Bloodwitch (The Witchlands, #3)

Of course those vizers had done the same; Vivia didn’t know why she was surprised. And suddenly, she had to wonder if her father had been behind that move too. If he had been the reason the High Council had declared Jana unfit to rule.

Either way, it did not change Vivia’s current situation. If the High Council was not unanimous in its support of Vivia as Queen, then she was not allowed to lead. The power returned once more to the Regent.

Yet just because she had lost the loyalty of three vizers, fourteen officers, and her own father—that did not mean there weren’t people who supported her. There were many, and she knew if she called them, they would come.

“You must go to the other vizers,” Vivia said. “I trust your ability to gauge where their loyalties lie. Gather those who still support my rule and ask them to provide not only their guards, but anyone able and willing to fight. I will press no one into service, but we need every person we can find to protect the city.”

“Hye.” Sotar nodded firmly. “It will be done.”

“I will assemble my own crew. I led many on the rivers and seas of Nubrevna, and I trained with many before that. There are a core group of soldiers I trust, and I will ask them to find others.”

“We can meet here.” Sotar opened his hands to the room.

But Vivia shook her head. “No. There might be nothing legally preventing us from meeting, but my father will notice if we assemble somewhere so prominent. And…” She sucked in a steeling breath. “And I do not trust him not to act against us again.” Against me.

Sotar’s face tightened. A compassionate wince that cut straight to Vivia’s heart. He knew how much this hurt her; he also knew there was nothing to be done and no time to dwell. They had been betrayed, Vivia most of all, and now the only path forward was to minimize damage and minimize death.

Vivia tipped up her chin. Pulled back her shoulders. She was her mother’s daughter. She could do this.

“We will meet at Pin’s Keep, Vizer Sotar. At the twenty-second chimes. Bring the High Council members who still support me, and I will bring the soldiers. Together, we will craft a new strategy.”

Now it was Sotar’s turn to inhale deeply. To draw back his shoulders and lay a fist over his heart. Then he sank into a bow, deep and true. “I am yours to command, my Queen.”

Chills trembled down Vivia’s arms at those words. No one had ever called her “my Queen” before. No one had ever offered her such genuine respect and such real approval. She had wanted this from her mother, but her mother had been filled with too many demons of her own.

So Vivia had turned to her father. She had scraped and begged and apologized, and every now and then, he had dropped scraps for her to devour. But Serafin, she saw now, respected no one save himself, and his approval was only given so long as it did not affect his own self-image. He wanted all the glory, none of the blame.

“Thank you,” Vivia told Sotar, and she meant it. “I will see you and the other vizers soon.”

Then Vivia Nihar, rightful Queen of Nubrevna, Chosen of the Void Well, and Little Fox of Nubrevna, returned once more to the crowded night.



* * *



Safi lunged in front of Mathew. He wouldn’t hurt her. Her body knew that, even if her mind had yet to fully fathom that he was here. She reached Vaness before the blade could connect, forcing Mathew to spin away. To swipe up the sword at the last second.

It still hit Vaness. A slice across her face.

The Empress did not move, though. Did not even flinch.

“What are you doing?” Mathew cried. His voice, that was his voice—how had Safi not noticed earlier? How had she not noticed the lightness of his eyes and lashes? Because Mathew and Habim gave you what you expected to see. And now they were cutting the purse.

Mathew twirled sideways, a graceful swordsman, and planted two paces away. Safi twirled with him, keeping her body between him and Vaness.

Still, the Empress did not react behind her. None of the Adders did either, or anyone in the crowds below. Everyone watched the fireworks cascading above. Blissfully oblivious.

It was then that Safi realized Vaness wasn’t bleeding. Safi had seen the blade connect with flesh, but no blood streamed down her face.

Glamour. The Empress must be hidden beneath a glamour made to look just like her.

Weasels piss on Safi, she should have seen this coming. Uncle Eron had used the same plan in Ve?aza City: glamour the party while an attack ensues. Which meant there was a Glamourwitch somewhere near, and likely the same one they’d used before.

If Safi had had her magic, she would have sensed this coming. For that matter, if she’d been paying any thrice-damned attention, she would have spotted the signs. This was why the false soldiers hadn’t attacked her at the Well. This was why, when Safi had first interrogated Habim, she had sensed him lying.

Habim hadn’t merely heard of a plot to overthrow the Empress and claim the throne, he had created it.

Habim, Mathew, and Uncle Eron. Three men Safi had known for nineteen years, but never truly known at all. And now her body was all that stood between the Empress of Marstok and death.

“Step away,” Mathew hissed. He advanced a step, Adder blade raised in warning. “Why are you interfering, Safi?”

“Why are you attacking?”

“Because this is the plan. The one we have all worked for. You know that.”

“No, I don’t. Because you and Habim have told me nothing!”

“Then we will explain after.” Mathew circled the Empress; Safi circled too. “Now is not the time for this—”

“Explain after what? After the Empress is dead? How will that bring peace to the Witchlands, Mathew?”

“By eliminating someone who wants war! She broke the Twenty Year Truce, Safi. She caused this war to resume.”

For half a heartbeat, Safi believed him. After all, it was what everyone always said, including the Empress herself. Vaness had landed forces in Nubrevna, canceling the magic that bound her to the Twenty Year Truce—and therefore the magic that bound all the other nations and empires as well. So yes, she had caused it.

Yet as each of these thoughts speared through Safi’s mind, she realized her chest hadn’t buzzed with truth at Mathew’s words, her magic hadn’t twinkled and sung.

Which meant he was lying.

Safi’s gut flipped. A great downward drop that yanked her lungs straight to her toes. She felt like vomiting. Or shrieking. Or even demanding that Mathew tell her it wasn’t true—that they hadn’t somehow coordinated the end of the Truce, the resuming of the war.

Somehow, though, Safi managed to do none of those things. Somehow, she managed to channel Iseult’s stasis and sink more deeply into a defensive stance. “It was you who ended the Truce, wasn’t it? I don’t know how, but it wasn’t the Empress who did it at all. It was you.”

Mathew’s eyes shuttered within his shroud. A pained wince that cut straight to Safi’s heart. True, true, true. “I told you,” he said gruffly. “In Ve?aza City, I told you there were big wheels in motion—”