Page 8 of The Reckoning of Starlight

Lykor closed his fist.

The sea ruptured.

A whirlpool ripped wide into a circling funnel that snatched the closest vessel and yanked it down by the stern. Boards shrieked. Rigging toppled. Another ship slammed into it, hulls grinding, wood splitting, both dragged into the pull.

Crew threw themselves overboard as the water climbed.

Lykor raised his hand and slashed it sideways. The rising sea froze around them in jagged sheets, snaring them mid-leap. Limbs solidified in motion, screams breaking off.

Portals burst open on the decks.

Lykor flew closer, striking before they could widen. Spears of rime lanced downward, punching through those fleeing.

One by one, the ships vanished into the vortex, frost and foam seething over splintered wood. The sea folded over itself, devouring wreckage and bodies.

Lykor hovered above the waves and released the whirlpool, scanning for movement.

Nothing.

No survivors. No escape.

He focused on the last ship, tucked his wings, and dove.

Vesryn stood on the prow, shadows spilling from his hands. Around him, captured soldiers knelt in a broken ring, rending cinched around wrists and throats.

Lykor landed in a scythe of frost, ice spiraling off his shoulders as his wings vanished. He stalked across the deck with his fingers flexing, eager to tear answers from tongues.

His stare caught on the half-elf at the front.

Mahogany waves. Sapphire eyes that had glared at him before. A face Jassyn had once saved from Lykor’s vengeance, now delivered back to it.

Saundyl.

Serenna’s brother. Prince of Vaelyn, or whatever useless title he claimed.

Lykor’s lip curled as he lifted his chin.

“They don’t want to talk,” Vesryn clipped.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Lykor crossed the deck in a blur of fury and frost. His claw locked around Saundyl’s neck, Vesryn’s rending unraveling the instant Lykor touched him.

“Remember me?” Lykor snarled, hauling him upright. “I left you breathing once. Because of Jassyn.” His talons sank into skin. “He’s gone now. And I want to know where he is.”

Saundyl scrabbled at the crushing grip. “I–I don’t know—”

“Wrong answer.”

Lykor yanked on Rimeclaw’s tide in his chest.

Water raced up his arm and struck, punching down Saundyl’s throat, bursting through his nose. The elf convulsed as his shaman power battered too slowly against the torrent.

Lykor bore down until that fragile resistance buckled.

Saundyl’s eyes rolled white. He spasmed in Lykor’s grip, water spilling from his mouth while veins branched along his neck like roots trapped in flooded soil.

His whole body seized and thrashed as Lykor drove the torrent deeper and held him there.