Truthwitch (The Witchlands, #1)(71)

Two axes.

Merik’s stomach turned to iron. “They cut the mast themselves. Shit. Shit. Vivia was ambushed, Kull—”

“Admiral!” Ryber’s voice carried over the still air. “Admiral!” she shouted again, and Merik found he was getting awfully tired of that title. Of the weight that crashed onto him each time someone uttered the word. “We have four warships on the horizon! Hulls up and coming this way!”

Merik exchanged a single, wide-eyed look with Kullen. Then he launched back to the main deck, back to his sister—who continued to march Marstoks onto her ship.

But Merik had no time for fury or new orders, for at that moment, Hermin stumbled to the edge of the Jana and roared through cupped hands, “It’s the Marstoks, Admiral! They’re calling for the immediate surrender of Emperor Henrick’s betrothed. Else they’ll sink us!”

Merik rushed to the railing. “They want who?”

“They want the Emperor’s betrothed!” Hermin paused, eyes burning pink with his magic. Then he added, “Safiya fon Hasstrel!”

It was as if the whole world slowed down. As if it sucked in a breath and held tight. The waves rolled sluggishly as mud, the ship rocked at half-speed.

Safiya fon Hasstrel. Emperor Henrick’s betrothed.

It made such sudden, clear sense—why she had fled Ve?aza City, why her safety was worth a treaty with the Hasstrels, and why a Bloodwitch might be after her.

Yet Merik couldn’t wrap his mind around it. If she was betrothed to Henrick, then that made her the future Empress of Cartorra. It made her Henrick’s property too.

And why were Merik’s lungs dropping low at that thought?

Footsteps hammered on the wood. Kullen appeared, cheeks flushed so red, a breathing attack had to be imminent. With that terrifying realization, the world surged back to its usual speed. Merik grabbed Kullen’s arm. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Kullen snapped. “What do you need?”

“I need you on the Jana, so we can…” Merik hesitated, the words for his next command suddenly vanishing in a surge of doubt.

“So we can…?” Kullen prompted.

“Hand over the domna,” Merik finally said. He didn’t like it, but it was one life versus many. “Escort Safiya topside and give her up to the Marstoks.”

Kullen set his jaw, gaze darkening but no argument coming forth. He may have disagreed but he was still saluting and following orders. He rocketed off the Marstoki deck.

Merik spun around, summoning commands for Vivia and her crew, but his words died on his tongue. Nubrevnan sailors were streaming below the Marstoki galleon’s deck, and six witches stood in a row, eyes trained on Vivia.

That row included Merik’s Tidewitches.

“Gather your winds and waters!” Vivia bellowed.

Merik lunged, using his wind to cross the ship in mere breaths. He slammed down beside his sister. “What the Hell are you doing? As your admiral, I ordered you to release the Marstoks and return to your ship!”

Vivia sneered. “And we all know that I should have been named admiral. Look around you, Merry.” She waved to the Tidewitches. “You have lost Father’s men, and I have gained an arsenal.”

Merik’s breath choked off at those words—at the reality of what faced him. His ship, his command, and everything he’d worked for were dissolving before his eyes. Taken by the same sister who’d always crushed him beneath her boot heel. “There will be consequences,” he said, voice low but words desperate. Pleading, even. “Someone, somewhere will demand blood for what you’re doing.”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged, a movement so casual it showed her true feelings more than words ever could. “At least, I will have protected our people, though, just as I will be the one to bring the empires to their knees.” Vivia turned her back on Merik. “Prepare Tides, men! We sail to the Sentries of Noden to deliver our new weapons!”

A distant boom rang out. Merik jerked toward the horizon—to where the four Marstoki war galleons now sailed. And to where cannonballs sped for the Jana. Merik had just enough time to thrust his winds frantically out.

The cannonballs dropped into the sea.

Merik leaped off the Marstoki ship and flew to the Jana’s main deck. His knees crunched; he transferred the power into a roll, then he was on his feet and screaming for Hermin. “Tell the Marstoks we surrender! Tell them to cease their fire and we’ll hand over the domna!”

The Voicewitch limped onto the main deck, eyes glowing pink and lips moving furiously.

Merik scanned his ship and his crew, heart rising as he counted the gaps. Not all of his father’s sailors had abandoned him. Merik’s original crew had remained.

A second boom thundered. Merik pitched around, grabbing ineffectually for enough magic to stop the cannon fire.

Wind cycloned out—but not from Merik … from Kullen. The first mate was dragging to Merik’s side and heaving his witchery outward.

Merik had no time to thank Kullen, or to fret over Kullen’s lungs. “Why aren’t the Marstoks stopping?” he roared at Hermin. “Tell them they can have the girl!”

Hermin’s head was wagging. “They say the girl isn’t enough now. They want their ship back, Admiral.” With a shaking hand, Hermin pointed to the Marstoki galleon.