Chapter 13
The boats cut back through unsettled water toward the Norn-held stretch of coast beneath the cliffs.
Around them, the battlefield refused to quiet.
Ships righted themselves in lurching, uneven motions; crews shouted over the wind, securing lines and dragging the wounded from splintered decks.
The air tasted of ozone and salt, heavy with the lingering distortion of magic that had only just calmed.
They would regroup with the surviving soldiers first, then make the journey inland back to Vathis.
Imani stood at the bow, steady despite the deck’s constant rocking. The magic she summoned still lingered, coursing beneath her skin as a gentle, controlled flow, no longer frantic but still intense. It heightened her senses, so every movement and glance around her felt more vivid.
And the soldiers were looking. Not in passing. Not with mere curiosity. She felt the weight of their stares settle over her, marking the shift from background to center, from an unseen presence to something measured and remembered.
Ellisar moved to the edge of the deck’s raised section.
His presence alone quieted the nearby chatter.
Though the sounds of battle still remained, everyone’s focus shifted to him.
He surveyed the worn, weary soldiers. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady and clear, carrying easily over the wind.
“Lochheim has been stopped and the slip sealed before any more death or damage could be wrought,” he said. “Their foothold ends here.” A beat. Then, without looking at her: “And the true queen stands among us once more.”
The words struck harder than the clash of steel.
“We return to Vathis,” he continued, “not only with victory but with truth restored. There will be a celebration. Let the city know.”
A captain near the stern let out a low whistle and Ellisar’s head turned toward him.
The captain, broad-shouldered and soaked through one sleeve, gave him an exaggerated salute.
“A celebration, High Sentinel?”
A few nearby soldiers glanced at one another.
The captain continued, “Should we alert the kitchens now, or give them time to recover from the last time you called dried meat and two bottles of wine a proper feast?”
Laughter broke out somewhere behind him as Ellisar closed his eyes. “Captain,” he said, but the warning in his voice only made the man grin.
“I’m only asking for logistical purposes.”
Another soldier coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.
Ellisar crossed his arms. “You were nearly thrown overboard ten minutes ago.”
“Yes, High Sentinel.”
“And this is how you’ve chosen to use the life you were given back.”
The captain nodded solemnly. “I considered gratitude, but this felt more natural.”
Several soldiers hooted outright. Ellisar looked at the captain for a long moment, silver hair blown sideways by the wind, his expression severe enough that any stranger would have assumed an execution was imminent.
Then one corner of his mouth curved, and the captain clapped his hands. “So that is permission for a bottle of wine?”
“No.”
“Two bottles?”
“Return to your post,” Ellisar said, shaking his head.
The captain saluted again, considerably less formally this time. “Gladly.”
As he turned away, he called over his shoulder, “I’ll tell the kitchens to expect disappointment.”
With a flat look from Ellisar, the soldiers around them broke into another round of restrained laughter, then gradually returned to their work.
Imani rolled her wand between her fingers.
These people respected Ellisar enough to fall silent when he spoke and follow him into violence, but they also knew where the edges were.
A captain could tease him after a battle and trust that authority would not become humiliation simply because someone had made him the subject of a joke.
As the laughter faded, movement on one of the vessels behind them caught Imani’s attention.
The surviving Lochheim civilians were still there.
Norn soldiers had taken control of several captured ships and were guiding them toward the shore.
The Lochheim combatants had been separated from the families, their wrist-wands removed and their hands bound, but the women and children remained clustered among their belongings.
Imani recognized the little boy carrying the wooden toy.
He had both arms wrapped around it now, watching the Norn soldiers as though waiting to learn whether surviving the slip had merely delivered him into another kind of danger.
Her amusement disappeared. “What happens to them?”
Ellisar followed her attention toward the captured vessels. “The soldiers will be disarmed and detained. The civilians will be questioned.”
“And then?”
“That depends on what we learn.”
Imani put her hand on her hip. “Are you sending them back?”
His expression turned contemplative. “They entered Essenheim behind an invading army.”
“The children did not.”
“The soldiers did,” Ellisar argued.
“I’m aware. I watched them kill ours.”
“Then you understand why I cannot simply open Vathis to them,” he said with a sigh.
