Trynne stood still, breathing hard, as the ground bucked and swayed. She wobbled, nearly falling, but remained standing. Her magic was still not depleted, although it was starting to drain more quickly. She stared at the people sprawled across the floor, the warriors who had watched her face down and defeat three Wizrs. Their expressions were full of fear and joy.

“You are the Duchess of Brythonica,” Thierry breathed, rising to his feet. He bowed.

“Sound the horns,” Trynne said, knowing they didn’t have long before the tidal flood came. “Everyone must flee to higher ground.”

The horns and trumpets of Ploemeur were still bleating when the waves rushed in. It was already high tide, and Trynne watched mutely as the moonlight revealed the monstrous series of waves that had engulfed the piers and razed the shores. Most of the homes of Ploemeur had been built on higher ground. The desolation of Leoneyis had persuaded the ancient rulers of Brythonica to take certain precautions.

There was a certain irony to Trynne’s situation—to fulfill her duty to protect her realm from floods, she had summoned one in an act of defense. But it was the Fountain itself that had given her the idea. While her mother undoubtedly knew the word of power that could have caused an earthquake, Trynne did not, but Rucrius had unwittingly brought her the very tool she’d needed to do it.

She shivered as she watched the ocean rush across the horizon from the balcony window, surrounded by the guards who had witnessed her confrontation with the Wizrs. Shops that had stood on the lowland for generations were completely submerged. The cracking noise of snapping timbers and debris was followed by screams and cries of terror from the people of Ploemeur. Trynne squeezed the staff, hardly able to bear watching the devastation she had unleashed. This was the power of a Wizr. It horrified her.

“The ships,” Marshal Soeur exclaimed. Trynne looked up and saw Gahalatine’s fleet, lit up with lamps and torches, bobbing and bucking as the waters dragged them into the coast of Brythonica. Trynne stared helplessly as the ships were crushed against the rocks. One of the massive treasure ships struck the Glass Beach head on, wedging into the sandy surf, its hull breached and torn apart. It was the worst series of shipwrecks that Brythonica had ever experienced. The shrieks of the doomed warriors filled the night sky.

Trynne’s heart wrenched with compassion. These warriors had come to defeat her people, but they’d done so on the orders of their emperor. They deserved a better fate than this.

Too many had already died.

“Thierry,” Trynne said, nearly sobbing as her emotions overwhelmed her.

“Yes, my lady?” he whispered, staring awestruck at the wreckage below. One of the ships had rolled upside down before crashing into the shore.