Though it was fairly late…

 

I mentally shrugged. Whatever it was, I hoped it meant they were still planning on fighting. This time would be different. This time I wouldn’t be the princess in the tower, but instead the wolf in the pen. I just had to wait for the right moment.

…

Gelarin waited anxiously as his small fleet moved through the smoke.

 

They’d seen and heard the explosions of battle just over half an hour ago, an event that had brought both elation and dread to the tired and hungry Summarkans in Sinel. The fact that they’d been able to load up and shove off in that time was almost as much of a miracle as their saviour’s arrival. Gelarin had almost resigned himself to calling for a breakaway attack to save the poor townspeople from starving when those flares of orange and red appeared in the skies above.

 

But seeing those spells continued to crack and the smoke continuing to bellow over the waters had torn away any hope he’d had and replaced it with a growing dread. After all, if they were shooting at each other then the incoming fleet obviously wasn’t aware of that strategy’s ineffectiveness. They had walked into what was essentially a trap without the marine experience of the last decade.

 

I suppose that it's just a little bit our fault. Gelarin mused. 

 

Summark had known of the shields for many years, of course. They’d be poor mariners if they didn’t test their gear every once and a while. Gelarin couldn’t imagine sailing out onto the lake without knowing what your ship could actually do, and the ship-building industry was always looking for better ways to improve Summark and her navy. It was just that information wasn’t necessarily spread beyond the essential people. Even the average soldier wasn’t much more aware than thinking that perhaps the shields were just a bit stronger. Well, until the most recent battles that is. That had made it pretty damn clear to all.

 

Gelarin found he couldn’t quite feel too much guilt for that, however. Minua and Ostip had both built up their navies after the rebellion decades ago, and each had about the same warship shields as Summark did. Summark could hardly be blamed for the laziness of Verol’s dukes, especially when those dukes were not always on the best of terms with the mark. 

 

“I’m going to have words with them in the abyss if we find them all dead.” Gelarin muttered worriedly. “Lazy bastards.”

 

“Gelarin, sir.” 

 

The captain didn’t turn around, but instead waved for his nephew to speak. Soldiers crowded the deck of the ship behind him and he didn’t want them to see his worry.

 

“Trent wanted me to tell you that we’d be out of the smoke momentarily.” Heril said slowly. “Sir.”

 

Gelarin grimaced at the tired tone. The boy had taken the siege especially hard, and Gelarin had suspected he’d been giving away some of his rations to others. It wasn’t the best introduction to military life, in his opinion, nor a situation he was going to be happy to write to his sister about.

 

The captain waited at the bow, trying not to cough through the smoke. He could barely make out the explosions of magic up ahead, and the shouting and clashing of spears drifted lightly over the lake. That meant they weren’t dead yet, at least. That was a good sign.

 

And then, like walking through a solid wall they passed out of the smoke.

 

Dozens of ships sped within metres of each other a mile ahead, a massive carpet of whitewood against the blue lake. It looked to Gelarin as if the clouds had drifted down from the sky to form an island down below, each one coursing with the fiery lightning of spellwork. Some ships fired in volleys and some at will, while others manoeuvred around to ram others. Some masts were burning like candles, their crews desperately defending against boarders, and a couple even consisted of little more than floating matchwood drifting like burning spirits over the waters. Snowflakes floated down from a dark and windy sky, and the howling of magic blended with the weather and the shrieks of those poor souls who had managed to catch fire. The waters reflected the blazes, and the sky burned in its depths.

 

Most impressive was not that mess, however, but the four ships that had broken away to the east. All four were warships, and three flew the flag of Ostip. One Gelarin knew as the Ostiper’s flagship, the Of White Grass, the personal ship of Lord Hammil faln Nann. The last ship was unfamiliar to the captain, and flew a Minuan flag. It was charred on the flank he could see, and the top of its mast had been blasted away.

 

And a figure, regal and divine, stood impossibly large upon the bow. Roctrin, Flame of the West, he held above in one hand, and in the other he held a fistful of starfire. He was a giant on the bow, a glinting knife in the darkness of the storm. The Fire of Balefron raged from his hand against the ships he assaulted, and though they tried to twist and ram him his ship always seemed to whip out of the way on a nonexistent wind. It was to Gelarin a clipped phoenix, always avoiding the net while raging with the fury of the stars.

 

Murmuring broke out among the soldiers on his ships as they took in the scene, along with a few isolated cheers.

 

“By the Star…” Heril said.

 

“It’s not quite the battle lines I expected.” Gelarin said through gritted teeth. “It seems nobody knows anything about how to approach a battle on our lake.”

 

“Is that a Phoenix Knight?” Heril’s voice was full of reverence, as if he’d never seen magic as intense as now. “One from Esilmor?”

 

“I see no phoenix. They have already declared their neutrality.” 

 

“Then who… What is…”

 

“If I was to guess, that would be our own Endril faln Evendal.” Gelarin said. “Prince of Verol, Brepoli, Burgunde, and Mistre and Herald of the Heavens. If he survives this foolishness, that is.”

 

They stared at the battle for a bit longer, Gelarin to organise a strategy while the soldiers marvelled at Endril. Then, after deciding that there was no salvaging this from a tactical perspective, Gelarin sighed.

 

“Order all ships to go in the main pack. Endril will have to make it out on his own if we are to turn the tide.” Gelarin patted his nephew’s shoulder as he turned to go, and then gazed off towards the prince. “Luck and light, second star.”