The Falcon's Claw bucked like a spooked stallion, its wooden frame creaking as the storm tried to tear it from the heavens. Zahra al-Nur gripped the helm, rain stinging her face, salt searing her eyes until they burned. Her scarf, once a bold crimson, flapped half-torn, snapping in the gale like a merchant's banner gone to ruin. Below, the Sapphire Isles roiled—waves crashing against reefs sharp enough to rip a skyship to splinters. Lightning slashed the sky, painting the sea in stark whites and blues, and for a moment, Zahra swore the waves leered like a thief in a souk.
"Starboard, Zahra!" Yasmin shouted, her voice hoarse against the wind's roar. She wrestled the rigging, braids plastered to her neck, boots slipping on the slick deck.
"The storm's not our killer," Zahra called back, squinting through the downpour. Three black skyships loomed behind, their sails slashed with the Fire Isle's crimson flame—a mark of blood, not trade. Assassins. She'd known the cargo was trouble—silks and star-iron always drew greedy hands—but this was no merchant's squabble. This was a hunt.
"Cargo's tied!" Malik yelled from the hold, his voice cracking, all teenage bravado and trembling fingers. At sixteen, he was more heart than brains.
"Tied and cursed," Zahra muttered, her jaw tight. The last crate, lifted from a Fire Isle trader under a moonless sky, had felt wrong from the moment they'd hauled it aboard. A low hum, like a lute string plucked in a quiet room, had buzzed through her when she'd grazed it. Bad luck followed a hum like that, and Zahra's scars were proof enough.
A fireball roared from the lead ship, hissing through the rain like a djinn's curse. Zahra wrenched the helm left, the Claw tilting so sharp her stomach lurched. The flames grazed the deck, charred wood smoking under her boots, a splinter catching her sleeve.
"Fire djinn!" Yasmin pointed, her voice sharp with panic. On the enemy deck, a figure stood, cloaked in flames that danced despite the storm, its eyes glowing like coals in a brazier.
Zahra's gut knotted. Only the Fire Prince's elite could bind a djinn. This wasn't about silks or star-iron—it was something bigger, something in that crate.
"Malik, up here!" she barked, her words slicing through the gale. "Yasmin, load the harpoons!"
Malik scrambled to the helm, his face pale as sea foam, hands shaking as he grabbed the wheel. "Plan, captain?"
"Don't die," Zahra said, flashing a grin that hid the fear chewing her ribs. "And hope their djinn throws like a drunk camel trader."
He gave a nervous laugh, more a hiccup, and fumbled with the aether-crystals powering the ship. The Claw surged forward, skimming low, waves licking the hull, spray soaking Zahra's boots. Another fireball screamed past, close enough to singe her scarf, the stink of burnt cloth sharp in her nose.
She cursed, her mind racing faster than a desert wind. Outrunning a djinn was a losing bet, and Zahra didn't play to lose. She needed a way out—now.
"Zahra!" Malik shouted, jabbing a finger at the hold. "The crate—it's shining!"
She followed his gaze. Through the deck's slats, a blue glow flickered below, steady as a lighthouse beacon. Her breath hitched. That wasn't star-iron. That was alive.
"Hold the helm!" she snapped, shoving Malik into place. She slid down the ladder, boots thumping on wet wood, the hold's air thick with salt and tar. That hum was louder now, vibrating in her chest like a warning drum. She tore the tarp off the crate and stopped cold.
Nestled in the silks was a crystal, fist-sized, glowing like a star caught in glass. It sang—a wordless call that curled around her, whispering her name, or maybe just her doom. She reached for it, expecting heat, but it was cool, its light spilling through her fingers like water.
"Zahra!" Yasmin's cry cut through the hum. "Reefs ahead!"
Zahra stuffed the crystal into her satchel and scrambled topside, boots slipping on the ladder. The Claw shuddered, its hull scraping coral with a screech that made her wince. She stumbled, catching the railing as the ship tilted, waves clawing at the deck like hungry dogs.
Lightning flared, showing the Fire Isle ships closing in, their djinn's fire casting a blood-red glow across the storm. The crystal's light seeped through her satchel, painting her in blue—a beacon for every hunter on her tail.
Yasmin grabbed her arm, nails biting skin. "They see it! They know what you've got!"
Zahra's heart thundered, loud as the storm. This crystal was worth their blood, and she wasn't ready to pay that price.
"Cut the sails," she said, her voice steady as a blade, though fear gnawed her insides. "We're diving into the reef."
Yasmin's eyes widened, her jaw slack. "That's madness!"
Zahra's grin was sharp, all teeth and defiance. "Madness is my trade."
The Claw plunged toward the jagged coral, its timbers groaning like a dying man. The Fire Isle ships roared closer, their flames slicing the rain. Zahra's hand tightened on the satchel, the crystal's song humming in her bones—a promise of power, or maybe just ruin.
She'd find out which. If she lived.