Storm remembered: the old man; the glow-worm caves; Scoundrel. The boat still moved through the black water, but the glow-worms had disappeared. And the monkey’s warmth was gone from her side.

“Scoundrel?” Darkness swallowed her voice, and Storm felt fear rise out of the unseen all around. A hiss came from the bow of the rowing boat – a “pay-attention!” grumble. Storm pushed herself upright. “What is it?”

Before the cling-monkey could admonish her again, she saw a circle of light, dim and faint, ahead in the darkness. They were at the end of the labyrinth! The Dolphin had delivered her to safety and freedom.

“Thank you, Water spirit!” she whispered. There was a quickening of the current. The boat sped forward. The circle of light expanded, pink and shining. Outside, under the sky, it must be dawn. The closer they got, the faster the water flowed, as the underwater river rushed towards the waiting sea.

Freedom! Soon she would see Cloud and her uncle, and be back aboard the Wayfarer! Bellum Island, with all its puzzles and challenges, would be far behind her and she would return home to Yanlin. Safe at home with Minnow! Safe for a season, at least.

Never before had she so looked forward to the monsoon season, when trading, and war, ceased. She would have half a year – much needed and precious time – to unravel the riddle of the Salamander’s scheming and figure out her part in this war between the Elementals. She would have time to practise quiet magic. She would make another flute…

The mouth of light was upon them. Scoundrel bounded up and down in the prow of the canoe, chittering with delight as the little boat leapt from the darkness under earth into the morning of air and water.

And Fire.

Storm saw the line of people waiting for her. Two long war canoes were beached next to a small sea canoe. Slowly, she stood upright in her rowing boat, legs shaking with shock. With a shrill cry, Scoundrel launched himself at her. He climbed her body as though it was a sapling tree and hunched on her shoulders, long arms clinging tight around her neck. Expecting her to save him.

Cloud lay bound and gagged, tumbled on to the shingle of the beach. He was staring at her, angry frustration warring with fear in his eyes. Expecting her to save him.

The Fire-witch stood over him. Her long fingers danced in impatience. Storm barely gave the woman a glance. All her attention, both heart and mind, was focused on the person who waited for her – his eyes never leaving hers, his face as unreadable as ever. His people waded out, grabbed the bow rope and dragged her canoe to shore.