You can!
I won’t. I don’t want to. It’s too wonderful to stop, too incredible. I have to keep going. I love it so—
Arista woke with a wrenching headache. It was so painful her eyes hurt just from opening. She was in the cabin, lying on the bed where they had found Bernie. A lantern hanging from a hook on the ceiling swayed back and forth, casting shadows that sloshed from one wall to the next.
She turned her head and pain swelled behind her eyes. “Ow,” she whispered.
Arista raised a hand and found a bandage wrapped around her head. There was stiffness at the back of her head where the bandage pulled at her hair. Drawing her hand away, she found blood on her fingertips.
“Are you all right?” Myron asked. He sat beside her on a little stool and took her hand in his.
“What happened?” she asked. “My head is killing me.”
“Excuse me a moment,” the monk said, and opened the door to the deck. “She’s awake,” he called.
Immediately, Hadrian and Alric entered, ducking inside and dodging the lantern. “Are you all right?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that? And yes, I’m fine… mostly. But my head hurts.” She sat up slowly.
Hadrian looked pained. “I’m sorry about that.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, which made her head hurt even more. “You hit me?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“He had to,” Alric put in, his expression grave. “You—you lost control, or something.”
“What do you mean?”
Arista saw him glance toward the doorway. “What is it? What happened?”
She stood up, weaving a bit, her head still not right, and she felt tired to the point of being groggy. Hadrian extended a hand and steadied her. She ducked her head, careful to avoid banging it against the doorframe, and stepped out onto the deck.
“Oh dear Maribor!” she gasped.
The Harbinger was in shambles. The mast was gone; all that remained was a splintered stump. The beams of the deck were warped. One board was cracked to the point of splintering, and on the starboard side near the bow there was a gaping hole that revealed the hull below. The topsail was gone, along with the topsail yard, but the mainsail lay across the bow, torn and tattered. The railing on the port side was missing as well, sheared away.
“I did this?” she asked, shocked. “Oh my—is anyone…” She looked around, searching for faces—Gaunt, Magnus, Mauvin, Alric, Hadrian…“Where’s Royce, Wyatt, and Elden?”
“They’re okay. They’re working on the ship. Everyone’s okay,” Alric told her. “Thanks to Hadrian. We tried talking to you, shaking you. Wyatt even poured water over your head. You just stood there mumbling and fiddling with your fingers while the ship came apart.”
Mauvin was smiling at her and nodding. On his forehead a deep cut stood out, and his cheek was red and blotchy.
“Did I do that?”
“Actually a flying pulley did that. I was just too stupid to duck.” He was still smiling at her, but there was something behind it—something terrible—something she had never seen on Mauvin’s face before: fear—fear of her.
She sat down where she was, feeling the strength melt out of her legs. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s all right,” her brother told her, again with apprehension in his voice. They made a circle around her, but no one came near.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. Her eyes filled with tears and she let them run down her cheeks. “I just wanted…” Her voice gave up on her and she began to weep.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Hadrian said. He came forward and knelt beside her. “You saved us. The Ghazel are gone.”
“Yeah,” Mauvin said. “Scariest thing I’ve ever seen. It was like—like what they said Esrahaddon could do, only he never did. It was—”
“It was what we needed,” Hadrian broke in over him. “If she hadn’t, we’d all be dead now, and trust me, it would have been a very unpleasant death. Thank you, Your Highness.”
She looked up at Hadrian. He appeared blurry through her watering eyes. He was smiling. She wiped her face and peered at him again carefully. She studied his eyes.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
His hand reached out and brushed her cheeks dry. “What?” he asked again.
“I—I don’t want—” She hesitated and took a breath. “I just don’t want people to be afraid of me.”
“That arrow’s already flown,” Degan Gaunt said.
“Shut it, Gaunt,” Alric snapped.
“Look at me,” Hadrian told her, and putting his hand under her chin, he gently lifted it. He took her hands in his. “Do I look frightened?”
“No,” she said. “But… maybe you should be.”
“You’re tired.”
“I am—I’m really very tired.”
“We’re going to be drifting here for a bit, so why don’t you lie down and get some rest? I’m sure things will look better when you wake up.”