Bloodwitch (The Witchlands, #3)

Sotar cut her off with a hand. “No matter what, my guards remain yours. The realm comes first, above all else.” He offered a stiff bow, fist over heart. “I will send word to the Sotar estate. Maybe Stacia traveled there to see her mother. When I hear from my wife, I’ll let you know.”

For several long moments, Vivia simply watched him go. She watched the door creak open and bang shut. She watched the dust motes swirl and sway.

One shallow breath became two. Then a third and a fourth, bludgeoning faster by the second. And for once, she just let herself sink into the madness of standing still.

Because what a stupid, stupid little fox she had been. She should never have gone to Marstok. She should have told Vizer Sotar the instant Stix vanished. She shouldn’t have lost her temper at her father, but instead found a way to ease him out of the Admiralty.

Should, should, should. Nothing Vivia did was ever right. Nothing she did was ever enough. And in the end, there was nothing to be done for it—nothing she could do to fix these messes of her own creation.

There was also no one to pick her up and dust off her knees. Jana was dead. Merik was gone. Her father had shut her out again. And Stix …

Stix was missing.

Which left Vivia all alone with the whole of Nubrevna depending on her. A little fox would never—could never—be enough. Her people needed a bear, so a bear she would have to be.

Vivia cracked her neck. Adjusted her collar. And then rubbed at the edges of her face, banishing away the madness. Banishing away the little fox too, into a den where no one would ever see.

No time for regrets. She just had to keep moving.





THIRTY-FIVE


Safi did not care that Vaness was busy.

She did not care that a meeting unfolded in the Empress’s private office. She didn’t care if it was important and key to public safety. If the Adders would not take Safi to Vaness right away, then someone was going to lose an ear.

So the Adders obeyed.

Not once did Safi consider if this was what she should do—just as she would not consider roping herself to the mast during a hurricane. The Hell-Bards were going to die; she had to interfere before it could happen.

“Do not kill the Hell-Bards,” she blurted as soon as she was in the room. “They saved your life yesterday. Please don’t kill them.”

Seventeen sets of eyes arced toward her—eight Sultanate members, eight imperial officers, and the Empress of Marstok. Though bandaged and bruised, Vaness stood at the head of the table with iron in her gaze.

“Truthwitch,” she said, her voice edged with censure. “Now is not the time.”

“Don’t let General Fashayit kill them.” Safi tried to cross the room, but two Adders peeled off the wall and intercepted her. So she stopped and simply begged, “Please, Your Majesty. Was torture not enough? Why do they have to die?”

Vaness sucked in a long, calculating breath—as did the entire room, all attention locked on the Empress. Until at last, without breaking her gaze from Safi, Vaness waved to the nearest Adder. “Bring me the Firewitch general. Now. And Rokesh as well.”

The Adder bowed. The Adder departed.

“And the rest of you,” she scanned the Sultanate and officers, “leave.”

No one dared disobey, although some glared at Safi as they exited. Others pretended she did not exist. Most simply frowned, confused perhaps that Safi held such sway.

“Adders too,” Vaness commanded once the room had cleared. And as one, eleven Adders departed on silent feet.

Then the wooden door clicked shut, and all that remained of Vaness’s iron melted. Her shoulders wilted. She staggered to the nearest stool. “I did not command torture.” She wagged her head, urgency in her words—and absolute honesty. “Why would the general do such a thing?”

Safi didn’t respond. Her voice was hooked low in her belly, anchored by surprise. Before her eyes, Vaness had transformed. She looked ten years younger—twenty years, even. As if Safi now faced the seven-year-old girl who had been thrust into power after her parents’ death.

This was not the jagged grief Vaness had worn in the Contested Lands. This was something new. Something worse.

Safi hurried close, no concern over titles as she said, “What’s wrong?” And no concern over rules as she laid a hand on Vaness’s shoulder.

Vaness did not pull away.

“I am tired,” the Empress murmured. “I am tired and I am…” She hesitated. Then laughed, a harsh sound that set Safi’s teeth on edge. Part fearful, part amused, and part self-loathing. “I am lost.”

Safi’s heart said, True.

“I thought having you here would fix everything,” Vaness went on. “I thought you would clear the corruption from my court as easily as a tide clears the shore. But the rot is too deep, and my power too tenuous. These unknown rebels almost succeeded yesterday. Despite every precaution, they almost succeeded.”

“But they didn’t.”

“Yet.” Her head tipped back. She blinked up at the ceiling. “And who would even mourn me if I were gone? The people do not care who leads.”

“The people love you.”

“They admire me,” Vaness corrected. “And the difference is an important one.”

Safi had no response for this. The fact that Vaness needed comfort was more than Safi’s mind could wrap around. This was not the Iron Bitch she had faced in Lejna, nor the Iron Bitch with whom she’d crossed the Contested Lands. Whatever this was, it was more than Safi knew how to handle. It was real, it was raw, and it was messy.

Before she could summon any sort of words worth saying, a knock sounded at the door. Vaness flinched. Safi’s hand fell away.

“Your Majesty?” an Adder called. “The Firewitch general is here.”

“A moment,” she called back. Then she glanced at Safi, her face still barren and unmasked. “Tell me quickly, Safi: General Fashayit. Can I trust him?”

Everything inside Safi tensed at those words. Can I trust him?

All her life, lying had come so naturally to her. A skill she had inherited from her uncle. A skill she had honed under Mathew’s and Habim’s strict tutelage. But with Threads, with Thread-family, she had never been able to lie. Never. And after everything she and Vaness had endured together …

But does your friendship with her matter more than Habim? He was her Thread-family too. And he could get her to Iseult. Whatever Habim had planned, it was separate from Vaness, just as Safi’s decision to come here had ultimately been separate from Uncle Eron’s schemes.

And whatever Habim had planned, his treatment of the Hell-Bards was separate. She couldn’t dismiss everything simply because she was angry.

If Iseult were here, she’d tell Safi to think with her brain, not her heart. So with her brain at the fore, Safi said, “Yes, Your Majesty. You can trust General Fashayit. He only tortured the Hell-Bards to protect the realm.” And to protect me.

Vaness nodded, relief briefly towing at her shoulders. Rounding in her spine. Two breaths later, though, and she had transformed once more into the Iron Empress, her mask nailed back into place, her posture turned to steel. She pointed a serrated stare at Safi. “Let the general in, then have the Adders lead you back to your quarters.”

“And the Hell-Bards? What will you do to them?”