Imani lifted her chin to better look him in the eyes. “I didn’t say open Vathis to an enemy.”
He stared right back. “What do you call asking me to allow an invading population to remain inside Essenheim after they forced their way through a slip in the Fabric?”
“I’m asking you not to send families and children back through a breach we just watched nearly become a Fabric event.”
He scratched the scruff on his cheek but said nothing, thinking.
“Detain the soldiers,” Imani cut in. “Take their wands. Question them. If any of them murdered civilians or committed crimes beyond the battle, deal with them individually.”
Ellisar studied her, still rubbing his face.
“But the families stay.”
“Imani—”
“They stay.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “They attacked your kingdom.”
“Their army attacked my kingdom, and I will defend Essenheim against them every time they do.” She pointed toward the other vessel. “But just because their soldiers came through first, doesn’t mean the families need to be refused help.”
“And the soldiers?”
She considered the question, then added, “Anyone who keeps fighting is an enemy. Anyone who lays down a wand is a prisoner until we know what they did. After that, we judge people for their own actions.”
“Not for being Lochheim.”
“Exactly.”
Ellisar was silent long enough that she prepared for another argument.
“Taking them in will create problems,” he finally said. “Housing. Food. Soldiers to watch the prisoners. Norn families who lost people today will object to seeing Lochheim refugees protected on our soil.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Imani put a hand on her hip. “No. Not all of it. That is why I need people who do.”
He tilted his head, yet he let her continue without speaking.
“I know what decision I’m making here.”
Still, he waited.
“They stay,” she reiterated.
Ellisar gave a single nod. “Then they stay.”
With a wave, Ellisar called for an officer. “Separate the surrendered fighters from the civilians. No one is to be turned away. Find temporary quarters for the families before nightfall.”
The officer hesitated. “All of them?”
Ellisar glanced at Imani but did not answer for her.
Her stare bore into the officer’s eyes. “All of them,” Imani stated.
The officer bowed. “Yes, my queen.”
She gave the High Sentinel a nod of appreciation, and Ellisar motioned for her to continue walking with him.
“You allow such things?” she asked, striding quickly to keep up with his long legs.
“Allow what?” He kept his face straight ahead, expression blank.
“Earlier you allowed one of your soldiers to mock you.”
“Mock? I don’t think you know what the word means. He has served with me for eleven years.”
She almost smiled. “So he’s earned the privilege?”
“He’s earned the knowledge that I won’t have him executed for being irritating.”
From behind them, the captain called, “High praise.”
Ellisar did not turn around. “Keep walking,” he shouted.
Imani bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. They fell into a companionable silence.
As the returning boats converged on the Norn-held shoreline, the fighting behind them had dwindled to scattered bursts of magic and shouted orders. The story of what Imani had done was already moving faster than they were.
Hundreds of soldiers had been scattered across the ships when the slip closed.
Some had watched her from only yards away while others had seen the fracture disappear above the sea and immediately demanded to know who had done it.
As the returning vessels converged on shore, men shouted the story from deck to deck, then repeated it to soldiers waiting on the beach.
When Imani eventually stepped ashore, hardly anyone in the returning ranks had not heard some version of it.
“That’s her—”
“The one from the posters—”
“She closed it—”
“Did you see what she did?”
Their tone was surprisingly conversational for a group of bloodied soldiers as they dissected what she meant to the kingdom. Their voices dropped under Ellisar’s warning glare, though, because she was no longer just a passenger in their world. She was a weapon to watch.
The High Sentinel remained close enough that Imani could feel the pressure of his signature beside her, but he no longer guided her with a hand at her back or directed where she should stand. The difference registered inside Imani immediately.
He had just named her queen in front of his men, and now he was giving her room to look like one.
Imani appreciated the respect more than she wanted to admit.
But respect did not mean she wanted distance between them.
She had power, yet Ellisar had years of experience commanding soldiers, navigating Norn politics, and governing the same people she might soon have to rule.
If she intended to reclaim Essenheim, she needed him near enough to advise her, argue with her, and tell her when she was about to make a mistake.
She wanted an ally beside her, not another man deciding her path from several steps away.