The footprints she’d tracked in were still on the ground, mottled to rusty brown. An inescapable reminder of what Safi had done. What Safi had caused—because the memories branded in her brain were not enough. The detached head, with its still-blinking eyes and spurting arteries. The man’s last words: What a ridiculous question.

The thirteenth chimes clanged outside; the sun beamed down, though only a gauzy gray light filtered through the iron shutters over Safi’s lone window. A small courtyard garden bloomed out there, and at this hour, katydids clicked and clattered.

She wrapped her fingers around the Threadstone at her collarbone and rested her head on her knees. This stone had been a gift from Iseult, and it—like the matching one Iseult had—lit up when either girl was in danger.

“Think like Iseult. Think like Iseult.” Safi’s Threadsister would see some solution out of this disaster. Cool, logical Iseult would work through it like a knot in a fragile necklace, plying Safi with questions and coaxing out the facts of the situation.

The facts were that twice in her life now, Safi had carved her own path, had played her own cards—with no one to guide her—and this was where her choices had led. She had become Truthwitch for Empress Vaness in exchange for trade with the starving nation of Nubrevna. Then she had made a similar choice in Saldonica. The mark on her thumb was a reminder of that.

A day after her duel with Admiral Kahina and her resulting agreement with the woman, a thin red line had appeared right where Kahina wore her jade ring. The ring had flashed when Safi had promised to give Kahina whatever she wanted; Safi suspected that meant the deal was far more binding than mere words. Like everything else here, though, she tried not to think about it. Her choice had saved her, and it had saved Vaness and the Hell-Bards too.

Of course, the Hell-Bards were gone now. The Marstoki Sultanate had opposed having any more Cartorrans than Safi in the palace, as had the generals, admirals, nobility, and Adders. The uproar that the Hell-Bards had caused as Safi’s guards and companions—it hadn’t been safe. For them or for Safi.

Which left Safi with another fact: she was all alone in the imperial palace, surrounded by Lake Scarza waters on all sides, the Kenduran foothills beyond that, and thousands of local enemies who wanted her dead. A thousand more foreign enemies too.

She knew Rokesh and the other Adders would protect her, but while she and Vaness might have become allies in Saldonica, even friends, if it became a choice between Safi’s life and the empire’s future …

One life for the sake of many was a truth Safi understood all too well.

Perhaps the most important fact of all, though, was that the Truthwitchery Safi had hidden her entire life was now public knowledge. The one thing she never wanted to be, that she had run from for nineteen years … It had all come to pass. She was a tool for an empire, a knife for Lady Fate, and men would die because of her magic.

True, purred Safi’s power, an unwelcome warmth in her chest. She squeezed her eyelids all the tighter. She wanted to leave. She wanted to abandon this post she had chosen, and she wanted to run as fast and as far as she could go.

Safi wasn’t so foolish, though. If she tried to escape, she would end up in chains, and chains would keep her from ever leaving Marstok. Chains would keep her from ever finding Iseult—the only thing in all the Witchlands that mattered.

Iseult now traveled with a Bloodwitch. With the Bloodwitch who had hunted them across the Jadansi, and though Iseult might have claimed she trusted him, Safi did not believe her. She couldn’t. Both times the girls had spoken in Safi’s dreams, something had been wrong. Something had made Iseult’s thoughts skitter and her words fret with lies.

Safi feared Iseult did not travel with that Bloodwitch monster by choice—and she had no way to find out. Iseult hadn’t come to her dreams again in a week and a half.

Safi groaned. The knot in her chain of thoughts had led her back to the beginning: trapped in court with Iseult far, far away. She was no good at this. She needed Iseult to help her isolate the best course of action.

As she sat there, toes tapping on the tiles, a squawk tore through the room. Her gaze snapped up, and she found a crow staring at her from the garden door. An old crow, if the white around its beak meant anything.

Its head cocked sideways, eyes eerily sentient.

“I don’t have food,” Safi said, rising. “Go on, crow.” She shooed at the creature. A halfhearted gesture at best. “Leave before I call the Adders on you.”

