Bloodwitch (The Witchlands, #3)

She had already taken twelve books from the Empress’s personal library, and she had even taken notes on one of them. Iseult would have been wildly impressed. The book, Crafting Painstones, had seemed a logical starting point, and the text covered Painstones as well as bewitched tonics and tinctures. Healers, Safi had learned, embedded their power into the act of creation itself.

And that had given her an idea: if she could hold a piece of quartz while using her own powers, maybe she too could embed her power into the rock.

Vaness had kindly provided her with a fresh wedge of rose quartz as well as a handful of other gemstones—no questions asked, thank the gods—and now Safi was setting her plan in motion. She let her magic swell to the surface as she watched on.

And what Safi saw was utterly enthralling. In fact, she had no idea how she had ever considered Vaness boring. Now, she was anything but the Empress of Insipid.

Never in Safi’s life had she seen two such women competing for space in a room. She’d seen plenty of men do it, clucking about like roosters in a yard. And she had seen men try—and fail—to bend women whose spines were made of steel.

This was something else entirely. It was two women a thousandfold stronger than any man, each with agendas all their own and witch eries that could slay. They stood like rivals in a Cartorran pugilist’s ring, but instead of tile and sand to cloak the earth between them, an iron table and water carafes waited. Weapons for the taking.

The wind chimes twinkled, a soft prelude to what would certainly be a symphonic explosion. To compound the tension of it all, Safi’s magic trembled as truth and lie crashed against her in unison. Both women rang with honest clarity; both women grated with practiced falsehood.

The symphony began.

“The reason you are in my ‘blighted city,’” Vaness declared, “is because the last time I saw you, you were stealing one of my ships.”

“And the last time I saw you,” Vivia countered, “you had sabotaged one of your ships so that I would steal it.”

“A distraction.” Vaness flipped up a hand. “I wanted the cargo your brother carried. It was worth the price of those weapons.”

True, murmured Safi’s magic—and she imagined pouring that truth straight into her quartz.

Vivia seemed to also sense Vaness’s honesty, for she stiffened, briefly, as if surprised. “You mean it was worth losing your weapons to claim this Truthwitch you supposedly have. Let us see her then, if she is so special.”

“So that you can steal her from me too?”

“Perhaps.” A casual shrug from the Queen-in-Waiting. “Tell me: was she worth the cost of war?”

“Tell me: were my weapons?” The Empress’s eyebrows bounced high. “Your actions were the first to risk the Twenty Year Truce. It was pure chance that the magic in the document deemed my act the greater crime.”

“I stole a ship. You landed on Nubrevnan soil with soldiers. I think the magic gauged properly.”

“Says the woman who turned her own navy into pirates.”

“Says the woman who freed my Foxes from a Saldonican prison.” Vivia thrust out her chin. “Why did you do that?”

“Because the Truthwitch asked me to.” Vaness plucked an invisible hair off her gown. “I would have left them to rot.”

“And why would she have asked you to do it?” Vivia pressed. “Why would she care?”

“For the same reason she asked me to negotiate a treaty with Nubrevna in exchange for her peaceful surrender. Something, or perhaps someone, connects her to your homeland.”

“Merik,” Vivia said, and with that name, Safi forgot all about her plan. All about her magic or her stone.

In the two weeks since she had learned of Merik’s death, there were moments—like right now—when his face would bubble to the surface. The way he’d looked at her on that moonlit cliff in Nubrevna, part longing, part awe … and even part regret, for their short time together had seen them pitted as enemies. It was only as they were parting ways that they seemed to realize they were better off as friends.

Or perhaps as more than friends.

But now Merik was gone, and Safi would never know what might have been.

“I have brought you here,” Vaness said, “to finish my bargain with the Truthwitch.”

“What’s in that for you?”

“Nothing is in it for me, but I made a promise to her, and I never break my promises.”

“I see.” Vivia spread her hands wide. “Originally, you would only treat with my brother. Now he is dead, so you are forced to treat with me—even though we both know that you and I will ultimately negotiate nothing. You will still come out with clean hands, because, after all, you tried.”

“Absolutely not.” Vaness bristled, a reaction so true it caught Safi by surprise. Never did the Empress let her mask slip.

And suddenly Safi remembered her plan once more. She focused on her magic; she focused on the quartz; she focused on the conversation.

“Surely Nubrevnans possess something,” Vaness said, “that is worth trading for.”

“You know my nation has nothing to offer.”

“No, I do not know that.” Vaness sucked in a long breath, examining the Queen-in-Waiting. “You are a fascinating case study,” she said. “It takes a great deal of audacity to make a move such as piracy.”

“More like desperation.”

A soft chuckle from Vaness—again, humming with truth in a way that threw Safi off guard. “I appreciate,” Vaness continued, “that you do not try to hide the reality of your circumstances from me. No attempts to inflate what you have.”

“What would be the point?” Vivia shrugged. “You know the true state of Nubrevna. You have spies.”

“Not as many as you might think,” Vaness countered. “Your house is difficult to infiltrate. You instill an incredible amount of loyalty among your people.”

“Perhaps. When they are willing to look past my gender.” Vivia glanced toward the door, beyond which her officers waited. Impatience shivered off her. She tugged at her coat collar and adjusted her cuffs.

Right as she directed her gaze once more to the Empress, though, Rokesh materialized from the cypress trees. He stalked into the sunlight.

Before Safi could even blink, two ropes of water had lashed from the carafe and were racing toward the Adder.

“Stop,” Vaness barked.

The water stopped. And Rokesh stopped too, dropping to one knee—though out of respect or to avoid the attacks, Safi could not say.

“What game are you playing?” Vivia snarled, her water whips steady.

“No game,” Vaness snapped. Then to Rokesh: “Why do you interrupt?”

“My apologies, Empress.” Rokesh bent his head to his knee. “There is an emergency that requires Safiya.”

Ah. Safi straightened inside the wall, fingers crushing around the quartz. It would seem she was needed elsewhere. Please don’t be the throne room. Please don’t be someone corrupted.

“We have a guest,” Rokesh explained, “and I presume you will want to assess him for untruths.”

“Who is it?” Impatience steamed off the Empress. “No family was meant to arrive today.”

“This man is not family. He is a former Firewitch general, and it seems he has decided to end his retirement.” Rokesh glanced in Safi’s direction, his eyes briefly catching hers through the spyhole. “Habim Fashayit awaits you in the library, Your Imperial Majesty, and he claims he is here to help us win the war.”





TWELVE