“Prince Merik,” Safi repeated, “is dead?” When the boy didn’t hear her, she slung in closer, shouting, “Prince Merik is dead?”
He reared back, before nodding. “The Jana exploded. Seafire.”
Vaness turned to Safi. “Like my ship,” Vaness said, though no surprise crossed her face. As if she’d already known. The message on the warship. It must have told Vaness of Merik’s death.
Safi didn’t confront Vaness, though—not now. There was no point. Instead, she groped for her Threadstone.
Merik Nihar was dead.
I have a feeling I’ll never see you again. Those had been Safi’s last words to him. Thrice-damn her, though—she hadn’t meant them. She’d just expressed what had been roiling in her gut after their lips had touched. It wasn’t meant to come true. Merik Nihar could not actually be dead.
A click shivered through the air. The collar fell from the Voicewitch’s neck, and instantly, the woman staggered back. Her eyes turned pink as she tapped into the Voicewitch Threads. Her lips began to move.
The slaves nearby rioted all the louder.
“Why,” Safi shouted at the officer, “do the Baedyeds attack Lovats?” Yet either the man could not hear her, or he did not know, for he shrugged. A helplessness hung in his eyes.
“They attack to weaken us.” The answer rumbled out from the square-jawed man. “The Baedyeds and Red Sails march over the Contested Lands as we speak, and Ragnor’s raider armies gather in the Sirmayans. Once Lovats is flooded and dead, there will be nothing to stop them from claiming all of Nubrevna.”
“How do you know this?” Vaness demanded.
“I heard the men who captured us.”
“I heard it too.” The boy clutched at the bars. “They’ll kill everyone we love, destroy our home. Just like that.” He shook the bars for emphasis.
And as he shook, the bars melted wide. Wide enough for him to step through.
He gasped, recoiling. Then all eyes shot to Vaness, even Safi’s, but the Ironwitch gave no reaction beyond an imperious command. “Warn your people,” she said. “And stop the Raider King.” Then she turned to go.
“Wait!” Safi called. “You must free them all!”
Vaness pretended not to hear; the roars doubled.
“Please!” Safi lunged after her. “Both pirate factions are anchored for Baile’s Slaughter, Empress! They won’t set sail until tomorrow—we could leave this place in shambles.”
Still, Vaness stalked on. She was almost to the archway. Almost gone.
“Think of your Adders!”
At that name, the empress finally stopped. Finally swiveled back, her face expressionless. Iron through and through. Up swept Vaness’s left hand, as if she would ask Safi to dance. Then magic charged to life. It crashed over Safi, hot and alive, while a hundred locks groaned open at once. On doors, on shackles, on collars.
Between one breath and the next, the famed slave arena, where warriors and witches battled for coin, became a fight to simply stay alive.
Baile’s Slaughter had begun.
THIRTY-FOUR
Hello, old friend. Hello, old friend. It was a rhythm to stumble by while Merik followed Vivia ever upward. Ragged breaths and the occasional burst of distant waves broke the silence, while wavering green fungus lit their way.
Hello, old friend.
Merik’s feet dragged to a stop. Limestone gravel crunched beneath his boots. He snapped his head side to side, and water droplets splattered to the stone.
Vivia glanced back, strips of wet hair plastered across her forehead. “Are you hurt … Merry?” It was the first words spoken since she’d hauled him from the flood.
He offered nothing in return. There was nothing to say.
Hello, old friend.
Merik had seen his Threadbrother cleave in Lejna. He had seen the corruption burn through Kullen, and he had watched as Kullen flew off to die alone. People didn’t return from that. People didn’t come back from the dead.
Except … they did. They had. Garren Leeri, Serrit Linday—
Merik shook himself again. Harder this time. Almost frantic—legs! He felt legs scuttling over him. He grabbed at his scalp, at his neck. Something crawled on him. Shadows to take control, darkness that lived inside—
Vivia smacked his shoulder.
He rocked back, fists rising.
“Spider,” she blurted. “There was a spider on you.” She pointed to the hairy thing, now trickling up the wall.
For several distant heartbeats, Merik watched the creature, his heart a battering ram in his throat. Shadows. Darkness. Spiders. None of it had been real. Of course it had not been real.
He forced himself to nod at his sister, a signal to keep moving. She hesitated, her lips opening as if she wanted to say more. There was nothing to say, though, so she cleared her throat and resumed jogging.
The tunnel came to an end. Vivia clambered up a rope ladder. Then light seared down, forcing Merik to squint at a square opening above. With the sun came fresh air, fresh wind, fresh fuel for the heat and the temper that had kept him fed for days.