Truthwitch (The Witchlands, #1)(78)

Merik straightened and motioned vaguely at his sailors—though his eyes stayed on his aunt. “You are a Nubrevnan, though, and your disobedience will not go unpunished either.”

Evrane’s Threads turned turquoise with surprise as two sailors jostled her to a second set of leg irons. While the sailors pushed down Evrane and tightened the manacles, Merik turned as if to walk away.

“You would resort to torturing a domna?” Evrane shouted. “You will harm her, Merik! You will ruin your own contract!”

Merik paused, glancing back at his aunt. “I resort to punishment, not torture. She knew the consequences for disobedience. And,” he added, lethally calm now, “what sort of admiral—what sort of prince—would I be if I didn’t uphold my own laws? The domna has survived a sea fox attack unscathed, so a few hours in the irons will cause no damage. But it will give her time to consider the Hell she has brought here.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Safi said, eyes on Merik. “I never meant to hurt you or Kullen or … or Nubrevna. I didn’t know about the Marstoks—I swear it, Admiral. My uncle told me no one would follow!”

Iseult’s jaw slackened as she watched on. The Threads over Safi’s—and Merik’s heads—throbbed with a harsh, urgent need. Safi’s Threads grabbed for Merik’s, and his wrapped and twined into hers.

Right before Iseult’s eyes, Safi’s Threads were changing from those that build into those that bind.

In two long steps, Merik was back to Safi’s side and crouching down. He stared hard into her eyes; she stared back.

“If not for Kullen’s magic, we would all be dead right now, and it was your impulsive disobedience that almost killed us. That cannot go unpunished. There is still a contract with your family, and one way or another, I will get you to Lejna. Then I will feed my country.”

For a heartbeat … then two, the space between Merik and Safi—the Threads burning between them—ignited into a full flaming Thread of scarlet.

But Iseult had no time to distinguish the exact shade—if it was a growing Thread of love or one of unforgiving hate—before the color was gone again and she was left wondering if she hadn’t imagined the entire thing.

*

It was almost funny how fast Safi went from standing upright to being locked, like a battered dog, in the irons. Stuck. Trapped. Unmoving.

And she hadn’t fought at all. She’d just given in, wondering why she was accepting these fetters so easily. Wondering when she’d lost her ability to attack. To run. If she couldn’t run properly, then what did she have left from her old life? Her happy life full of taro and coffee and daydreams.

All of her hopes for freedom had scorched away. No place of her own with Iseult. No escaping Emperor Henrick’s court or her uncle Eron’s schemes or a life as a fugitive Truthwitch.

But Iseult would live. Her wound was healed and she would live. That made it all worth it, didn’t it?

Safi watched her Threadsister, who was scrambling after Merik across the deck—pleading with him, her face blank despite the sailors recoiling from her path. Merik ignored her and climbed to the quarterdeck. He took his spot at the helm and ordered the wind-drum to resume.

And Iseult gave up. She stopped her chase at the companionway and twisted around to meet Safi’s eyes, looking even more helpless than she had when she’d been dying.

Rain started to fall. A gentle whisper on Safi’s skin that should have soothed, but felt like acid instead. Safi was falling into herself. The world was pulsing at her. She couldn’t move her legs. She was trapped here, inside herself. Forever, she would be this person. Stuck within this body and this mind. Tied down by her own mistakes and broken promises.

This is why they all leave you. Your parents. Your uncle. Habim and Mathew. Merik.

The prince’s name pounded in Safi’s ears. Roared with her blood in time to the rain. In time to the drum.

He only wanted to save his homeland, yet Safi hadn’t cared—not about Merik, not about all the lives depending on him.

Iseult stumbled over the deck toward Safi, her face pinched and pale. She was the only person Safi had left, the only piece from her old life. But how long before Iseult gave up too?

Iseult reached Safi and dropped to her knees. “He won’t listen to me.”

“You need rest,” Evrane said. “Go to the cabin.”

Safi flinched; her chains rattled. She’d forgotten the monk was fettered beside her. She’d been so caged in her own skin, she’d forgotten everyone else.

Like she always did.

It was Safi’s selfish greed that had put a price on Iseult’s head. That had forced Iseult to leave Ve?aza City—and somehow earned a cursed arrow in the arm too. Then, when Safi had fought for Iseult—had done everything she could to compensate and to save her other half from the damage she’d wrought—Safi had ended up hurting someone else. Lots of someones. Her tunnel vision had led her down a broken path. Now Merik, Kullen, and his entire crew were paying for it.

With that thought, Uncle Eron’s words from Ve?aza City settled over Safi’s heart.

When the chimes toll midnight, you can do whatever you please and live out the same unambitious existence you’ve always enjoyed.

She had done just that, hadn’t she? At midnight, she had dropped the act of domna. She’d resumed her old impulsive, oblivious existence.