Truthwitch (The Witchlands, #1)(118)

Soldiers bloomed in the corners of her vision. A blur of green uniforms pouring from Lejna’s side streets. But they were too slow to catch up—at least not before Safi got to where she needed to be.

She felt it to the very core of her witchery, and with each explosive cry of true-true-true in her chest, Safi drove her legs faster.

She was ten paces from the pier now.

Five.

Something small and strong—like the handle of a flail—punched into Safi’s knee. She fell, but instinct took over. She swiveled into a graceless roll … and unfurled back into her sprint.

Then she hit the first plank of the pier, and pain shattered through her.

So furious, it masked all sight.

So explosive, it swallowed all sound.

Safi screamed. She crashed forward. Her arms crumpled beneath her.

Her left foot. She’d been hit by the flail’s spiky head. Her bones were smashed. Blood gushed.

But she was on the pier, and spilled blood or not, that contract had to be fulfilled. It had to be.

Black boots swarmed into Safi’s vision from all directions. In seconds, two Adders had hauled Safi upright and locked her in manacles.

As the Empress approached, shouting orders in Marstok that Safi found far too difficult to understand, she was pleased to spot a black eye blossoming on the Empress’s face. And ah, that was a lot of blood coming from her nose.

The two Adders clamped their hands on Safi’s shoulders despite the fact that she couldn’t have run—or even have walked—no matter how hard she tried. In fact, were it not for those hands on her shoulders, she wasn’t sure she could keep standing as Vaness leaned in close.

And though Safi wanted nothing more than to blink, to cry, to beg for someone to heal her foot, she met Vaness’s gaze and did not look away.

At last, Vaness smiled. It was a terrifying smile with all the blood dripping between her teeth. “You cannot escape me now.”

“I … wasn’t trying to,” Safi croaked—even though she really just wanted to scream. She forced herself to raggedly laugh. “If it’s my magic you want, Empress … if you think I’m so powerful … then you’re mistaken. I know truth from lie, but that’s it. And even when I know the truth … that doesn’t mean I always tell it.”

Vaness’s jaw tightened. She leaned in close, as if trying to read the secrets in Safi’s eyes. “What would it take to earn your loyalty, then? To ensure you tell me the truths that I need and help me save my kingdom? Name your price.”

Safi stared at the Empress’s swelling, purple face, and she nudged at her Truthwitchery for some sign of the woman’s sincerity. It seemed impossible that Vaness would offer something so vast … Yet beneath all of Safi’s blazing pain, her witchery shimmered its confirmation.

A triumphant smile curled on the edge of her lips—although that might’ve been a pained grimace. It was hard to tell at this point.

“I want trade with Nubrevna,” she said. “I want you to send an envoy to Lovats, and I want you to negotiate the export of food in exchange for … for whatever it is Nubrevnans have to offer.”

Vaness arched a bloodied eyebrow, and a breeze sent her wet hair flying across her face. “Why would you want that?”

“Same as you.” Safi tipped her head back toward the city—then wished she hadn’t. She was losing too much blood for quick movements. Or for any movements, really. “I’ll dirty my hands for the people that matter to me. I’ll run as far as I have to and fight as hard as I can. If that’s what it takes to help them, then that’s what I’ll do.”

To Safi’s surprise, Vaness offered a small—genuine—grin in return. “You have a deal then, Truthwitch.”

“And you have the use of my magic.”Relief shuddered through Safi—or maybe that was a warning jolt from blood loss.

Safi swung her fuzzy gaze toward the street she thought Merik had vanished down—it was near where she’d last seen Iseult. For a long moment, all Safi heard was the slosh of water against the dock. All she felt was the soft, cleansing rain on her cheeks. All she thought of was her family.

She nodded in her friend’s direction, wishing them a silent good-bye. Praying they were all right … and knowing they’d come for her.

Then the hollow thwack of more feet cut through Safi’s thoughts and brought on excruciating pain.

“We will fly now,” Vaness said, beckoning to the shortest sailor in the crowd. He bore the tattoo of a Windwitch. “Our fleet is not far. Can you do that, Truthwitch?”

“Yes,” Safi breathed, swaying into one of the men holding her up. She flashed a grin at him and said, “I’m Safiya fon Hasstrel, and I can do anything.”

As those words fell from her tongue, her magic perked up … and then purred like a lion in a sunbeam.

True, it said. Always and forever true.





FORTY

When Aeduan had seen the Cleaved attack his mentor, he had acted without thought—diving in to retrieve her bloodied form. Hacking, slashing, disemboweling anyone in his way.

Once he was to her—once he had her limp form in his arms—Aeduan had latched on to Evrane’s blood to keep the hole in her neck from bleeding out.

Then Aeduan had sprinted from Lejna as fast as he could, his witchery fueling him on. He would take Evrane to the Origin Well, for that was the only place he could think of. If its waters were indeed flowing once more, then it might just save Evrane from the hole in her neck.