and hair burned away, his body livid, his skin melted in places.
“I swear I’m going to kill him,” Sephira said, staring down at her wounded man. “And I’ll enjoy doing it.”
Mariz’s injuries were similar to Ethan’s. This time it was he who helped Ethan to his feet.
“One more,” he said.
Grim, and every bit as angry as Sephira, Ethan trudged on to the warehouse and the final barrier, Mariz beside him.
Ethan and the others halted just outside the rope yard warehouse. He had yet to see any of Ramsey’s crew; he assumed that the sailors awaited them inside. Sephira, he noticed, had her flintlock in hand, as did several of her men. He eyed the weapon before raising his gaze to hers. She stared back at him, eyes blazing, daring him to tell her that she should put the pistol away.
He said nothing, but turned back to the last of Ramsey’s conjured barriers.
A simple fire spell, a ring of flame, fireballs raining down upon them. What had Ramsey saved for this final spell?
“The ground,” he whispered. Then louder, so that Mariz and Sephira would hear, he said again, “The ground. It’s going to melt or turn to flame, or something of the sort. That’s what this last conjuring will do.”
“How do you know?” Sephira asked.
“I’m guessing. But I trust my instincts in this.”
“So what should we do?”
“I’m less certain about that.” He raised his hand and held it a hairsbreadth from the barrier. “Be prepared to run.”
He pressed his palm into the shimmering wall and felt the familiar release of power.
The ground beneath him started to give way.
Behind him, several men cried out. Rather than retreating toward them, Ethan leaped forward and crashed into the warehouse door. His teeth rattled with the impact and pain blossomed in his shoulder. But the doorjamb gave way with a rending of wood. He toppled into the building, sprawling onto the dirt floor, which was as solid as the ground outside had been before Ramsey’s last detection spell.
“At last,” came a rasping, uneven voice from the far side of the warehouse. “Now our battle can commence in earnest.”
Chapter
TWENTY-THREE
Ethan jumped up, expecting to be beset by spells and armed sailors. But no attack came, and he was left to stare across the great room, his mouth agape as he struggled to comprehend the scene before him.
Earlier this very day—before sunrise, although it seemed as though weeks had passed—Ethan remarked to Mariz on the appearance of Ramsey’s illusion, and the possibility that, because of the fire at Drake’s Wharf, the captain had made the figure look as he once had, rather than as he did now. But never had he thought to see Ramsey in such a state.
He sat propped up by pillows in a large bed, blankets covering him to above his waist. Even from this end of the warehouse, Ethan could see that his unruly dark hair and unkempt beard were gone. The lone window in the building had been covered, and the only light came from a few candles that had been set on barrels and crates, and from a vast shining aqua dome of power—faint, transparent, but, Ethan was sure, as impermeable as steel—that surrounded the bed and its occupant. Still, Ethan could see that his skin was waxen and pale.
Ten sailors stood around the bed, some armed with knives and lengths of rope, others with pistols. They watched Ethan, like wolves guarding their pack leader.
“Come closer, Kaille,” Ramsey said, his voice barely discernible above the shouts from outside of Sephira and the others. “Come see what you’ve done to me.”
Ethan glanced back at the door, which stood ajar, pieces of the splintered jamb on the floor. He hadn’t noticed before, but Uncle Reg still stood with him, his bright eyes fixed on that aqua shield.
“They can’t help you. I’m not entirely sure that they can help themselves.”
Ethan started toward the bed with deliberate steps, his gaze sweeping over Ramsey’s men. Reg followed him. Ethan held his knife ready, though he had little doubt that the captain had warded the sailors.
“You needn’t fear them. They have strict orders not to touch you. They are here to guard against interference from others. I’ve made it clear to them that you are mine.”
The closer Ethan drew to the bed, the more horrified he grew at what he could see of the man lying in it. Ramsey, who once had been as dashing and vital as he was mad, now was disfigured almost beyond recognition. The