Illia thumped the blunt end of her steel lance to the smooth floor of the floating stone. Her Seahorse magic kept the stone floating like a raft on the seawater, and it teetered violently as the waves slapped each edge. Above her, a wicked storm raged. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked.
“If you can’t control the water,” Illia shouted as harsh waves whipped against the floating stone platform, drenching her boots in water, “then the water will kill you.”
A bolt of lightning struck the water far in the distance, and the thunder that followed it was louder than the pelting rain, and enough to make Ronan stand straight and focused. In the three months that they’d been training at the Temple of the Seahorse, he and Ike had really excelled.