Truthwitch (The Witchlands, #1)(69)

“Nine days of a sea fox chasin’,

Nine days of tooth and fin!

Nine days of jaws a-snappin’,

Saw the men of the ol’ Ailen.

Hey!”

Merik fell into the rhythm of the shanty and the beat of the wind-drum. The power pulsed through him, strangely smooth—uncommonly vast. For once in his life, he felt as if he had more magic than he knew what to do with, and as the Tidewitches sang softly, Merik’s winds filled the Jana’s sails. Soon, he lifted his voice in song.

“Four days without fresh water,

Four days with none to drink!

Four days of salt and hot air,

Saw the men of the ol’ Ailen.”

The shanty soon ended, but Ryber kept pounding the drum and hollered, “‘The Maidens North of Lovats!’”—which Merik knew was her favorite song, since she was a maiden from north of Lovats.

Four beats later, the chorus of sailors resumed, and onward the Jana moved, cutting the seas like a needle through sailcloth and never losing sight of Kullen’s small shape.

Until Kullen wasn’t small anymore—until he was zooming in so fast that Merik thought they would collide.

Kullen slowed, slowed and then toppled onto the deck, sailors scattering from his path.

“It isn’t a Dalmotti ship!” he roared, straggling to his feet. Then he was racing to the tiller to Merik, his face violently red. “Vivia has already attacked and it’s not a trade ship at all.”

Merik blinked stupidly at those words. They were incomprehensible—gibberish beneath the blood now rushing into his skull. “Not a trade ship?”

“No,” Kullen panted. “It’s a Marstoki naval galleon, and it’s carrying weapons and Firewitches.”

*

Safi stared out the window at lavender skies and peaceful seas. Ever since Evrane had stormed into the cabin, snarling about “Vivia, that bitch,” Safi had stretched her chains and moored her attention to the glass. The terrain was changing shape before her eyes—possibly her opponents too. Merik had mentioned fighting, and Safi could only assume they sailed straight for it.

All the while, Evrane paced—unleashing her worry to no one in particular, yet doing it in time to the pounding drum. Iseult simply slept on.

At last, Safi’s vigil was rewarded: a smear of dark shapes formed on the horizon, eventually solidifying into a Nubrevnan warship like Merik’s and a second ship with a hull so dark it was almost black.

Safi tugged against her chains, her arms bending back until she was close enough to the window to fully inspect the black ship. Three masts—snapped in half. A flag, falling over the bulwark.

She caught her breath. There was no mistaking the gold crescent moon on that flag. It was the symbol of the Empire of Marstok, and the green background made it the standard of the Marstoki navy.

“Oh bat shit,” Safi whispered.

“Does Vivia think,” Evrane said to no one in particular, “that there will be no retaliation from Dalmotti? Piracy does not go ignored—especially not from a naval empire.”

“I don’t think Dalmotti will retaliate,” Safi said. Evrane paused midstride, and Safi pointed to the window, chains clattering. “The ship she attacked is from the Marstoki navy.”

“Wells preserve us,” the monk breathed. Then she lurched to the window and her face paled. “What have you done, Vivia?”

Safi pressed her face to the glass beside Evrane. Nubrevnan sailors marched men in Marstoki green across a gangway. The Marstoks’ wrists were bound, and they were near enough for Safi to see solid triangles on more than a few hands.

Witchmarks. Firewitch marks. “Why are none of the Firewitches fighting back?” Safi would never not use her magic to save herself or her friends. Her leg started bouncing, more questions flying through her mind. “And why are the Marstoks being led off their ship?”

“I assume,” Evrane said, resuming her frantic pacing, “that Vivia intends to claim the Marstoki vessel and all its contents—then abandon her own ship. Because of the Truce, she cannot kill the Marstoks outright.”

Nodding slowly, Safi thought back to Uncle Eron and his enormous plan to stop the Great War. Was this the sort of act that would dissolve the Truce early? Was this what he’d hoped to prevent?

Safi had no idea and no way of knowing, so she shifted her attention back to the Marstoks shambling onto Vivia’s ship. There weren’t many Firewitches, but enough to easily fight back against the princess’s crew.

In fact, one bearded man seemed vicious enough to save his whole ship. He snarled and snapped at every Nubrevnan prodding him over the gangway. Then Safi caught sight of his triangular Witchmark—there was a hollow circle at the center.

“They have a Firewitch healer,” she said, voice husky with shock.

“Perhaps,” Evrane murmured.

“Not perhaps,” Safi insisted. “I see the mark on his hand. He just crossed the gangway onto the other ship.”

Evrane rounded on Safi, eyes wide. “You are sure of what you saw?”

“Hye.” Safi slouched back from the window, her chains slackening. She suddenly saw what she needed to do. The plan was all there before her. She knew where to walk belowdecks, how to sneak about topside, and which sailors to avoid. “We can get to the Firewitch,” she said. “While everyone is distracted, we can bring him here.”