Her eyes skipped between the approaching road and the nearest pier. Empty¸ empty … all of them were empty of life. One of those docks had to be Pier Seven that Uncle Eron had specified in his contract.

Although, at this point, Safi wouldn’t have been surprised to learn there was no Pier Seven at all—that Uncle Eron had never had any intention of fulfilling his end of the deal.

Well, the joke was on him, then, because come hell-flames or Hagfishes, Safi was getting Merik that contract.

A fat raindrop smacked Safi’s head right as she stepped onto the first cobblestones. She glanced at the sky—and then promptly started swearing. The storm was almost to Lejna, and it was definitely not a natural one—not with all those black clouds.

What are you doing, Prince?

The rain picked up speed. A sudden wave crashed over the high-water mark, submerging the first dock and swathing the cobblestones in slime.

So much for stealth, then. Safi kicked into a jog … then into a full sprint. At the storm’s current rate, all three piers would be swallowed entirely in minutes.

Safi reached the first expanse of wood. It was coated in algae and creaked dangerously beneath her heels. She took four steps out, her eyes never leaving the tipping warship at the end, and then turned back, ready to barrel for the next pier.

But the dock was slick, the waves too rough and the wind far too strong. Safi was so focused on where to put her feet, on when to hop over the next surge of waves, that she didn’t notice the dark figure slinking nearby.

Not until Safi was on the street again did she finally catch sight of the Marstoki Adder thirty paces away and right between her and the next pier.

“If you come with me,” the Adder shouted, her voice—and shape—decidedly feminine, “then no one gets hurt!”

No thank you, Safi thought, flinging up her sword. This woman was weaponless, and Safi was not. She flung up her sword.

“I’m giving you one chance, Truthwitch! You can either join the Marstoks as an ally or you can die as our enemy!”

Safi almost laughed at that. A dark, angry laugh, for here was the moment she’d spent her whole life waiting for: the moment when her witchery put a target on her forehead and soldiers came to claim her.

Admittedly she’d excpected Hell-Bards all these years, but Adders would more than suffice.

Safi sank into her stance, ready to attack. Lightning burst. She blinked—she couldn’t help it—and, by the time she got her eyes wide, wind was slashing into her. Rain piercing her. And, of course, the woman was no longer weaponless. Where heartbeats before her hands had been empty, there was now a flail, its iron ball the size of Safi’s skull.

“Where the rut did that come from?” Safi muttered. “And are those spikes on that ball?” She skipped back—though the wind would hardly let her move—and briefly considered if Carawen steel was strong enough to slice through iron.

She decided it wasn’t—right as the spiky mass of death flew at her head.

Safi ducked sideways. The flail zoomed past her forehead. A single barb slashed across her skin. Blood gushed into her eyes, and for the smallest fraction of a moment, the contract’s words blazed behind her eyeballs: All negotiations will terminate should the passenger spill any blood.

Then the Adder’s boot was kicking at Safi’s face and she had no more space to think.

Safi smacked the foot with her elbow, successfully tipping the Adder’s balance—and also successfully bringing down the flail.

Safi met the iron chain with her blade. Yet where she thought the ball’s momentum would carry the chain around her sword—and allow her to yank the flail from the Adder’s grip—the iron seemed to melt apart … to slide over the steel … and to re-form on the other side.

Safi blinked blood and rain from her eyes, thinking surely she had mis-seen. But no. The woman was shifting chain link after chain link down to the iron ball—making the flail even bigger, the spikes even larger.

Oh, shit. Safi was facing an Ironwitch. Oh, shit, shit, shit. She had severely misjudged her opponent. She couldn’t fight this woman alone. Carawen steel was still iron, so her only chance would be to lose the sword, get past the Adder, and then run like the Void was at her heels.

So that was exactly what Safi did. She flung her sword sideways—silently apologizing to Evrane—and when the Adder snapped out her flail, aiming for Safi’s thighs, she jumped as high as she could.

Not high enough, though. The flail zoomed for her ankle, spikes and iron to crush her bone.

Instinct took over. Midair, Safi twirled and punched out her right heel. It crunched into the Adder’s throat.

She didn’t get a chance to see what happened next. A charged wind exploded behind her, and the next thing she knew, she was flipping over the Adder, carried by the cycloning storm. Then cobblestones were careening toward her face—much too fast—and Safi crashed down. Pain jarred through her.

Rain fell now. Lightning crackled and hissed, carried on this raging wind.

Safi scrambled up, blinking away water and teeth-shattering aches. Then she set off, stride determined, for the second pier. As before, she took four steps onto the slick wood before racing back to the quay.

To where the Adder had caught up to her.

So Safi did the only thing she could conjure: she tossed up her hands and shouted, “You can have me!”

But the Adder didn’t lower her flail. “Allow me to shackle you, Truthwitch, and I will believe you!”