Get to the wheel. He had to get to the wheel. But they couldn’t raise sails while those archers could shoot those arrows and set the canvas ablaze.

The arrows struck the deck. Glass shattered. Liquid sprayed—and turned into fire.

Before he could shout, the flames vanished. Wood smoldered.

Someone touched his shoulder, making him gasp. He looked at the woman kneeling on the deck in front of him.

“I have no place to ground it,” she said with effort. “I have to ground it or let the fire go.”

“Can…you send it elsewhere?”

She was breathing hard, fighting to hold something she could barely contain. “Not far.”

“The dock. Give it to the wood in the dock.”

He forced himself up on his knees, aware of female voices quietly murmuring, calling water, calling air. Aware that Sweet Selkie was away from the dock, swinging round to face the entrance to the harbor…and the Inquisitor ships were raising anchors and sails to close off the harbor and block her escape.

The dock burst into flame. Glass-balled arrows shattered, spraying the archers with their own liquid fire.

“Raise the sails!” Mihail shouted.

Women’s voices murmuring.

He watched wind fill the sails, felt the power of it as Sweet Selkie leaped forward, racing toward the enemy ships and the freedom that lay beyond them.

Denying the pain in his back and shoulder, he got to his feet and looked back at Craig. The woman who had bumped into him knelt beside his cousin.

“Do what you can for him,” he said.

She nodded, and he made his way to the wheel, telling himself he had to be content with doing just that. His duty was to get them all to the open sea.

Behind him, the dock burned—and men burned. Behind him, a handful of smaller ships and fishing boats were following in Sweet Selkie’s wake, having made good use of the fights and distractions to make their own escape. And no doubt following in his wake because there was wind in his ship’s sails—and the enemy ships had none.

But they had men and oars, and two of those ships were moving to cut him off from the mouth of the harbor. They didn’t need to reach him, just get close enough to fire on his ship. And if those ships carried more of that liquid fire…

Ignoring pain and fear, pushing desperation aside, he guided Sweet Selkie, using every bit of his skill, every breath of his connection with the sea to guide her—already knowing they wouldn’t get out of the harbor.

Take care of the boys, Jenny. And don’t grieve too long. Remember us by building a life full of love and laughter. Just remember us.

“Captain?”