At Safi’s confused headshake, Mathew sighed. “I know it’s impossible for you to understand right now, but trust me: we’re working for peace, Safi. Yet a union to Emperor Henrick would have ruined everything.”

“But why,” Safi stammered, “does Henrick want to marry me in the first place? The Hasstrel lands are worthless. I’m worthless!”

Mathew hesitated, eyes flicking away before he finally said, “We think the Emperor might have learned about your witchery.”

Safi’s throat squeezed shut. How? she wanted to croak. She’d hidden it for eighteen years and no Hell-Bard had caught her yet.

“A marriage to Henrick,” Mathew went on, “would have been the same thing as enslavement for you, Safi. There would have been no escape. Yet since neither Eron nor you can openly oppose such a union, we’re faking this kidnapping. That was why Eron gave you no warning. If you had known what was to come, then you wouldn’t have shown nearly enough surprise. Henrick and his Hell-Bards would have suspected immediately.”

Safi swallowed—or tried to. Her throat was too clogged. Not only did that Bloodwitch know what she was, but the Emperor of Cartorra did too. Who else had found out? Who else would come hunting for her?

“Don’t worry,” Mathew said, clearly sensing her panic. “Everything is prepared, Safi, and we’ll get you to safety.” He pushed her toward the black blanket, but she dug in her heels.

“What about Iseult? I’m not leaving her.”

“Habim and I will find her—”

“No.” Safi ripped from his grasp, not caring that smoke plumed over rooftops now. That the roar of a nearby battle grew louder each second she stood her ground. “I’m not leaving without Iseult. Tell me where I’m supposed to go, and I’ll get there on my own.”

“Even after all of this, you still don’t trust us?” In the darkness, Mathew’s face was hidden, yet there was no missing the hurt in his voice. “We risked everything to get you from that party.”

“I don’t trust Uncle Eron,” Safi said. “Not after what I’ve seen tonight.”

“You should trust him. He built a life of shadows and lies, yet he never dragged you into it. Do you know how much that cost him? Cost all of us?” Mathew motioned vaguely toward the cart. “Believe me when I say that Dom Eron wants nothing more than to keep you safe. That’s what we all want. Now come. We’re out of time.”

Mathew gripped Safi’s elbow, and his shaded eyes bored into hers. “You will ride this cart north, Safi, to meet a boat. You will not move until you get there. The boat will carry you across the sea to a city called Lejna in the Hundred Isles, where you will wait at a coffee shop—one of my coffee shops. Someone will come for you in four days and take you the rest of the way. To freedom, Safi, so you won’t have to marry Henrick. And I promise—on my life and Habim’s—I promise to bring Iseult with us.”

The words trilled over Safi. They buzzed through her arm where Mathew’s skin touched her. He was bewitching her. She knew he was doing it—her own Truthwitchery screeched at her that this was deception. Yet Mathew’s magic was stronger than Safi’s. She could no more fight it than the pull of a riptide.

Her feet carried her to the cart, her body crawled beneath the blanket, and her mouth said, “I will see you across the sea, Mathew.”

Her tutor’s face tightened—a wince of pain or regret, Safi couldn’t say. She was drowning beneath the power of his witchery.

But when he leaned in to brush a kiss over her forehead, she had no doubt the emotion was one of love. Of family.

Then he dropped the blanket over her head, the world turned black, and the cart rattled to a start beneath her.

* * *

It felt like years that Safi was beneath the awful salamander blanket with sunflower leaves scratching overhead. She heard little beyond the donkey’s hooves and the creaking wheels; she smelled nothing but her own hot breath; and she saw only black.

Yet Mathew’s Wordwitchery held its sway, the words so deep in her brain that she had to obey—had to lie there, silent and still, while the cart rolled north.

Never—never—had Mathew done that to her. Perhaps a coercive phrase or two, but her Truthwitchery had always canceled it out. This was so much power that she was still bound to it a ring of the chimes later.

A silent cry simmered in Safi’s chest. Eron had used her. He had kept this enormous secret so she would be “genuinely surprised” at the party, and that was goat crap. Safi wasn’t some puppet to be flicked around on a stage or a taro card to be tossed out at her uncle’s whim.

And how did Safi even know Uncle Eron was actually shipping her off to freedom? Clearly her witchery failed her when faced with his lies and promises. If Eron had so effortlessly twisted the truth about tonight’s events, then he could do so again.

Sickened heat rushed into Safi’s mouth. Coated her tongue. Iseult was the only person Safi could trust, and the girls had a life in Veñaza City—a simple life, perhaps, but one that was all their own. Safi couldn’t give up on that.

Yet for how long would Iseult wait at the lighthouse? For that matter, if Iseult was at the lighthouse now, wouldn’t that mean Mathew and Habim wouldn’t know where to find her? How could they bring Iseult with them if she wasn’t where she was supposed to be?

They couldn’t, which meant it was time for Safi to take control of her own strings. To play her own cards once more.