Page 107 of Reign

“I must go,” she breathed, eyes widening. “I’ll see you once the hurly-burly’s over.”

Wrapping herself in her long, dark cloak, Emma slipped out of the smithy. I watched her through a crack in the tent flap as she walked briskly through the encampment, heading for the safety of the woodland.

“A woman on the beach!” a man shouted from outside the tent. “A woman’s washed up on the shore!”

“Perhaps the gods favor us after all,” another added.

Peering outside further, I saw soldiers gathering weapons from the armory while others marched unarmed toward the shore, seemingly unperturbed by the woman’s arrival. As they departed with swords I’d strengthened with protective spells, I wondered how the enchanted blades would fare.

Emma’s prophecy circled around me as I tried to grasp its meaning.

“Don’t be fooled, this is no man…” I mumbled beneath my breath.

But as I struggled to understand, more and more men made their way toward an unknown fate.

“Stop!” I called out, not knowing what else to do. “You don’t know what you may face down there.”

Some of the soldiers chuckled at my hysteria; others scowled at my blatant fear.

“Scared of a woman?” a voice piped up from within the crowd. “She ain’t gonna bite!”

“What if I ask her nicely?” another man retorted, earning himself a cascade of laughter that trickled throughout the camp.

It felt impossible to convince my comrades to stay away from the shoreline when I couldn’t reveal the prophecy—I was choosing between my life and theirs.

Among the horde heading for the beach was Finn. I waved him over, beckoning him toward the smithy.

“I need to talk to you,” I whispered, dragging him inside.

I moved over to a bucket of freshly mended swords, picked out a well-forged blade, and placed it in his hands. “Take this—just in case.”

In the wake of Emma’s prophecy about human-eating seal folk, all our past disagreements seemed juvenile. I didn’t care if Finn took credit for my work or hurled harsh words—I just wanted him to be safe.

“It’s only a woman on the beach.” Finn tutted. “I don’t need a sword.”

Ignoring him, I lifted my straw mattress and retrieved the parchment Margaret had given me. My fingers flicked hurriedly through the pages, searching for a protective incantation.

“What’s that?” Finn asked.

“Quiet,” I demanded, spotting the spell I needed. I slipped off my gloves and raised my purple palms toward him.

Finn gasped. “Your hands…”

“Hedan pis wicca, ordain a weal. Neil beaten scealt ordain heo feal.” Protect this wizard, create a wall, no blow shall make him fall. As I whispered the incantation, tiny specks of light floated from my palms and clung to Finn’s frame. He glistened faintly as the spell latched onto him, then the illumination dimmed, and he returned to his usual dull coloring.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Finn asked, mouth agape.

“No time to explain now.” I grabbed my gloves again, picked up a sword, and hesitated for a moment before walking toward the ominous shore.

As we approached, a distant wail carried through the air. Soldiers were already packed tightly on the beach, their attention fixed on the water.

First, I spotted Red, his fiery hair wavering in the breeze like flickering flames. At his side was Godwin. His scars appeared pale in the chill, as if a spider had spun an ivory web across his cheek. Both stared seaward, their gazes unwavering.

Standing on my tiptoes, I peered through the heads toward the source of the anguished cries. There, a young woman—as naked as the day she was born—flailed her arms helplessly as the tide lapped at her ankles. Seaweed clung to her black hair, and her skin gleamed—not with wetness, but with an eerie, frosty shimmer.

“Help,” she begged, coughing up water.

A handful of soldiers rushed down the beach to aid her while most men held back, watching skeptically from a distance.