Noa swallowed. “All right, let’s go. Hurry.”
The three of them slipped out the back door. Rather than heading through the village, Noa led them up a narrow path through the hillside. Looking back at the village, she couldn’t at first see any signs of trouble, but then the wind stirred and she caught the smell of smoke.
“That’s the cobbler’s,” Tomas said, his face gray. Noa watched as flames spread from the shop at the edge of the village to the shed beside it. People ran helter-skelter along the streets, but she couldn’t make out what they were shouting.
“Come on,” she said.
The trail eventually petered out, and they had to fight their way through salt grass and prickly pear cacti. Mite, for once, didn’t insist on stopping to turn over rocks. Her face was blotchy, and she was blinking rapidly.
“We’ll be all right,” Noa said awkwardly. She didn’t know what to do when Mite was upset, because Mite didn’t get upset like other children. She got all quiet or went off and hid somewhere, like a cat with a stomachache. Besides, Julian was usually the one who handled Mite when she was like this, not Noa.
Tomas, meanwhile, was chattering away about magical poisons. He couldn’t speak any magical languages himself—most people couldn’t, as magic was about as common as left-handedness—but like many Floreans, his parents occasionally bought spells from magicians, or, these days, requested them from Julian.
“My mom’s sister had a healing spell go bad once,” he said. “Made her see things that weren’t there. Maybe this spell is something like that—you know, blood magic gone bad. If so, Julian’ll put it right. Isn’t blood magic his specialty?”
“Every magical language is his specialty,” Noa said. “He’s good at healing, but that looked more like magical possession, and I don’t know if there’s a cure for that.”
“There’s a lot of smoke,” Tomas said, panting now. The hillside was growing steeper, and they had to scrabble forward on hands and knees. “I hope the fire hasn’t spread to the harbor.”
A chill settled in Noa’s stomach. “I don’t think it’s coming from the village.”
They came to the brow of the hill. Before them was the beach and the row of outbuildings that held supplies for the castle, as well as a dock lined with colorful fishing boats and dinghies. Now many of the boats were adrift, and the end of the dock had sunk below the water, with broken boards tumbling in the waves. These were enormous, the breakers reaching at least six feet, pounding at the beach like angry fists, despite the clear sky and still air. Smoke poured from several of the castle windows.
“Where’s the island?” Mite asked.
With difficulty, Noa tore her gaze away from the castle. The mysterious island they had run into was gone, leaving no trace that it had ever been. In its place was a neat row of three royal warships, their enormous sails billowing in the wind.
They were flying the flag of King Xavier, and they were heading straight for Astrae.
“No,” Noa murmured. Suddenly she was back in her wardrobe again, watching assassins pace toward her bed. She was shivering in the bow of a fishing boat, as home slipped below the horizon. Then she was running, ignoring the cacti that prickled her sandaled feet. She fell once, but was up again quickly, flying down the familiar hillside like a goat. Mite followed close at her heels, while Tomas huffed and stumbled some distance behind them.
The mystery of the waves was quickly resolved. Up to her knees in water near the broken dock stood one of Julian’s salt mages, her hands raised as she screamed an incantation at the sea. The more she shouted, the higher the waves grew. The woman—Noa thought her name was Kearin—was drenched, her black hair a wild tangle around her face.
“What are you doing?” Noa shouted over the waves. “Did Julian—”
She faltered when the woman turned around. Her eyes were the same all white the cat’s had been, and her lips were drawn back from her teeth in a horrible grin.
Noa shoved Mite behind her. “Go!”
The mage lunged at them, still screaming in Salt, but she didn’t get far. A wave crashed over her, and a board from the broken dock struck the back of her head. She went limp, and the retreating wave drew her out to sea.
Mite’s eyes were wide with terror. Noa grabbed her hand and dragged her along the beach like a doll, her sandals flinging up clumps of wet sand. Tomas, catching up at last, shouted a warning. A man in a black cloak was racing toward them, and Noa, panicking, turned and wrenched Mite in the other direction.
But it was only Renne, out of breath, his eyes wild but still their usual brown. “You can’t be here— Not safe— Half the mages have gone mad—”
“We know,” Noa said. “Where’s Julian?”
Renne motioned to the castle. “I couldn’t get to him. There are a dozen mages in the foyer, attacking anything that moves.” Renne ran a hand through his hair. In that moment, he looked much younger than eighteen. “I came looking for reinforcements. Julian—”
“Can handle a dozen mages,” Noa cut in. “You need to get the island moving. The king’s warships will be within cannon range in minutes.”
Renne rubbed his hair again. “I—”
“Find Kell,” Noa ordered. “If she’s been poisoned, look for one of her mates. The most important thing is to get moving again. Do you understand? Xavier wants to throw us all into confusion, then swoop in and capture us.”
It was a mark of Renne’s distress that he actually listened to her. “All right. But Princess Noa, you and your sister must hide before—”
His cloak burst into flames. Noa leaped back, but before the flames could engulf him, Renne shouted a command, and a fierce wind put the fire out. Noa whirled. Lurching toward them with jerky strides were two more mages, their eyes white and
