“Can’t you use your magic or something?” Ignacio asked Kelos one morning, as they lay on the deck, futilely praying for rain. “Can’t you just conjure up a wind to fill our sails and rain to fill our cups?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” the mage said.

In the end Kelos didn’t have to attempt any such sorcery, as they were struck by the mother of all storms.

No one saw it coming. Once it had passed, two of the sails had to be repaired and the hull had to be patched below the waterline. The only blessing was that the sudden change in weather had finally broken the back of the heat.

It didn’t last. The temperature climbed again, the cloud cover boiled away and they were caught once more in a swelter upon a still sea.

When they were on the edge of despair, when they were down to their last few cupfuls of water, the storm slinked back in, pacing the ship far to starboard, before rushing in and lifting the Llothriall high on the back of an enormous wave.

There had been a time when this would have posed little threat, when the Llothriall had been empowered by the magical gemstone at its heart and the song of the ship’s eunuch, Emuel. But the stone had been lost and Emuel no longer had any reason to sing. As they were tossed from wave to wave, all onboard thought that this would be the storm that finally pulled the Llothriall apart.

A shout from above had Silus racing for the stairs leading up to the maindeck, only for the boom to be the first thing that met him; the broken spar swinging round and sweeping him over the side.

The storm was silenced as the sea took him. For a moment, Silus saw the hull of the Llothriall as it was silhouetted by lightning, before a surge carried the ship away. He watched it go for a moment, before filling his lungs with salt water and striking out after it.