a safe section of floor. They were, indeed, in someone’s cabin, someone who warranted a porthole, but there was a shaving set next to a bowl and pitcher, and the room smelled of pine-scented incense. He doubted the manly odor signified his mother’s tastes.
Another wave of power crashed into the ship. Arayevo had been climbing up, and she slipped. Yanko lunged and caught her before she fell back to the deck below. He pulled her up as the ship shuddered and righted itself.
“I smell smoke,” Dak said.
“Sun Dragon must be giving old Snake Heart a hard time,” Lakeo whispered from below.
That surprised Yanko. He wouldn’t have thought Sun Dragon would be a match for his mother, not when he had managed to thwart some of Sun Dragon’s attacks. Of course, if that kraken hadn’t come to his aid, he would have been charred to ashes.
Someone screamed, and Yanko grimaced. The pained cry sounded like it came from right above them. Were they under the main deck now?
Something crashed through the hull behind Dak, and Yanko jumped back. Wood splinters flew, and he lifted a hand to protect his face. It took Yanko a moment to realize a cannonball had smashed through the cabin. Dak didn’t even react. He headed for the door and peeked into the corridor outside. Yanko made himself ignore the new porthole in the cabin and pulled Lakeo up.
“Clear,” Dak whispered.
He stepped into the passageway, having to hunch and duck his head, the same way he had in the underwater boat. Yanko followed him past two doors and to a cabin at the end. Dak tried the latch, but it was locked.
Yanko touched the stout teak boards. “Do you want me to—”
Dak rammed his shoulder against the door, and metal snapped as it flew open.
“—use my magic?” Yanko finished.
Light flashed. Dak hadn’t stepped inside, but he gasped, caught in the doorway by some invisible force. His back stiffened, and he grasped the jambs, as if to shove himself backward. His entire body went rigid, his head thrown back so that his nose touched the ceiling, but he couldn’t seem to move.
Some magical protection to keep anyone from going in. Yanko should have guessed such a thing would be there.
Lakeo grasped Dak from behind, but she cried out and backed away.
“Ssh,” Arayevo whispered, glancing back down the passageway.
“Ssh yourself,” Lakeo growled, holding her hand. “That hurts like death.”
Ignoring them, Yanko tried to sense whatever trap held Dak in place, inflicting pain on him. Something powerful hummed from inside the cabin, on the wall next to the door. A Made object. His mother’s work? Or something she had stolen or bought? He couldn’t tell. It seemed like nothing more than a flat bronze disk, shaped into a hanging piece of artwork.
Sweat dripped from Dak’s jaw, and his breaths came in short, pained gasps. He was fighting this magic, but this wasn’t a mental attack. Even a mage hunter couldn’t thwart a physical attack against the body. Yanko grew angry with himself for not realizing the trap would be there. Furious, he knocked the object off the wall with a surge of mind power, and it flew across the cabin, striking a cabinet. Dak continued to be held in place, the device inflicting serious pain on him. Yanko channeled his fury into the source of his pain, not thinking about what kind of magic would be effective or what books had told him about how Made objects operated. He simply willed it to be destroyed.
To his surprise, the flat disk exploded, tiny shards flying in dozens of directions. Yanko grabbed Dak, trying to pull him back so he wouldn’t be struck by the shrapnel. Dak slumped against the doorjamb, his entire body relaxing in the aftermath of the pain. Yanko wasn’t able to budge his dead weight, and one of the flying shards struck him in the jaw. Dak barely seemed to notice.
“Sorry,” Yanko whispered. “Are you going to be all right?”
Dak dragged his sleeve across his face, wiping away sweat and blood. “Yeah.” He managed a faint smile. “That was stupid. I should have known better.”
“It’s probably hard to sublimate those Turgonian urges to destroy things.”
Dak looked at the tiny shards of bronze littering the floorboards and raised his eyebrows at Yanko.
“It’s possible your Turgonian urges are contagious.”
“Like a virus.” Dak waved toward the cabin. “Check for more traps before we go in, will you? But you better hurry. I’m guessing she felt that.”
Yanko nodded grimly. Yes, the owner