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the schooner? She just caught fire?”
    “No shot from the schooner, sir, and she didn’t just catch fire, either. She exploded. Every bit of wood and canvas on her—topmast to waterline, beak-head to poop—burst into flames at the same instant. We couldn’t do anything for her, sir. By the time she sank, the Fire Drake had gone under, too. No survivors from either ship, sir.”
    Admiral Joslan collapsed into his chair, his eyes staring blankly ahead. He sat silently for so long that Veralyn began to fidget.
    “Sir?” the captain finally ventured.
    Joslan’s eyes snapped up, and he looked at the captain as if surprised to see him still there. He cleared his throat, stood and jerked his coat straight. “Very well, Captain Veralyn. Bring Lady Gwen into the harbor when the tide shifts and moor her alongside Indomitable . I expect a written report to me by sunset. We will convene a court of inquiry tomorrow morning to assess the loss of two of His Majesty’s ships. You are dismissed.”
    “Aye, sir!” Veralyn saluted and turned on his heel for the door.
    Huffington followed a step behind, relieved that he had not been called to bear witness during the exchange. But before the door closed behind him, he heard the clatter of decanter against glass, and a single muttered word.
    “Magic…”

Chapter 2
    Cast Off
    “Cast off dock lines and secure all stations, Chula,” Cynthia ordered as she stepped aboard Peggy’s Dream . “The Pride’s already out the channel. We’re behind.”
    “Aye, Capt’n.”
    She ignored the quizzical look on her first mate’s face as he acquiesced. Peggy’s Dream had three times as many provisions to stow with only twice the crew of Orin’s Pride ; of course they were behind. But before he could give a single order, he looked beyond her shoulder, and she saw his eyes widen. She cringed.
    “Capt’n! You can’t be leavin’ me here!” Paska’s usually demanding tone was pleading as she ran up the gangplank and aboard the ship, her young son, Koybur, bouncing on her hip. The native woman grasped Cynthia’s arm, clung to it desperately. “You can’t be goin’ on dis trip wi’out a proper bosun!”
    “I’m sorry, Paska,” Cynthia said, hating the tremble in her own voice.
    The last few days had been hell, her emotions pitched high and low like a storm-tossed ship. First there had been the depression from believing her unborn child was dead, killed by the mer. It had struck her like a physical blow to find out that she had a son—alive, but abducted to fulfill some mer prophecy for bringing a lost city back to life. She did not know whether to be heartened or distraught. She had a son; the future she and Feldrin had planned, the names they’d considered, the dream of a family, hung like a golden ring just out of her grasp.
    She longed to embrace that dream, but she dared not hope. Her wedding to Feldrin had provided the only ray of light during the tumultuous time. She had worked through the night organizing the rescue mission with Feldrin, poring in vain over ancient mer scrolls for some reference to this city they sought—Akrotia. Feldrin had tried to get her to come to bed—it was, after all, their wedding night—but after an hour spent tossing and turning, imagining the worst, Cynthia had risen, dressed and gotten back to work. Her thoughts were muddled with grief and fatigue, which she kept at bay only through sheer determination. The last thing she needed right now was this particular confrontation.
    She turned, and, to her own surprise, voiced a calm rebuttal. “My decision is final. I won’t be responsible for endangering little Koybur, and you can’t leave him. Please, Paska, don’t make me order you ashore.”
    “You’re leavin’ me, but you’re takin’ me husband!” Paska countered, her voice rising. Koybur began to whimper, as if he, too, resented being left behind. Cynthia felt her determination begin to crack when Chula stepped forward and placed a