“What a pitiful dance,” Magus said.

The Lioness collided with Magus’s shield, her weight rocking him backward on the unsteady footing of the sands. Her claws dug into the slab of steel, then her paws pushed off, somersaulting her to a landing beside Cyrus. In what must surely have been on purpose, the angle of her paws upon hitting the sea splashed a sharp jet of saltwater straight into Magus’s face, blinding and burning his eyes.

“Run, Vagrant,” Mari roared. “Or gods help me, I’m dragging you home by your neck.”

The spell over him broke. Ignoring Magus’s furious challenge, Cyrus turned and sprinted awkwardly against the water until it was up to his waist. Up ahead, two soldiers had rushed past his duel with Magus, foolishly thinking they could chase down Rayan. Mari tore apart one of them before Cyrus even neared the duo, for she glided through the water like an otter. The other, seeing the raging Lioness blocking his way and snarling her blood-soaked fangs, turned to flee. Cyrus greeted him with a skull grin and a thrust to the gut.

“I was afraid you’d be stupid and keep on fighting,” Stasia shouted from the farther boat.

“I’m smart occasionally, Ax, give me some credit.”

Only when Rayan was safely aboard did Cyrus sheath his swords and dive headfirst into the water to swim. He fought against the waves, moving sluggishly given his cloaks and weaponry, but the imperial soldiers were outfitted far worse than he. As for Magus, he could only walk along the seabed with his heavy plate and enormous shield. Cyrus ignored the closer boat, thinking it already pushing its luck weighed down with both Arn and Rayan, and swam farther out to Stasia’s.

“Welcome aboard,” the lantern holder said as he pulled Cyrus up by the arm. “The Coin said you might need a trip home.”

“The Coin was right,” Cyrus said. He collapsed onto his back, sopping wet and not caring in the slightest. His cloak bunched beneath him, and his hood lay heavy on his face. He shook his wet hair and pulled strands of it away from his mask. The man with the paddles immediately set to rowing, and he shifted in his seat so the lantern holder could take one and join him. Stasia sat before the bow, and she leaned back with her palms pressed against the boat’s frame. The moon shone behind her, but he swore he saw a smile on her face amid the dark night.

“The Usurper King is dead,” she said. “Long live the Vagrant Prince.”