Ella saw a figure climb up the ladder up to the poop deck, and realising who it was, she laughed. In sodden wet clothing, Jehral looked like nothing so much as a black housecat that had fallen into the bath.

Jehral glared at the young enchantress. "You are insane," Jehral shouted at her above the wind. "This is a major storm. Don't you realise that?"

The ship crashed into the sea with a boom, and a great wave of spray crested their heads, falling down and soaking them both to the skin. Jehral cringed, but Ella laughed again; she was already wet, what did it matter?

When they'd reached Castlemere, Jehral and the Hazaran wise woman who summoned darkness at Jehral's command had guarded Ella and Shani while they awaited their transport. Ella had tried to engage Jehral in conversation but he silenced her with a glare, and if that didn't work the darkness soon came over her. He still hadn't explained what Prince Ilathor wanted with her.

Then Ella and Shani were again put into the covered wagon. It rumbled and bumped over the cobbled stones, and they soon heard the sounds of the sea — the crashing of waves and the shrieks of seagulls. Dressed in their simple garments, without their tools, the two captives had struggled, but it was no use. They were bustled onto the Castlemere trader ship and left in full daylight with the changing of the tide. Rescue from Miro or his men was now out of the question.

A week later, Jehral had finally let Ella and her Petryan friend out of their locked cabin. "There's nowhere for you to go," he'd said, gesturing to the open expanse of the ocean, "and I doubt either of you know how to sail."

Even so, Ella had revelled in her new-found freedom.

Alturans weren't the greatest sailors, but Ella's people knew the river, and she was familiar with boats. As a Petryan, the only water Shani had seen was the boiling Lake Halapusa surrounding the tiered city, the Petryan capital of Tlaxor. But the worst-affected by the journey was Jehral, a desert warrior born and bred. The proud leader of fierce horsemen couldn't keep his food down, and the swarthy skin of his face had turned a sickly green.

"Please, come down with me," Jehral shouted into Ella's face. The sail snapped with a gust, and he looked up with fear as the mizzen-mast creaked alarmingly.

"It's actually better for your seasickness up here," Ella shouted back. "Ask him." She pointed at the helmsman, a bearded Castlemere native standing at the wheel a dozen paces away, not the friendliest man Ella had met. "Keep your eyes on the horizon, and stand where the ship rolls the least, that's the key."

"Come down!" Jehral cried.

"Not until you tell me where we're going."

"We're going to see Prince Ilathor," Jehral said.

"I know that! Where are we going?"