It was just a display of magic to silence them. Nothing more. Six streams of water to shoot up toward the vaulted ceilings, circle once, and plummet back into their cups. But the room quieted once more—and this time, it was on Vivia’s terms.

“How quickly you all have forgotten,” she said softly, dangerously. “It was my mother’s name on that document, not my father’s. For it was my mother who traveled to the original Truce Summit and signed it.”

One by one, she dragged her gaze over each face in the room. Some vizers looked away. Some held her eyes, defiant. Most, though, stared back and simply listened.

“I have heard your opinions,” she continued, “and I will take each one into account as I solidify our course of action. I swear this to you. Yet every moment we waste arguing here is a moment the Raider King gains to his advantage. Inaction will only dig our graves deeper. We must move now, we must move quickly.”

She motioned to Vizer Sotar at her right, and his broad shoulders stretched broader. “Sotar here has agreed to spare his family’s personal guard to help protect the northern provinces. If any of you are also willing to spare your guards, I promise that they will be put to good use.”

No one raised their hand, but Vivia hadn’t expected them to. They would come to her after, once they had conferred with their families and evaluated what they prioritized most: personal safety or protection of the nation. Some would choose the former, some the latter—and Vivia could guess which vizers would choose which. She would not force them either way, for there were only two outcomes when soldiers were pressed into service: desertion or death. Vivia would not risk either.

She leaned onto the table and motioned to a map of the northern lands. Small markers had been laid out according to the detailed information Vivia now had from the watchtowers.

“He has Red Sails on foot.” She pointed to red tiles. “Baedyeds on horseback.” These were yellow. “And then a hundred other fringe groups, tribes, and witches that have banded together. They all have something to prove to the empires.”

“And they all want us dead,” Sotar murmured. It was as if a great sigh settled across the space at those words. Shoulders sank, foreheads pinched, and attention latched onto the map. Bit by bit, Vivia elaborated on her plan. She indicated where specific units would mobilize, where the Firewitched weapons she had stolen would be sent, and which roads would be used for supply chains.

Any questions raised during her explanation were civil, and all protests or counter-plans were offered in polite, if urgent, tones. The frantic mayhem from before was now a low-lying tension that trembled in the air. Threads unseen, but there all the same.

At the fourteenth chimes, the High Council finally dispersed. Purpose now marked each vizer’s movements as they left—Vivia just hoped it was to aid her in her strategy. She suspected that at least three of them still clung to arguments and plans of their own, but there was no time for her to fret over them. No time for her to even think.

“Vizer Sotar,” she called. He paused at the table’s end, and Vivia approached, smoothing at her coat front. “Have you—” Her voice cracked. She tried again. “Have you seen Stacia recently?”

His lips twisted down. “No. Should I have?”

And at those words, at that expression, Vivia’s stomach turned to stone. Her mask fell away, her breath hissed out. She had to rest a hand on the table; her shoulder suddenly ached.

“I haven’t seen her,” she said, her voice so distant. “She didn’t come to our morning briefing today, she hasn’t been at her apartment in … I don’t know how long, and she hasn’t been at the Sentries or barracks or anywhere. I’ve searched and searched. All I know is that she took our skiff, sailed out of Lovats yesterday, and no one has seen her since.”

Now Sotar leaned against the table. “A whole day. And you did not think to tell me sooner?”

“I’m so sorry.” Vivia shook her head. “The raiders.” She waved numbly at the table, but it was a poor excuse. She should have told him sooner. She should have reached out to him the instant Stix didn’t turn up. “I know you promised your guard,” she offered, “but I understand if you need them to find Stix—”

Sotar cut her off with a hand. “No matter what, my guards remain yours. The realm comes first, above all else.” He offered a stiff bow, fist over heart. “I will send word to the Sotar estate. Maybe Stacia traveled there to see her mother. When I hear from my wife, I’ll let you know.”

For several long moments, Vivia simply watched him go. She watched the door creak open and bang shut. She watched the dust motes swirl and sway.

