She didn’t wait to see what happened. As she’d said, it was only a little longer before the Iris was fully covered. She thrust her magic into the sea, her whole body swelling with power. Faster, she practically screamed at it. Almost there. The first of the rocky outcroppings hissed past, near enough for her to see the barnacles, near enough for her to see slick patches of algae.

Water sprayed against Vivia. Her waters, warm yet cooling. Powerful yet calm. She let her breath ease out and motioned at the Windwitches to do the same.

The sails slackened, and the sailors silenced. The wind-drum silenced too. The Iris was hidden, meaning now was the time for stealth, and tactics like the Foxes of old. “Keep your winds going,” Vivia ordered as she strode past the witches. “But lightly. Very lightly. And sailors, pick up the oars. From here until we lay anchor, your strength is our salvation.”

Her crew obeyed, launching for their stations along the main deck. With muffled attempts at quiet, they unlocked oars and gathered two by two against them.

Vivia reached the tiller, where Sotar stepped aside, fist to his heart. Respect in his eyes. Hell-waters, he looked like Stix. And hell-waters, Vivia missed her first mate. If Stix were here, then they’d already be at the Lonely Bastard. In fact, Stix would have capsized those blighted boats—or at least frozen the sea long enough to hold them back.

But Stix wasn’t here. And might never be here again.

With a sharp sawing of her hand, Vivia set the oarsmen to their grueling work. Wood scraped and water splashed. Muscles rippled and breaths panted, but no one slowed, no one spoke. Soon the Iris skated atop the choppy sea. They passed gaps in the rocks. Sometimes large enough for them to spot the warships. Sometimes large enough for them to be seen in turn and fired at. But always they were covered before any cannon could make contact.

The Lonely Bastard soon appeared, a wicked knife to pierce the sea. Behind it, hidden from view, was a narrow passage in the seaside cliffs. It had been years since Vivia had come to Nihar—a place that had never welcomed her. That had never felt like home. It had been Merik’s domain, not hers.

“Sonja!” Vivia lifted her voice to the crow’s nest, where the ship’s girl waited. The first words uttered since the oarsmen had begun to row. “Do you see the ships?”

“Hye,” the girl called back. “They’re almost through the rocks.”