“No time to explain,” Noa said. “Julian, you have to get Astrae moving again.”
“Yes, I was going to,” he said. “But not a minute after I looked up from my books and saw Xavier’s ships on the horizon, Louise ran in and attacked me. It must be some sort of magical possession—I’ve heard of spells that can cause an irresistible bloodlust in the victim. Then I heard Tyrone screaming bloody murder downstairs—he was unconscious when I found him, but I stopped them from doing worse. Being knocked on the head might do him some good, the scatterbrained—”
“Julian,” Noa yelled. Even in a crisis, he was incapable of getting to the point.
“Yes, all right,” he huffed. He lifted Mite, who was still clinging to him like an ant on a picnic basket, and hurried up the stairs, Noa and Tomas at his heels.
They passed the floor that housed the magicians—now eerily deserted—and raced up the spiral staircase that led to Julian’s tower. Noa ran to the windows, but before she could check whether King Xavier’s ships were within firing range, there was a thunderous roar, and the castle shook.
Julian caught himself against the wall. He snatched up one of his books, his expression black. “That was the west turret! The library! Oh, you will pay for that, you traitorous, cowardly—”
There came another thud, and the castle shook again. Two more thuds followed, but these cannonballs struck the cliffside. Noa felt the reverberations pass through her sandals and into her bones.
She gasped as she caught sight of the king’s ships, now massed just beyond Astrae’s shoals. “Julian—it looks like they’re preparing to launch boats! They’re going to board us!”
“No, they aren’t.” He slammed the book down on a lectern and moved it to the window. “This is going to be a bit complicated without Kell at the prow—I have to weave together commands in Salt, Worm, and Eddy. Noa, hand me that bucket of seawater behind the—” He stumbled, letting out a sharp exhalation.
Noa raced to his side. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” He pressed his hand to his forehead. “I feel—”
He swayed, slamming into the window behind him. Noa followed, but Julian said “No” in a voice that stopped her like a wall. His gaze, when he met hers, was oddly bright. His brow was shiny with sweat.
“You didn’t—” Noa breathed. Slowly, nausea churning in her stomach, she scanned the room. Her gaze came to rest on the mango on the desk, half-peeled, from which a single bite was missing.
“Noa, take the others and go.” Julian’s voice was carefully even. “Get as far from the castle as you can. Find Renne—tell him—” He sagged forward.
“Julian,” Mite cried. Tears streamed down her face.
“What do we do?” Tomas wrung his hands. “What do we do?”
“We can’t leave him.” Noa’s thoughts were spinning. She saw the frenzied salt mage on the beach, summoning waves to destroy the pier. Julian could do more than destroy the pier—he could destroy them all, and save Xavier the trouble of doing it himself.
“Noa, go,” Julian shouted. His eyes were white now, with only the palest hint of blue left in them.
“This is very bad, very, very bad,” Tomas chanted.
“Get out.” Noa shoved him toward the stairs. “Take Mite and go. I’ll try to hold him off.”
Tomas gaped. “How are you going to do that?”
Noa had no idea. “I’ll figure something out. Mite, no!”
Mite darted toward Julian, her sobs broken and desperate, and Noa had to wrap both arms around her to hold her back.
“Mite, stop,” she gasped. “That’s not Julian anymore, he doesn’t—”
Then two things happened at once. Julian let out a feral cry and lunged at them, and Mite screamed. There was a sound like a dozen cannons going off at once, and Noa was blasted off her feet. Then everything went dark.
5
Noa and Mite Move the Prow
“Noa.” Someone was slapping her face. “Noa, Noa, Noa—”
“Stop, stop, stop,” Noa groaned.
Her head was one big ache. Her right arm felt worse—when she lifted her hand, the room briefly darkened again.
She was lying against the tower door. She brushed her face, and her hand came away muddy. Her clothes, too, were a mess of dirt and seawater and bits of singed leaves.
Mite leaned over her, her face wet with tears. Tomas groaned somewhere nearby. Noa clambered to her feet, leaning against the door frame for support. The tower was—well, calling it a ruin would be generous. Most of the windowpanes were smashed, and the spiral stair that led to Julian’s bedroom lay on its side. Julian’s desk was gone, the desk chair dangling out a window a clue to its final resting place. The cauldron lay on its side—fortunately, it was a warm day, so Julian hadn’t melted the hardened lava. Many of Julian’s books were in tatters, the wind idly twirling their pages around the tower, and the floor and walls were covered with the wreckage of his experiments: dirt, leaves, coal, seawater, and bits of metal that combined to form the impression of a mudslide that had just buried a village.
“How long was I asleep?” Noa asked.
“Dunno. A few minutes, I guess.”
Noa limped to Julian’s side. He lay sprawled on his back behind the toppled staircase, his breathing shallow. Blood trickled down the side of his face, making it look like the dragon tattoo had taken a chomp out of him.
“I didn’t try to wake him up,” Mite said quietly. “He has a big lump on his head.”
“Good. Hopefully that’ll keep him out for a while.” Noa stood, wincing. Her wrist was definitely sprained, if not broken. “What happened?”
“I—” Mite bit her lip. She looked as if she might start crying again. “It was me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Noa burst out laughing. It turned into a cough—she had dirt stuck in her throat. “Mite. Are you saying you blew up Julian’s tower?”
“Yes.”