One shallow breath became two. Then a third and a fourth, bludgeoning faster by the second. And for once, she just let herself sink into the madness of standing still.

Because what a stupid, stupid little fox she had been. She should never have gone to Marstok. She should have told Vizer Sotar the instant Stix vanished. She shouldn’t have lost her temper at her father, but instead found a way to ease him out of the Admiralty.

Should, should, should. Nothing Vivia did was ever right. Nothing she did was ever enough. And in the end, there was nothing to be done for it—nothing she could do to fix these messes of her own creation.

There was also no one to pick her up and dust off her knees. Jana was dead. Merik was gone. Her father had shut her out again. And Stix …

Stix was missing.

Which left Vivia all alone with the whole of Nubrevna depending on her. A little fox would never—could never—be enough. Her people needed a bear, so a bear she would have to be.

Vivia cracked her neck. Adjusted her collar. And then rubbed at the edges of her face, banishing away the madness. Banishing away the little fox too, into a den where no one would ever see.

No time for regrets. She just had to keep moving.

THIRTY-FIVE

Safi did not care that Vaness was busy.

She did not care that a meeting unfolded in the Empress’s private office. She didn’t care if it was important and key to public safety. If the Adders would not take Safi to Vaness right away, then someone was going to lose an ear.

So the Adders obeyed.

Not once did Safi consider if this was what she should do—just as she would not consider roping herself to the mast during a hurricane. The Hell-Bards were going to die; she had to interfere before it could happen.

“Do not kill the Hell-Bards,” she blurted as soon as she was in the room. “They saved your life yesterday. Please don’t kill them.”

Seventeen sets of eyes arced toward her—eight Sultanate members, eight imperial officers, and the Empress of Marstok. Though bandaged and bruised, Vaness stood at the head of the table with iron in her gaze.

“Truthwitch,” she said, her voice edged with censure. “Now is not the time.”

“Don’t let General Fashayit kill them.” Safi tried to cross the room, but two Adders peeled off the wall and intercepted her. So she stopped and simply begged, “Please, Your Majesty. Was torture not enough? Why do they have to die?”

Vaness sucked in a long, calculating breath—as did the entire room, all attention locked on the Empress. Until at last, without breaking her gaze from Safi, Vaness waved to the nearest Adder. “Bring me the Firewitch general. Now. And Rokesh as well.”

The Adder bowed. The Adder departed.

“And the rest of you,” she scanned the Sultanate and officers, “leave.”

No one dared disobey, although some glared at Safi as they exited. Others pretended she did not exist. Most simply frowned, confused perhaps that Safi held such sway.

“Adders too,” Vaness commanded once the room had cleared. And as one, eleven Adders departed on silent feet.

Then the wooden door clicked shut, and all that remained of Vaness’s iron melted. Her shoulders wilted. She staggered to the nearest stool. “I did not command torture.” She wagged her head, urgency in her words—and absolute honesty. “Why would the general do such a thing?”

Safi didn’t respond. Her voice was hooked low in her belly, anchored by surprise. Before her eyes, Vaness had transformed. She looked ten years younger—twenty years, even. As if Safi now faced the seven-year-old girl who had been thrust into power after her parents’ death.

This was not the jagged grief Vaness had worn in the Contested Lands. This was something new. Something worse.

Safi hurried close, no concern over titles as she said, “What’s wrong?” And no concern over rules as she laid a hand on Vaness’s shoulder.

Vaness did not pull away.

“I am tired,” the Empress murmured. “I am tired and I am…” She hesitated. Then laughed, a harsh sound that set Safi’s teeth on edge. Part fearful, part amused, and part self-loathing. “I am lost.”

Safi’s heart said, True.

“I thought having you here would fix everything,” Vaness went on. “I thought you would clear the corruption from my court as easily as a tide clears the shore. But the rot is too deep, and my power too tenuous. These unknown rebels almost succeeded yesterday. Despite every precaution, they almost succeeded.”