I estimated about thirty seconds before the prince’s yacht was blown to kindling.

Time obligingly slowed to that speed that let me briefly ponder what it was going to feel like to go kablowie. A quick calculation told me that Phaelan and I would probably escape the blast, but odds were good that flying debris—flaming or just airborne projectiles—would do an equally good job of killing us.

I was no weather wizard, but I had to stop those boats. Now. Sinking the things would be the simplest solution, but I knew from nasty past experience that water and unexploded Nebian black powder didn’t mix. I wanted to stop one explosion, not set fire to the entire surface of the harbor.

“Raine,” Phaelan warned. “We need to get out of—”

“I’m stopping them,” I said, my eyes focused on the boat with the black powder, drawing in my will to—

“Are you crazy?”

“Looks that way,” I murmured, keeping my eyes on the lead boat. Moving a small object was simple, so was what I did with the barrel. This was going to be like locking on to the back bumper of a speeding coach with my teeth.

The Saghred had given me an obscene amount of strength. Even though that strength was a part of me now and not the rock, I still didn’t like using it. It was like spending dirty money that could spend you right back, but I didn’t have time to be squeamish. The pilot boat was traveling parallel to me and headed toward the docks and the prince’s yacht. I extended my arm and clenched my fingers in the air, using my mind and magic to latch onto the boat near the stern—and braced myself.