The bird looked thoroughly unimpressed. Though it did hop backward when Safi approached, its wings fluttering.

“Go on,” she said, a bit more forcefully this time, her own hands sweeping like wings. “Get out before a poisoned dart finds you…” She trailed off as the crow kicked up and flapped onto a telescope at the heart of her small garden.

It had been a gift from the Empress, purchased in Ve?aza City during the Truce Summit. Constellations had guided Safi and Vaness on their travels though the Contested Lands, so Vaness had thought Safi might enjoy having the telescope to “view the heavens more closely.”

Safi knew Vaness had meant the gift kindly, yet it had felt more like a cruel reminder that Safi was trapped behind walls, with stars as her only escape.

The bird perched on the telescope’s edge. Its wings stretched wide, feathers glimmering in the sunlight. It wasn’t the crow she stared at, though—it was what the crow had trapped in its beak: a chunk of rose quartz. At first Safi thought it was a Painstone, except it wasn’t glowing. Besides, why would a crow have one?

But then the bird dropped the stone, gave another urgent squawk, and flapped away—although not before leaving a glorious splatter of shit on the brass telescope’s casing.

“Thanks,” Safi muttered, although she was grateful he hadn’t shit on her head instead.

Curiosity propelled her into the hot garden, the nearest insects quieted. Her stained slippers crunched on yellow gravel.

It was a Painstone. She couldn’t believe it. The magic was clearly drained, but the shape and size were right. And when she crouched to pick it up, she spotted a hole at the top where string was meant to go through.

For several breaths, Safi remained kneeling, staring at the stone while the knot in her mind unwound. Cautiously, she tugged at the idea-chain. Gently, she traced it around, around, around, all while a small smile towed at the edge of her lips.

Then there it was: a plan that might save her. Simple, clear, and one that Iseult would like too. It would require tools and books. And tomorrow, when the grouchy Earthwitch healer came to check on her foot and nose—neither injury had healed quite right—she would pester the woman with questions. Because if other witches could apply their magic to stones and salves and locks and drums, why couldn’t Safi?

If she could make a Truthstone then Vaness wouldn’t need her here at all. It wouldn’t be Safi’s words consigning traitors to death anymore, and best of all, she could go after Iseult without delay.

Lungs suddenly brimming, Safi snatched up the dead Painstone and stood. She had a task, she had a plan, and it felt good. Enough standing still inside a palace. Enough waiting for the corruption to come to her. Enough being someone else’s tool.

Safi got to work.

* * *

Vivia stood barefoot at the edge of the underground lake. Shadows played across the rippling surface, cast by the lantern she had left on the shore. She’d left her boots there too, as she always did when she came here.

This was the heart of Lovats, fed by miles of underground rivers and aquifers long forgotten. It was Vivia’s heart too, and the only place she could go when the panic became too much. Here she could breathe. Here she could be Vivia. Just Vivia.

This is the source of our power, Little Fox, Jana had told her. The reason our family rules Nubrevna and others do not. This water knows us. This water chose us.

“Extinguish,” Vivia whispered to her lantern, and darkness draped the cavern. After three rib-bowing breaths, her eyes adjusted to reveal sprinkles and sprays of luminescent foxfire. Six spokes that crawled across the cavern’s ceiling.

Two weeks ago, there had only been three spokes, because two weeks ago, the city had almost fallen. But Vivia and Merik had fended off the raiders and the monster called the Fury. They had repaired the dam, and shortly thereafter, the foxfire had returned.

Two weeks ago, Serrit Linday had also called this place an Origin Well.

Ever since that seed had been planted in Vivia’s head, she’d been unable to stop its roots from spreading. There was one elemental Well unaccounted for in the Witchlands, and though Vivia’s magic wasn’t bound to the Void, there was no denying that this lake was more than just a pool where water collected.

Of course, if she really did have the Void Well hiding beneath her city, then what did that even mean? It was one more problem, one more question to add to her ever-growing list.