The Falcon's Claw hung low in the sky, its battered hull creaking as it skimmed the waves, the mist barely cloaking it from the Water Isle armada. Zahra al-Nur gripped the helm, her knuckles white, the crystal's hum a restless buzz in her satchel. The Water Isle fleet—dozens of blue-sailed skyships with coral-crested hulls—spread across the horizon like a net, their cannons glinting in the dawn's pale light. The Fire Isle ships had fallen back, their jinn's flames dim in the distance, but Zahra knew better than to think she'd escaped. The crystal's song, sharp as a plucked oud string, sang of trouble yet to come.
"Options?" Yasmin muttered, her hands on a cannon, her eyes scanning the armada. Her braids were frayed, her face tight with exhaustion.
"Run and die, fight and die," Zahra said, her grin sharp as a scimitar. "Or talk and maybe die later.
"Malik, hunched over the aether-crystals, shot her a look. "You're not thinking of surrendering, are you?"
"Never," Zahra said, but her voice wavered. The crystal's wind had saved them once, but it had left her shaky, like she'd drunk too much coffee in a souk. Jafar's words—jinn don't give gifts for free—gnawed at her. What price was she paying?
Jafar stood at the railing, his salt-crusted beard catching the sea spray. "That's Prince Samir's fleet," he said, nodding at the lead ship, where a figure in silver armor gleamed. "He's no fool, but he's no friend either. Wants the shard as bad as the Fire Prince."
"Great," Zahra muttered. "Another warlord with a shopping list."
A skiff broke from the armada, its sail snapping as it approached. The silver-armored figure stood at its prow, his dark hair whipping in the wind, his smile too polished for Zahra's liking. Prince Samir of the Water Isle, younger than she'd expected—maybe twenty-five—with eyes like polished obsidian and a voice smooth as date wine.
"Zahra al-Nur," Samir called, his skiff pulling alongside. "You've got something that doesn't belong to you. Hand it over, and I'll guarantee safe passage."
Zahra leaned over the railing, her scarf fluttering. "Safe passage? Last time I trusted a pretty face, I got a dagger in my back."
Samir's laugh was warm, like a fire you wanted to lean into but knew would burn. "No daggers here. Just a deal. The Fire Prince will hunt you to the ends of the seas. Join my fleet, and I'll keep you alive."
Yasmin snorted. "He's selling protection like a souk vendor hawking fake charms."
"Maybe," Zahra said, her eyes locked on Samir. The crystal's hum sharpened, a warning she couldn't ignore. "What's the catch, prince?"
"No catch," Samir said, his smile unwavering. "The shard's dangerous in the wrong hands. I'd keep it safe—and you with it."Jafar's voice was a low growl. "He's lying, girl. The Water Isle's been after the Heart of the Sands as long as the Fire Isle. He'll use you, then toss you to the sharks."
Zahra's fingers brushed the satchel, the crystal's song stirring a breeze that tugged her scarf. She didn't trust Samir—those eyes promised more than they gave—but the Claw was barely holding together, and the armada's cannons were trained on her. She needed time, and this was the only play.
"Fine," she said, her voice hard. "We'll join you. But the shard stays with me."
Samir's smile widened, too perfect. "A wise choice. Follow my ship. We'll dock at Coral Bay."
As the skiff turned, Zahra muttered to Yasmin, "Keep the cannons ready. This prince smells like trouble."
The Claw trailed the armada, its aether-crystals sputtering. Coral Bay came into view—an island of turquoise lagoons and spires carved from coral, glowing like pearls under the rising sun. Skyships crowded the docks, their sails snapping like banners in a festival. Zahra's stomach churned. This wasn't a haven; it was a cage.
Aboard Samir's flagship, a sprawling vessel with coral-inlaid decks, Zahra felt like a fish on a hook. Samir led her to a cabin, its walls etched with wave patterns, the air heavy with myrrh and sea salt. He offered her wine, his charm relentless.
"You're a survivor, Zahra," he said, leaning close, his voice low. "The shard's power could end these wars. Help me find the other fragments, and we'll save the islands together."
Zahra sipped the wine, its sweetness masking something bitter. "You talk like a bard, but I'm no fool. What's your real game?"
Samir's eyes flickered, a crack in his mask. "The Heart of the Sands is power. Whoever holds it rules the seas. I'd rather it be us than the Fire Prince."
"Us?" Zahra's grin was sharp. "You mean you."
He laughed, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Think on it. You're safe here—for now."
That night, Zahra couldn't sleep, the crystal's hum keeping her restless. She slipped from her cabin, the ship's corridors dim, the air thick with the scent of polished coral. Voices drifted from a nearby chamber—Samir's, low and urgent.
"The shard's awake," he said. "She's bound to it, but she's no threat. Once we have the others, we'll take hers. The Heart will be mine."
Zahra's blood ran cold. She pressed against the wall, her hand on the satchel. Another voice answered—familiar, sharp. Yasmin.
"She's stubborn, prince," Yasmin said. "But I'll keep her close. You'll get your shard."
Zahra's heart sank, her fingers trembling. Yasmin—her first mate, her friend—had sold her out. The crystal's song flared, a gust of wind rattling the corridor's lanterns, and Zahra forced herself to breathe. Betrayal was an old wound, but this one cut deep.
She slipped back to her cabin, her mind racing. Samir wanted the Heart, and Yasmin was his spy. The Claw was grounded, her crew divided, and the Fire Isle still hunted her. But Zahra hadn't survived this long by folding.
"The sea doesn't forgive," she whispered to the crystal, its light spilling through her fingers, "but I don't either."
She'd play Samir's game—for now. But when the time came, she'd burn his plans to ash.