Truthwitch (The Witchlands, #1)(80)
Vaness swept onto the bench opposite him. Her spine straight, she cocked her head to one side, waiting. Her pause was quickly rewarded by a serving boy, who scurried in with a plate of sugared fruit. Leopold snatched up one, moaned his pleasure, and then snapped up two more. Seconds slid into minutes, and though Aeduan had no doubt the prince meant this as some sort of insult, the Empress showed only patience—which was more than Aeduan could lay claim to.
If Leopold’s point in coming was to offer petty insults, then this detour was an even greater waste of Aeduan’s time than he’d first feared. At this rate, Safiya fon Hasstrel would reach the Sentries of Noden before Leopold even finished downing his candies.
On the fourth fruit, Vaness’s face slid into a narrow-browed frown. “When I said that my fleet was hurt,” she said politely, “I had hoped for your assistance. Perhaps I was not clear.”
Leopold bared his usual flash of a grin and wiped a slow thumb over his lips. “But surely Your Most Majestic of Majesties realizes that sugar can improve even the most dire of situations.” He offered her a fig.
“I am not hungry.”
“One needn’t be hungry to enjoy these.” Leopold shoved the candy at her once more. “Taste one. They are almost as divine as your beauty.”
She bowed her head respectfully and, to Aeduan’s surprise, she accepted a sugared fruit. She even went so far as to nibble off a corner.
Aeduan ran his tongue over his teeth, at a loss for how to interpret this behavior. Leopold clearly wished to anger Vaness, yet she deftly avoided taking his bait. Which meant whatever she wanted was important—and whatever she wanted, she got. So why drag this out? Why keep a veneer of serenity with a power like hers? Aeduan certainly never bothered.
Leopold seemed to think the same, for on his sixth date, he abandoned his game. With poorly veiled annoyance, he slouched back and crossed his legs.
“What happened to your fleet, Your Worshipped?”
“Sea foxes,” she said simply—which earned a laugh from the prince.
“Sea foxes,” he repeated, eyebrows rising. “You expect me to believe that? Did shadow wyrms and flame hawks get you as well? Or let me guess: the Twelve returned with their wicked swords and bashed a hole in the hull.”
Vaness showed no reaction, yet the air in the room seemed to contract. The Adders stiffened, and Aeduan’s hand moved to his sword hilt.
“Flame hawks are still present in Marstok,” Vaness said, her tone as smooth as before. Her mask preserved. “And it would seem that the sea foxes have returned.”
Aeduan’s eyes flitted to Leopold, trying to gauge the prince’s reaction. Aeduan had heard of sea foxes, yet as far as he knew, there hadn’t been any sightings for decades.
For once, though, Leopold remained silent and unreadable.
So Vaness continued. “I am due in Azmir, Your Highness, but I fear it will take my men too long to repair our fleet’s damage. I ask that you lend us Tidewitches from your crew. We have none left.”
Then why, Aeduan mused wryly, do I detect at least three Tidewitch scents belowdecks? There was no mistaking them. They smelled of high-water marks and river rapids.
As Aeduan considered how best to inform Leopold of the Empress’s lie, Leopold flourished his hands. “Your Imperial Perfection,” he murmured, “I couldn’t help but notice an intact ship in your fleet. It didn’t match your other ships. In fact it looked—what did we say?” Leopold threw a pointed glance at Aeduan—one that made it clear he didn’t expect a response. Then the prince snapped his fingers. “It looked Nubrevnan. That was it. I wonder, Your Imperial Perfection, how it came to be in your possession?”
“We found the warship by chance,” Vaness answered smoothly. “It must have been attacked by sea foxes as well.”
“Then, surely”—Leopold propped his elbows on his knees—“its dead crew will not mind if you take it ashore.”
For half a breath, Vaness froze. She did not speak, blink, or even breathe. Then she shot to her feet, bracelets clattering and a new mask settling into place: anger. Or perhaps it was no mask, for when Aeduan sucked in a full breath, he sensed her pulse was faster. Hotter.
“You would deny me help?” she said softly. “I, who am the Empress of the Flame Children, the Chosen Daughter of the Fire Well, the Most Worshipped of the Marstoks?” She stretched both her hands on the table with such poise that not a single iron link clanked. “I, who am the Destroyer of Kendura Pass? To deny me is to ignite your own funeral pyre, Prince Leopold. You do not want me as an enemy.”
“I wasn’t aware we were allies.”
Vaness’s body tautened like a waiting snake, and Aeduan instinctively summoned his own magic—a mere ripple that would leave his eyes clear of red. If this moment escalated, Aeduan would lock down the Empress in a heartbeat.
Leopold tipped a single finger at Vaness. “Here is the situation as I see it, Your Highest of Highs. First, I think that you are following my uncle’s betrothed—because why else would you abandon a truce summit at which you are supposed to be?
“Second”—he unfurled another finger—“I think you met Safiya’s kidnappers here and engaged in a battle that somehow fell between the Truce’s cracks.” Leopold flexed a third finger, frowning now. “I cannot sort out this third finger—which is the reason for it all. Safiya cannot possibly hold any value for you, Your Most Beloved.”