Truthwitch (The Witchlands, #1)(81)
The air in the room tightened even more. Vaness’s chest expanded … but then Aeduan felt her blood cool, her fury back in control. “I,” she murmured, “do not want your uncle’s betrothed, Prince Leopold.”
“And I,” Leopold flowed to his feet, towering over the Empress by a full head and a half, “do not believe you, Empress Vaness.”
Magic rushed out—faster than Aeduan could ever have guessed. It stripped three knives from his baldric, launched them over the bench, and aimed them at Leopold’s neck, heart, and stomach.
Aeduan’s power roared to life. His blood reached for Vaness. His body tensed for action.
But in a slippery whisper, ten Adders unholstered their blowguns and aimed them at Aeduan and Leopold.
Aeduan’s gaze raced back over the room, mind groping for an escape route. He could control Vaness, but he’d still end up with a chest full of poison or steel—and although Aeduan would survive, Leopold would not.
The prince lifted a cool hand, no sign of fear in his voice—or, to Aeduan’s surprise, in his blood. “If you find Safiya fon Hasstrel before I do, Empress, you will return her to me immediately, or you will face the consequences.”
“Do you love your uncle’s plaything so much?” Vaness flipped up one palm, and the knife at Leopold’s neck drew back several inches. “Do you value her life so highly that you would risk my displeasure?”
Though the prince’s lips twisted up, there was no amusement in his smile. “I have known Safiya fon Hasstrel my entire life, Your Royal Perfection. She will make an incredible leader when the time comes. The kind who puts her nation before herself.” His eyes flicked significantly to Vaness’s bracelets. “So mark my words, Chosen Daughter of the Fire Well, if you do not give me the future empress, then I will come to Marstok and I will claim her myself. Now lower your blades before I accidentally step into one. That will erase your name from the Twenty Year Truce, I can assure you.”
A rigid pause stretched through the room, and Aeduan kept his witchery quaking high. Ready … Ready …
The blades lazily twirled back. Then they slid away and fell.
Aeduan caught the nearest from the air, but the other two hit the table. The bench. As he snatched them up, Leopold dipped forward to pluck another candied fruit. “Thank you for the treats, Great Destroyer.” He smiled blandly. “It’s always such a pleasure to see you.”
Without another word, and with the squared shoulders of a man in charge, Leopold the Fourth strode for the door. “Come, Monk,” he called. “We have lost time, and we must now make it up.”
Aeduan marched after Leopold, his eyes and his power never leaving the Empress or her Adders. Yet no one made any attempt to stop Leopold or Aeduan as they departed, and moments later, the men were rocketing off the splintered Marstoki galleon.
Once firmly on their cutter again—and with Leopold shouting for Commander Fitz Grieg to fetch him clean breeches—Aeduan watched the prince through slitted, distrustful eyes.
“The Empress,” Aeduan said once the Hell-Bard Commander had vanished belowdecks, “lied about having Tidewitches onboard.”
“I assumed so.” Leopold scowled at an invisible mark on his cuff. “She also lied about not wanting Safiya fon Hasstrel. But”—Leopold glanced up—“I have one advantage over the Empress.”
Aeduan’s eyebrows lifted.
“I have you, Monk Aeduan, and trust me when I say that that has the Empress of Marstok now sailing scared.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Keep the light steady!” Merik bellowed from the tiller. Two sailors aimed the Jana’s spotlights on the waves. The moon gave some light when the clouds bothered to part, but it wasn’t enough—especially not with the lingering rain.
Without Kullen to fill the Jana’s sails or Merik’s witches to carry her hull, Merik had to push his meager crew hard—and push himself hard too.
But he had no other choice, and time was short.
He needed to find that one jagged peak—the Lonely Bastard, as he and Kullen had always called it—before the tide swallowed it whole. Behind it was a hidden cove. A family secret that would allow Merik’s crew to rest in safety.
If the Jana missed the tide, though, Merik would be forced to wait until tomorrow afternoon—allowing the Marstoks or the sea foxes to catch up.
Merik’s gaze snapped to the domna and Evrane, still chained. Safiya’s golden hair was damp and hanging, his aunt’s white cloak soaked to gray. For once, Iseult was nowhere to be seen. She’d checked on Safiya and Evrane a hundred times during the first four hours of their punishment. In the last two chimes, though, the girl had stayed belowdecks. Sleeping, probably.
Merik was glad for it. Each time Iseult had come to beg for Safi’s release, the muscles in his neck had hardened. His shoulders had strained toward his ears, and he’d patted his pocket—checking that the Hasstrel agreement was still tucked inside. Those pages had become his last hope for salvation, so he kept them close.
He checked the document for the thousandth time now, the pages flattened and rain-splattered …
The signatures were intact, so Merik would leave Safiya in her chains a bit longer. He might not be Vivia when it came to discipline, but there were consequences for disobedience. Merik’s crew knew that—expected it, even—so Merik couldn’t suddenly go soft. Even if there might be long-term repercussions for binding a woman who could one day be Empress of Cartorra … Even if Safiya and her betrothed, Henrick, could make Merik pay for this sort of treatment … Merik didn’t care. He’d rather keep his crew’s respect than worry over what some idiot emperor could do to a country that was already crippled.