Gods, what were we going to do? I reached for the threads, for something to root myself in. We were being swept through the tunnels, swept out to—
Atrius grabbed at me again, and once again he failed. This time, though, he opened up a gash in my forearm. I barely noticed the pain, but I wanted to snap at him for the distraction.
But then a moment later, a strange sensation bubbled up inside me, slow, warm, burning. My muscles tensed, tightening and moving without my permission.
What the hell was—
My body flew across the hall, fighting against the tide, and suddenly my head was above the water and a body was pressed to mine with a firm arm wrapped around my waist—
—And Atrius’s very, very unhappy face was a few inches away from mine. One arm held onto me, and the other braced against a rocky enclave. Flecks of water showered against our faces, our heads barely above the rush. The tide was now ebbing and flowing, coming in bursts rather than constant force. I glanced behind me to see the flailing limbs of Atrius’s warriors fighting to make it through the tide. Reverberations of their fear, high and sharp, plucked through the threads.
Even vampires feared death. And I knew that a death by drowning was among the worst.
“You said you’d be useful, Arachessen,” Atrius spat, raising his voice over the roar of the water. “I saved your life. Now you save theirs.”
His eyes were fierce and steadfast, like this demand was completely reasonable. And yet, perhaps I sensed a glimmer of fear from him now—only now, when his people were in danger.
“How do you expect me to do that?” I asked, the rush swallowing my voice.
He leaned close, the water from his lips brushing the crest of my ear.
“You’re the witch,” he said. “Don’t your kind have their ways?”
Weaver damn him. I had no ways for this. Some of my Sisters were talented with water magic, but that was never my skill, and even then, I doubted any acolyte of Acaeja would have water magic powerful enough to stop this—maybe a follower of Zarux, the God of the Sea, but that certainly wasn’t my domain.
I looked around helplessly, reaching out to our surroundings. Stone. Water. Bodies. And fear—so much fear, growing more intense by the moment.
Terrible guilt, the weight of my responsibility in this mistake, swelled in my throat, burning. So many of these people were going to die.
Perhaps I should let them.
It was what a good saboteur would do. Let the conqueror’s army whittle away. I had every excuse for not being able to help. How could I help, anyway? What could I do?
I’m six years old and the salt water hurts and I’m going to die.
I shook away the past, my own thread tangling with theirs.
I couldn’t say why I made the decision, only that I was acting before it even consciously snapped into place. I reached above me, pressing my palm to the rough stone of the ceiling.
It was hard to focus on my magic with the water rushing around us. The bursts came harder now, sending Atrius and I under the water for seconds at a time, threatening to rip me from his grasp. But he held me tight, keeping my body pressed to his. I was grateful for that, an anchor, as I worked to find a connection strong enough to latch onto.
Against the tide, I kept my palm to the stone.
Stone was alive, in its way. Threads of life ran through it. It was stable and secure. Everything here was moving and changing. Not the stone. I could use that. There was space beyond this—more tunnels. We just needed to break through.
I’d never done something like this before. Weaver knew whether I was even capable of it. But it was my only idea. My only wild, stupid, ridiculous idea.
I drew a thread from myself to the stone, tightened it until it trembled between our souls. Another thread. Another. Three anchors, forcing my magic through it, and then half a dozen, and then more that I didn’t bother to count.
How many would be enough?
“Sylina,” Atrius ground out, between clenched teeth.
He didn’t need to say more. Time. We didn’t have any. His men were barely managing to cling to the walls of the cave. Some had been swept away.
It had to be enough. I threw all my magic into that connection between me and the stone, yanked as hard on those threads as if I was flinging myself across the room—but instead of moving myself, I was moving the stone.
CRACK!
Before I knew what was happening, Atrius cupped the back of my head, yanking me against him. It was only seconds later that I realized why: to protect me as the crumbling rock came crashing down into the water. The two of us tumbled as the current, interrupted by the change in terrain, sputtered and crashed against the walls.